Page 15 of Little Shattered Dreams

Faith took several steps back, her head shaking. She began wheezing as she whispered, “No. No. No. No. No. I don’t believe it. If she was dead, someone would have told me. I’d know by now.”

“I assume the police are looking for the next of kin as we speak. They were here most of the night. They just left a few hours ago. And you said you’d had a few phone calls.”

Faith dropped to her knees. “It can’t be. She was doing better. I don’t understand it. Why would she do this after she’d come so far?”

Faith sat there, her head hung, sobbing. It was then I realized she’d assumed her mother had died a different way than she had, and I had yet to explain the worst of it. I knelt beside her. “I’m so sorry. There’s something else you need to know.”

“No, there isn’t. I know what happened, and if I’m right, it’s all my fault. A couple of weeks ago she was going to cancel her reservation. I convinced her to keep it. She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. How’d she do it this time? Pills again?”

Pills.

Again.

Quinn must have tried taking her own life at least once in the past.

“It isn’t anything like that,” I said. “And it wasn’t your fault. If you’re thinking your mother committed suicide, she didn’t. There’s nothing to suggest that’s what happened, anyway.”

Faith glared at me. “What are you talking about? If she didn’t kill herself, then how could she be dead?”

“The police asked us not to talk about the investigation, but I’m guessing they didn’t know you were here at the retreat. We believe someone else was involved, someone who was in her room last night. Maybe that’s why the back door was open. When I found her, she’d been shot. There was a wound at the back of her head.”

Faith waved her hands back and forth in front of her. “What, now? Are you saying she was … that someonekilledher?”

“It looks like it. The police can fill you in on everything. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you as soon as they can.”

“My mother was a good person. Why would anyone want to end her life?”

Why, indeed.

As I thought about what to say next, my eyes were drawn to a stain on Faith’s pajama pants, a stain that hadn’t been there a few minutes before.

I motioned toward the stain, saying, “Are you all right?”

“Of course, I’m not all right. My mother’s dead.”

“No, I mean, your pants … you’re bleeding.”

CHAPTER8

Faith pressed both hands over her stomach, uttering a nervous, “Oh, no. My baby.”

Shit.

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse than I already did.

“You’re pregnant?” I asked. “How far along?”

“Nine weeks.”

“Have you ever spotted before?” I asked.

“Never. I don’t know what to do. I’m having … I don’t know … cramps, I guess. It hurts. I’m freaking out.”

“It’s all right. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s get you inside and we can figure out what to do next.”

I slung my arm around her waist, helping her inside my place. The blood was still coming, and it was more than I thought it should be.

We walked together to the bathroom, and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

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