If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [145]
“You’re suggesting he killed her?”
“If Grace owns the place after his dad’s death, then she could sell whenever she wanted.”
Grace might have been worried about Steve’s health. She could have thought selling the lodge was the right thing to do. “But,” Lucy said, “we don’t know if she owns the land, or if Steve does, or both.”
“We can find out.”
“We’ll need to go to the recorder’s office, or—”
“Or I can look around here.”
Lucy frowned. “You need to be careful.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
She didn’t want to believe Steve was a killer, but he seemed so distraught. Perhaps his mysterious illness made him act rashly.
There was something premeditated about Vanessa’s death. Who keeps hypodermic needles lying around? Who has poison at their disposal—and knows how to use it?
“You need to be careful, too, sis.” Patrick said.
A crash from the kitchen had Lucy and Patrick bolting up from their chairs. Patrick pushed open the swinging door into the kitchen and found Kyle DeWitt on the floor, struggling to stand.
Patrick squatted next to him and helped him sit up. “Whoa, Kyle, hold on a second. What happened?”
“I just felt dizzy.”
“And fainted?”
“I guess.” He touched his forehead. A bump was already forming.
Lucy walked over to the refrigerator for ice and stepped into a puddle of spilled juice amid broken glass.
“Sorry,” Kyle said. “I dropped my glass.”
Grace rushed in. “What happened?”
“I’m fine. Really.” The guy looked embarrassed. “Just slipped.”
Grace stared at the mess on the floor.
“I’ll clean it up,” Lucy offered.
“No,” Grace snapped, “I’ll do it.” She strode over to a cabinet and grabbed some rags and a broom and dustpan.
Lucy and Patrick exchanged glances. She was wound tight. Maybe they all were tonight, with a dead body in the root cellar.
“You fainted,” Patrick said. “You didn’t just slip.”
Grace said, “We’re at a seventy-five-hundred-foot elevation. The air is thinner up here.” She knelt to pick up the biggest pieces of glass.
Lucy said, “Grace is right. The thin air could affect you, especially if you overexert yourself. Usually symptoms of high-altitude sickness don’t occur until eight thousand feet—”
Grace cut her off. “That’s arbitrary. People are affected differently.”
“True,” Lucy said, though she didn’t completely agree. The human body processed oxygen at different ranges comfortably; it was when the atmosphere started to thin at eight thousand feet that the oxygen level sharply declined. Kyle was a grown man, physically fit, and he shouldn’t have a problem here. But she wasn’t going to quibble over five hundred feet. “Do you have a headache?” Lucy asked.
“No, I just felt light-headed and dizzy. I didn’t really faint.”
Patrick helped Kyle to his feet. “I think we’re all tired and under stress. You should go to bed. We all should.”
“Good idea,” Grace said.
Angie walked in. “What’s wrong?” She looked at the bump on Kyle’s head. “My God, Kyle! What happened?”
“I slipped. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!”
Lucy handed Angie the makeshift ice compress she was holding. Angie put it on his head. “Ouch, that’s cold!”
“Let’s go to bed,” Angie said. “I need to keep my eye on you.”
He kissed her, then pulled her into a hug. “I’m fine, babe, really. You can have your way with me.”
Angie hugged her husband back tightly, her voice filled with emotion. “You’d better be.”
“Hon, I am. Really.”
Kyle kept his arm around his wife, and they said good night to the others as they walked out together.
Lucy watched them leave the kitchen. She reflected that even after two years with Cody, she’d never felt that comfortable with him, where she could joke about their sex life or show public displays of affection. With Kyle and Angie it was entirely natural, not in any way forced. Their affection showed in their expression, how they looked at each other, how they touched each other. It was the subtle hints that showed Lucy that Kyle and Angie truly cared for each other, the little things that Lucy had worked hard to