Page 7 of Murder on the Page

“Don’t worry about me. I’m dehydrated, that’s all,” Marigold said, accepting my diagnosis.

“Tegan.” Noeline was a warm, caring woman with a gentle voice and easy demeanor. “Why didn’t you call 911?”

Vanna said snottily, “I was going to ask the same thing.”

“We just got here,” Tegan said. “I was on a break, visiting Allie. When Auntie telephoned, we rushed right over. Auntie, I’m going to cancel your meeting with the donors.”

“Yes, do that, dear.” Marigold struggled to her feet. “What are you doing here, Noeline?”

“I was taking a morning stroll.”

Marigold said, “Liar. You hate walks. You came to check on me.”

“Did not.”

“You think I’m withering in my old age. You think I won’t be able to balance the books,” Marigold said. She was seventy; Noeline was ten years younger.

“That’s not true.” Noeline owned a quarter of the bookshop, a gift from Marigold, although she was a silent partner, since she had her hands full with the bed-and-breakfast. “And you know it.”

“Do I?” Purposely, Marigold pulled a prunish face, then laughed.

Noeline chuckled, too, in the identical throaty way.

Their laughter wasn’t their only likeness. They had the same fine features and inquisitive eyes, and now their hairdos were similar, although Noeline continued to dye hers blond.

“Mother,” Vanna said. “I was at the mayor’s house going over a menu and thought I’d stop in and check on Auntie.” She couldn’t help dropping names of Bramblewood’s high and mighty. “Good thing I did.”

Good thing, indeed,I reflected.

“Noeline, sweetheart.” A handsome, silver-haired gentleman, with prominent cheekbones and an easy smile, came into view. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Noeline grabbed hold of his hand.

“Who are you?” Tegan asked abruptly.

“Rick O’Sheedy,” he replied.

Noeline beamed. “Rick is a—”

“A financial consultant for Alta Barlow Hospital,” Marigold cut in, her tone sharp. Evidently, she had rebounded. Did she disapprove of Rick’s being an advisor or of him personally?

Rick nervously smoothed the silk tie that lay beneath his pin-striped suit and pocketed his key ring. I noticed the key ring had a red fob on it and tamped down a giggle. I’d seen comparable ones on dog collars of persons who walked their furry pets in the dark. Did Rick get lost often?

Tegan gave me a curious look, probably wondering why I was pressing my lips together.

Noeline said, “Rick is prepping the hospital so they can issue bonds to raise money.”

The Alta Barlow Hospital was a newer concern and more like an emergency clinic, consisting of three floors with approximately one hundred beds. It was situated north of the police station and fire department on Mountain Road. Its sister facility in Asheville was much larger. Each of the rotating staff was top-notch.

“Rick has been meeting with the finance teams to ensure a good rating,” Noeline added, signaling him to continue.

“We’re allowed to temporarily issue thirty million a year in tax-exempt, bank-qualified bonds,” he said. “These deals not only expand a hospital’s credit power, but because we can bring them about quickly, they take as few as sixty days to close—”

“Rick,” Noeline cut in. “Don’t get technical. Broad strokes.”

He petted her cheek fondly. “Of course. They’re good for the hospital. Enough said.”

“You two are certainly spending a lot of time together,” Vanna said.

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