A Chill Rain in January by LR Wright Page B

the doctor reproachfully. He bent over Benjamin Strachan. “You’re putting on weight; I notice it more every time I see you, Karl. A little mountain climbing wouldn’t do you any harm.”
    â€œGet a move on, will you? His sister wants to get the body out of here.”
    â€œYes. I do,” said Zoe from the top of the stairs.
    The men looked up. She stood, motionless, with one hand on either side of the doorway, a little higher than her shoulders. One knee was flexed, the other straight. Her face was in shadow. She seemed to fill the doorway, although Alberg knew this was a trick of perspective.
    He waited anxiously for her to speak again.
    He wanted to move, to say something to encourage her, but he was transfixed.
    â€œWell,” said the doctor. He nudged Alberg. “I can certainly understand that, ma’am. And you can be assured that I’m going to get this matter dealt with just as quickly as I can.” He nudged Alberg again. “Get up there, Staff Sergeant, and keep the lady amused.”
    At the top of the stairs, Zoe laughed.

Chapter 21
    R AMONA had looked around her on Thursday afternoon and seen the plants and known that left alone for three weeks, some of them were going to die. She knew then that Marcia must have left her key with someone who’d agreed to come in and water them. That somebody was bound to be Marcia’s mother, Reba McLean. Ramona figured that was how the policeman had gotten in; he’d borrowed the key from Reba McLean.
    So she could expect Reba to come clattering up to the door any old time now, driving that beat-up white Beetle she tootled around in. Ramona knew she couldn’t be here when that happened. Reba knew the house too well. She’d spot the slightest thing that looked different, out of place. And she’d poke around, too, making herself right at home, maybe even peering into the back of the closet.
    Ramona tried and tried, that night and during the next day, to think of where she might go. She was very worried, very anxious.
    And she didn’t like to admit it to herself, but there wasn’t any point in trying to deny it: sometime Friday afternoon she lost some more time. When she “came to,” she was huddled in the back of the bedroom closet again. That relieved her mind somewhat to know that she apparently had the wit, even while witless, to remember that she was in hiding.
    She’d lost time while she was in the hospital, too; but it hadn’t mattered so much there.
    Now it was Saturday morning. Ramona once more checked the soil in the plant pots. None was completely dried out yet, but most of them were due for a watering, all right.
    She wondered what Anton would have had to say about her predicament, and that brought a smile to her face, which made her feel a little better. She sat down at the rickety kitchen table with a pencil and a pad of lined yellow paper, and she started making lists.
    First she put down the good things about her situation. Although her mind certainly did meander off somewhere periodically, she thought that when in attendance, it was brighter and brisker than it had been for some time. Physically, she was feeling a whole lot better than she had any right to feel.
    But on the other side of the ledger, she had to leave her house, and that was a sorry blow. Today she had to do a reconnaissance, try to find a house farther along the beach that was unlocked and temporarily unoccupied.
    Another minus—she had to admit it—she was going to get bored and restless, eventually. At the moment she was entirely enjoying the freedom to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted to do it. But she knew that after a certain number of days—she had no idea how many—her craving for companionship would reassert itself. Would she have to go back to the hospital, then?
    Ramona knew Dr. Gillingham hadn’t persuaded her into that place because he wanted her to be miserable. He’d