Page 99 of Crosshairs

Austin’s face hardened. “Don’t lecture me, Beaumont.That girlalmost got my son killed.”

She bit back the retort on her tongue that would only make matters worse. “I hope he pulls through.”

“I bet you do.” He brushed past them, and Ainsley stopped him.

“Would you let me know when he’s able to talk?”

“Yeah, right.” He stalked away from them.

Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. She’d wanted to ask if Drew had given him the names of the boys Hannah had hung out with, but even if she’d asked, it was doubtful Austin would have told her.

A nurse was in Cora’s room, hanging a new IV bag. “How is she?” Ainsley asked, glancing at her dozing aunt. Seemed like she was sleeping a lot lately.

“Her vitals are good. A little confused still, but that’s to be expected in an ICU.”

“Are you Drew Kingston’s nurse?” she asked.

“Yes.” Her tone was guarded.

“Can you tell me how he is? Generally,” she added quickly when the nurse frowned. Maybe her badge would help, and Ainsley fished it from her purse. “I’m with the Investigative Services Branch of the park service, and Drew’s shooting is involved in a case I’m working on.”

“That little girl who was murdered? Hannah Dyson?” Her face softened. “She was my daughter’s friend. I didn’t know Drew’s shooting was connected to that.”

“We think it is.” She took a card from her purse. “Could you call me when he wakes up? I believe he has vital information on Hannah’s murder.”

She hesitated only a few seconds before taking the card. “If I’m here. I’m off tomorrow, but I work Tuesday.”

“Thank you,” Ainsley said as Cora coughed and her eyes blinked open.

Linc took her hand. “You been playing possum, Miss Cora?”

“A person learns a lot that way,” she replied.

Ainsley was happy to see that her eyes were clear. “So, you’re feeling better?” she asked.

“If you’re about to ask me what happened that night, I’m afraid you’re wasting your breath. Everything is a murky haze in my mind.”

“Then I won’t ask,” Ainsley said. “How about the diaries? Did you tell Dad about them?” Cora stared at her like she’d spoken a foreign language. “You don’t remember any diaries, do you?”

“Diaries.” Her eyes narrowed. She shook her head. “They seem very important to you. What’s in them?”

Maybe if she put the diaries into context for her aunt. “I’m not sure exactly...”

“Miss Cora,” Linc said. “I was helping you work on the book about Robert Chamberlain—”

“My great-grandfather,” she said, looking pleased with herself.

“Yes,” Ainsley said. “And what started it all was a diary you found and then misplaced.”

“I did not misplace it,” she said, stubbornness in her voice. “I believe someone stole it.” She gripped Ainsley’s hand. “Sonny. I told him about it, and he wanted to read it, and then it went missing.”

“Who is Sonny?” she asked.

“You know,” Cora insisted. “That little ragamuffin is always getting into trouble!” She squinched her eyes and shook her head. “No, no, that’s not right.”

Cora stared at the wall, and Ainsley waited, hoping she would continue.

With a sigh, her aunt turned to her. “I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”

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