That was nowhere near as bad as I was expecting. “So?”
“So I don’t want to paint the lines.”
“Why not?”
“Because only a fascist would try to make a man paint lines in his own parking lot.”
“Why really?”
“Because their dimensions for parking spaces will eliminate three spots and parking is already at a premium here because of the gas station.”
Fewer parking spaces meant fewer customers, which in turn meant less money. “So compromise,” I suggested. “Agree to paint the lines, but only if you can decide on the parking space measurements.”
“No. They can’t make me paint lines.”
Something told me they could. “I’m guessing there’s some sort of fine tied up in there if you don’t acquiesce to their demands.”
“I’m sure there is, but I refuse to play that game. This is my line in the sand. This is the hill I’m willing to die on.”
“Parking space lines is your hill to die on?”
“That’s what I said.”
I held his gaze a beat longer and then heaved out a sigh. He wouldn’t give. That meant it was up to me — well, my other family members and me — to come to a compromise for him. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”
“Kick her out.” Grandpa lowered his voice. “You know better than anyone that she’s evil. Don’t look her in the eye. That’s how she steals your power. Just kick her out and we’ll be done with her.”
He knew it wouldn’t be that easy, but I let it go. He was worked up — probably the extra protein from the eggs — and there would be no talking to him until he calmed down. “I’ll handle it,” I promised, moving toward the swinging doors. “Just ... have some milk or something. Whatever you do, stop eating those eggs.”
He cradled the plate closer to his chest. “You’re not the boss of me.”
I pasted what I hoped was a conciliatory smile on my face as I moved to the cafe. One look at Phoebe told me she recognized trouble was coming. To give myself time, I slowed my pace and allowed Martha Madison to cross in front of me as she headed toward the external door. She was older and slower, and when I stepped in front of Phoebe I had an idea of what I was going to say.
It never came to fruition, though.
“Martha? Martha, are you okay?” I turned my attention to the door, where Kurt Kearney stood holding the heavy glass panel open. He’d stooped slightly to look Martha in the face. He looked concerned.
I held up my finger to still Phoebe. “One second.”
I hurried toward the older woman — she was in her late seventies if I had to guess, and always seemed the picture of health — but before I could reach her the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It was as if I knew what was going to happen before it actually occurred.
As if in slow motion, Kurt reached out to grab Martha’s arm, letting go the door. I was striding toward him and caught the door before it could slam, but it was already too late. Martha was toppling before I could get to her.
The woman hit the floor with a sickening thud, her eyes rolling back in her head. An incoming customer started to freak out.
This morning had officially taken a turn.
2
Two
I dropped to my knees next to Martha. Kurt was next to me, his hands shaking. He looked almost transparent he was so pale.
“I tried to help her.”
“I know,” I reassured him, moving my hand to the back of her head to check for an open wound, one she might’ve incurred in her fall.
“I really tried.” His breath was ragged and I worried he might pass out and make things worse. To keep that from happening, I gave him a task.
“Call 911,” I ordered, rolling Martha so I could rest her head in my lap. “Get them out here right away.”
“Right. Right.” His hand shook as he dug in his pocket for his phone. “What should I tell them?”
“Tell them she passed out and may have hit her head.” I rubbed my fingers over the back of her scalp looking for a bump. “I can’t find an open wound.”
“That’s good, right?” Kurt looked hopeful. I remembered him as a nice man, one who never caused much trouble. His biggest claim to fame was that he was some prized morel hunter. Other than that, he watched football and drank coffee with the other locals every morning.
I ran my fingers over Martha’s cheek and moved them to her neck to check for a pulse. I found one, but it was faint and thready. “Tell them to get here as soon as possible.”
Kurt punched the numbers in and relayed the information haltingly. He nodded a few times and then disconnected. “They’re on their way.”
“Great. I ... .” Martha, who had been completely still for the duration of the call, started jerking, her arms flailing. I tried to hold her still ... and that’s when foam began leaking from her mouth.
“Oh, my ... .” Kurt pulled away, his eyes wild. “What do we do?”
I didn’t know what to do, so I held Martha, right up until she stopped seizing and her heart failed. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was gone.
HUNTER ARRIVED TEN minutes after the ambulance pulled in. The paramedics worked on Martha when they first arrived, but their efforts were minimal. Dave Bates, the older member of the team, called Martha’s death within two minutes of starting resuscitation efforts.
“What happened?” Hunter asked me.
My initial instinct was to hug him, but I remembered we were supposed to lay low until the initial gossip over his breakup with Monica Johnson died down. Shadow Hills was so small that our reunion would stir up a tidal wave of chatter. That was the last thing either of us needed right now.
“I’m not sure.” I held out my hands. “She was walking fine when she left the restaurant, but the second she hit the door she went down.”
“Okay.” He took me by surprise when he pulled me in for a hug, exhaling heavily before pulling back. “I heard someone went down at the restaurant. They didn’t say who it was. I was worried.”
I hadn’t considered that. “Oh, well ... I’m fine. The worst thing to happen to me today — other than this — is that I had to listen to Grandpa explain why only perverts like sunny-side up eggs.”
“Because they look like boobs?”
I made a face. “What is it with dudes? Where are you seeing these yellow boobs?”
He smirked. “It’s not the color.”
“I know, it’s the shape.” I watched the paramedics load Martha onto a gurney. “She died in my arms.”
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand over my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“It happened really fast.”
“That probably doesn’t make it any easier for you.”
We were quiet a few moments, his hand never moving from my shoulder.
“Oh, well, look at you,” a disdainful female voice drawled from the doorway, causing me to stiffen. “You guys are just the cutest thing ever.”
Hunter glanced over his shoulder, his lips curving into a scowl as he glared at Phoebe. “And here’s the sun to brighten our day,” he said, sarcasm on full display. “I thought you were living carb-free these days. Doesn’t that mean you nibble from the salad bar at the grocery store?”