In Self Defence. Debra Webb
Читать онлайн книгу.
after all these years, her heart squeezed at the memory of her father. She imagined that she would always miss him, no matter that he’d been gone for twenty-four years. Weary now, she made her way to her room, the same one she’d slept in growing up, and padded straight to the walk-in closet to put her damaged shoes away. She should probably just throw them out, but the little shoe repair shop on the corner of the square depended on folks like her to stay in business. No one understood the need for supporting local businesses better than Audrey. Though she was far from destitute, the expenses related to her mother’s care and turning the newspaper around were quickly draining her savings.
She sighed as she hung up her jacket. Though her mother had changed hardly a thing around the house, Audrey had altered a couple of things right away. The first being to expand her closet into a decent-sized one. And still she’d had to downsize her wardrobe. Living in the limelight of investigative journalism for all those years had required an extensive wardrobe. Plus, she was reasonably sure she had a slight obsession with clothes, shoes in particular. With her work, it hadn’t actually been a problem.
But that life was over.
Audrey closed the door of the closet as well as the one to the past.
No looking back. This was her life now, and it wasn’t such a bad one.
She tossed her clutch purse onto a chair and reached for the zipper of her skirt. After leaving the Sauder farm she’d followed Burt to the hospital but had learned nothing. As she left the hospital and headed home, she dictated the story to Brian, her longtime friend and the editor at the Winchester Gazette, via her cell. Once she’d sent him the photos she’d snapped, he had laid out the story for tomorrow’s front page. It would be tight, but since they were one of the few remaining small-town newspapers that still did their own printing, the job would get done. Newspapers landing on doorsteps and in stands tomorrow morning would showcase what little was known about the shooting. The article was already online.
Sarah Sauder was two or three years younger than Audrey. She remembered seeing her at the family-run bakery as a child and then as the woman behind the cash register since moving back to Winchester. Audrey popped in at least once every week. The Yoder Bakery, though located outside Winchester proper, was considered a local landmark. The peanut butter balls were to die for and her mother loved them. Audrey liked having a special treat for her mother when she visited. She also adored their blueberry scones. She bought those for herself, which was all the more reason not to drop by too often.
But the man who’d taken his last breath on Sarah Sauder’s kitchen floor hadn’t come to Buncombe Road for peanut butter balls or blueberry scones. And he sure hadn’t broken into the century-old farmhouse looking for valuables to snatch. Branch Holloway’s presence ruled out any possibility of the man’s death being something less than serious trouble.
Wouldn’t be drugs or human trafficking. Certainly not gunrunning. At least not involving the Sauders. The man had obviously connected the wrong identity with the house. But that still left the possibility that someone in Franklin County was up to no good and the trouble rippled all the way to the Windy City.
The skirt she’d worn tonight slid down her hips, then she stepped out of it. Frankly, she couldn’t think of any criminal activities that rose to that level in which any of the locals, much less the Yoders—in this case the Sauders by marriage—would be involved. Of all people, Audrey was well aware of the reality that what one saw was rarely exactly what lay beneath the skin of others. But these were Mennonites.
She frowned as her fingers hesitated on the buttons of her blouse. She’d forgotten to ask Brian how he’d heard about the shooting. She assumed it was from the police scanner. She would ask him tomorrow.
The buzz of her cell echoed in the room, the sound muffled deep inside the clutch she’d tossed aside. She didn’t dare ignore it. There could be breaking news in the shooting...or an issue at the paper.
Since taking over the Winchester Gazette, she’d realized how running the family business could consume one’s life. As a crime reporter she had given herself completely to the story, but when the story was over there was typically some time before another came her way. Running the Gazette was entirely different. It was always there, an endless cycle of need for more content. Another story, another something to fill the pages—advertising. The newspaper had been in the Anderson family for nearly two centuries. How could she be the one to walk away? Her father would have wanted her to take over when his brother, Audrey’s uncle Phillip, decided to retire.
She shivered. It wasn’t like she’d had a choice. That decision had been taken from her years ago.
She dragged her cell from the clutch. When she had learned the developer who wanted to buy the Gazette planned to tear it down, she’d had to take control. The shiver turned into a chill that scurried deep into her bones.
The historic building could not be torn down. Ever.
At least not as long as Audrey was still breathing.
The caller ID read Pine Haven. A new kind of dread spread through Audrey’s body. Pine Haven was her mother’s residential care facility.
“Audrey Anderson.” She held her breath. It had been two days since she’d visited her mom. What kind of daughter allowed forty-eight hours to pass without dropping by or at least calling?
“Ms. Anderson, this is Roberta Thompson at Pine Haven.”
The worry in the other woman’s voice sent another spear of uncertainty knifing through Audrey.
“Your mother is very agitated tonight. We need to sedate her but she insists on seeing you first. I know it’s late but—”
“I’ll be right there.”
* * *
THE DRIVE TO Pine Haven on the other side of town took scarcely fifteen minutes and still it felt like forever. Audrey’s heart pounded twice for every second that passed before she was parked and at the front entrance. The night guard waved her through. Evidently her mother had the facility’s night shift all out of sorts.
Nurse Roberta Thompson waited for Audrey at the entrance to the Memory Care Unit. Roberta smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry I had to bother you at this hour, but she won’t stay in her bed and she’s demanding to see you. When a patient is this agitated we nearly always have to use sedation, but your mother’s file says you prefer to be called first.”
“Absolutely.” Audrey held up her hands. “Please. You know I always want you to call. No matter the hour.”
Roberta nodded. “Talk to her. You’re what she needs right now. Then we’ll get her settled for the night.”
Mary Jo Anderson was pacing her room when Audrey walked through the door. Her short white hair was mussed, her long flannel gown rumpled as if she’d already tossed and turned all night.
“Mom.”
Mary Jo’s gaze settled on Audrey’s. For a moment she stared, the haze of confusion and distance dulling her blue eyes. She was far away from this place, perhaps not in miles but in time. Audrey knew the look too well. When she came back home to buy the paper and to stay until she sorted out her future, Audrey had been startled by the episodes of total memory loss her mother suffered. Startled and heartbroken. How could she have deteriorated so without Audrey knowing it?
“Audrey.” The haze cleared and her mother smiled.
Audrey closed the door and walked over to hug her. “What’s going on? Nurse Thompson told me you’re upset.”
When Audrey drew back, her mother’s smile was gone. “They’ll find him and then you know what will happen.”
The too-familiar apprehension stole back into Audrey’s gut. “Let’s sit down, Mom, okay? I’m really tired. I’m sure you must be, too.”
She ushered her mom to the bed and they sat on the edge.
Mary Jo took in Audrey’s jeans and