Moonshine Murder [Hawkman Bk 14] by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

asked, as she went to her chair by the window.
    "No, he came by before I got to the office."
    Jennifer remained silent as she read the missive. She wrinkled her forehead and glanced at Hawkman. “What was his point in writing this note?"
    "Beats me,” he said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a beer. “You want a drink?"
    "Sure."
    He mixed her a gin and tonic, then moved to the other chair. “So, what's your take?"
    "I'm not sure. Either he wants you to stay away, or keep checking. Hard to say."
    "My thoughts exactly.” He waved a hand. “Enough about Jacob. Tell me why you went to the cabin."
    Jennifer told him about the paranormal callings she'd received this morning coming from Randy. “Very weird sensation."
    Hawkman stared at his wife. “I can imagine. So that's why you took a notion you should go see if there was a problem?"
    "Yes. I couldn't get anything done."
    "So what'd you find out?"
    She related how she'd found Beth on the floor in dire pain. “Randy told me he'd been sending me telepathic thoughts to come quickly because his mother was ill. Guess I received them."
    "Continue."
    "I wanted to take her to the doctor, but she wouldn't have anything to do with my suggestion. She said the pain would go away and she'd be fine."
    "What do you think was her problem?"
    "I'm only guessing, and want your opinion. I think she had induced a miscarriage, probably with herbs."
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
    Hawkman looked fixedly at his wife. “Since I know nothing about pregnant women, you still want my opinion about this? What I'd like to know is, why would she want to abort her baby?"
    "It's too soon after Marcy. Beth doesn't need another infant to look after."
    "Do you think she's done this before?"
    Jennifer raised her hands in the air. “I haven't the vaguest idea, but it's very possible since several years have elapsed between Randy and Marcy."
    Hawkman scratched his ear, and grimaced. “How would she accomplish this dangerous deed?"
    "I imagine her being American Indian; she knows a lot about herb concoctions that do all sorts of things."
    "I suppose you'll take a trip to the cabin tomorrow to make sure she's okay?"
    "I've thought about it, but I don't think I will. If I become a nuisance, she won't want me around. If there's a problem, she'll either send Earl, or I'll get a mental message from Randy."
    "Wise decision, dear wife.” He slapped his hands against his thighs. “I almost went to sleep driving home; so I'm hittin’ the sack early tonight."
    She stood and took the empty beer bottle from the table. “You want something to eat before you retire?"
    "Nope, had a late lunch. I just want some good old shuteye."
    She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight."
    Hawkman disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door before the cat could follow.
    "Miss Marple, you get back in here,” Jennifer called. “He doesn't need your help."
    The feline meandered back into the living room, hopped onto the hearth and lay down on her favorite throw.
    Jennifer sat in the chair, threw an afghan over her legs, turned on the television and promptly fell asleep, not awakening until the wee hours in the morning. Blinking at the mute movie on the television screen, she shook her head, and for a moment didn't realize what woke her. She thought she'd heard clomping horses, and the rolling wheels of a wagon.
    Flipping off the lamp beside her, she jumped up and ran to the kitchen window. Not seeing a thing, she figured it had already passed. Taking Hawkman's night binoculars from the dining room table, she put them to her eyes and watched the bridge. Nothing passed over it, nor did she see anything on the road across the lake. Could they have possibly been headed in the other direction? If so, why didn't she spot the wagon earlier? She finally decided she'd been dreaming, turned off the television and trudged off to bed.
    * * * *
    Friday morning, Hawkman awoke refreshed, climbed out from