Page 4 of Crosshairs

Ainsley’s heart sank. Brain bleeds equaled strokes. Cora was ninety-two, and recovery would be iffy. “Do you think we could talk to her? In case on some level she can hear us?”

“I think that would be good.” Linc held out his hand to help her grandmother stand.

Ainsley joined Gran at the side of the gurney. A small monitor beeped a rapid 120 beats a minute, and oxygen flowed through the mask. At least Cora’s color was better. Now if she would just open those bright blue eyes and recognize them.

“You are going to be fine,” her grandmother said, leaning near Cora’s ear as she rubbed her sister’s limp hand. “Just fine.”

“We love you, Cora,” Ainsley added softly, willing her to live. Gran would be lost if anything happened to her sister.

Suddenly her eyes fluttered open.

“Cora,” Ainsley said, leaning toward her. “We’re here.”

“Charlotte’s ... diaries,” she whispered.

Ainsley could barely hear the words through the face mask and leaned closer.

“New ... find ... them.”

“What diaries?” Gran asked.

Cora stared at her briefly, then closed her eyes.

“Cora Jane Chamberlain,” Gran said. “You better not die on me!”

“Don’t ... worry,” she whispered. “Head hurts...”

“Was anyone here tonight when you fell?” Ainsley asked.

Her aunt turned her head slightly, her eyes opening. “I...” Her lips moved, but no words came.

“Shh,” Gran said. “Just rest.”

Ainsley’s first instinct was to push Cora to remember, but pressing for answers could make her condition worse. Instead, she backed away from the bed to give the sisters privacy.

What diaries could she be talking about? Earlier in the day they’d discussed the one leather-bound diary Cora had found but then misplaced, which was not like her aunt at all. She might be past ninety, but she was still sharp. Gran too. Had Cora found more diaries? Who would care? Her questioning mind returned to the damp carpet.

“Nice tan you’ve got there,” Linc said.

She jumped.

“Sorry, I thought you saw me standing here.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He must’ve been watching her to notice her tan. She forced her thoughts back to the wet carpet upstairs. “Why was the carpet by Cora’s desk wet?”

“What are you talking about?”

Ainsley usually worked alone, and sometimes her habit of talking to herself could be embarrassing. “Nothing.” Why did he rattle her so?

Linc crossed his arms. “Do you think someone was in the library with her?”

He sounded like a cop. Oh, wait. He was former FBI. “I don’t know. I didn’t have time to investigate or see if anything else was out of place,” she said and explained what she’d found. “Pretty sure someone had been standing there with wet shoes, or water had run off their clothing, maybe a slicker like you had on. Thenyou arrived, and here we are. As soon as this storm passes over, I plan to check it out.”

Linc chewed his bottom lip just like he had years ago when he was trying to solve a problem. “Could you have—”

“No. The wet carpet is behind her desk, where neither of us had walked.”

“What do you mean, the carpet is wet?” Her grandmother had crossed the room to where they stood.

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