Borrowing Death by Cathy Pegau Page A

flutter ran through her stomach. She couldn’t possibly ask him that. It was none of her business. But as friends, shouldn’t they be able to ask each other such things?
    Just a friend? Is that what he is?
    Of course he was. She wanted to visit with James over a lovely dinner at The Wild Rose. Yet the way he acted toward her, the way he made her feel sometimes . . .
    It scared the devil out of her.
    He’s not Richard, she reminded herself.
    No, but even Richard hadn’t become the real Richard until after they’d been together. A man’s true self emerged when put under pressure, and what happened between them certainly qualified as pressure.
    Would James have reacted the same way?
    She wasn’t sure, and, in a way, preferred the arm’s-length distance she kept him at so she’d never find out. It was safer, not knowing who he really was. Safer that he didn’t know who she really was.
    The rattle of the outer door turned her around, teacup in hand. Michael came in, quickly shut the door behind himself, and gave an exaggerated shiver.
    â€œGetting blustery out there,” he said as he removed his hat and stamped his slush-covered boots on the rug near the door. “Was coming to ask if you wanted to get some coffee or something, but I see you’ve got your tea. Mary’s organizing my office, and I thought I should get out of the way for a bit.”
    â€œI think I could use something stronger than tea, and maybe a slice of pie.” It took Charlotte a moment to remember who Mary was. “How’s Mary working out? Did she help you get the autopsy report written?”
    She felt a small pang of guilt, having not come back to him to finish her secretarial duties.
    â€œI did it myself, actually,” he said. “Mary has already spoken to a number of her friends in the village about coming to see me if their own methods aren’t sufficient. They have a lot of natural remedies that are quite effective, but sometimes even they don’t work. Mostly the women seem more inclined to see me than the men are.”
    â€œThat’s because men don’t like to admit they need a doctor unless they’re practically at death’s door.”
    Michael nodded. “True enough.”
    â€œWas Lyle Fiske one of your patients?”
    â€œNo, he and Caroline saw Dr. Hastings.”
    That figured. Dr. Hastings was the senior physician in town and generally tended the more well-to-do in Cordova. A third doctor, Bergoff, was just getting settled in. “How about Mrs. Derenov, the Fiskes’ housekeeper who passed away?”
    Michael’s expression fell at the mention of the woman’s name. Charlotte didn’t think he’d had a close, personal relationship with Mrs. Derenov, but as her doctor he would have felt her loss.
    â€œYes, she was one of mine. Sweet woman. Worked hard all her life and—” He stopped short, frowning.
    â€œAnd?” Charlotte prompted.
    â€œOther than the Fiskes, she had no one but her son and daughter. The son had been down in the States for quite some time. Mrs. Derenov did well enough, I guess, but she sent money to him for whatever his troubles were.”
    â€œAnd the daughter?”
    â€œStill in school here. A bit younger than her brother. Though with Mrs. Derenov gone, who knows if she’ll stay in school past this year.”
    â€œDoesn’t Ben want his sister to get an education?”
    Michael’s eyebrows lifted. “How do you know Ben Derenov?”
    Charlotte hesitated. Michael had become a bit overprotective since she’d arrived in Cordova and didn’t particularly care for her poking about for stories. “I went over to the Fiskes’ earlier to pay my respects. He was there cutting wood.”
    Inside, she cringed slightly at the half truth.
    Michael stared at her for a second, trying to see if there was more to it. Which there was, but he didn’t need to know