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The Police Chief's Lady
Jacqueline Diamond
No One Knew Her Side Of The Story…When Dr. Jenni Vine fled Los Angeles, she was trying to escape the taint of an old scandal. Luckily, most of the folks in small-town Downhome, Tennessee, seemed willing to give the lady doc the benefit of the doubt and were thrilled to have a glamorous outsider in their midst.Except For A One-Man Judge And Jury…Police chief Ethan Forrest liked his town peaceful, and he made it clear that the newcomer's dubious credentials–blond surfer girl in designer duds, and alleged home wrecker–put her at the top of his least-wanted list.But once Jenni starts caring for his motherless son, the lawman would swear on a stack of Bibles that she's not the heartbreaker type. Except, she's driving him wild!Downhome Doctors: First-rate doctors in a town of second chances


Dear Reader,
The Police Chief’s Lady is the first of three books set in the imaginary but real (to me, at least!) town of Downhome, Tennessee. It’s a place that needs doctors and offers them a second chance—with unexpected results.
People often ask where I get my ideas. In this case, the answer is easy: My father was, for a time, the only doctor in the small town of Menard, Texas. He rarely took a vacation because of the difficulty in finding another doctor to cover for him. Rather than have her babies at the nearest hospital, which was in another county, my mother gave birth at home, with Dad delivering my brother and me.
We eventually moved away, and I grew up mostly in Nashville, Tennessee, which is why I’ve chosen that state as the setting for these books. Although I live in California now, my mother still resides there.
I hope you’ll enjoy the story of Jenni and Ethan, and look forward as I do to the next two books, to be published in February and April. My heroines will be Leah Morris, the teacher who’s ready to spread her wings, and Karen Lowell, who’s never entirely fallen out of love with Dr. Chris McRay, even though his testimony sent her brother to prison.
You can e-mail me at jdiamondfriends@aol.com, and check out my latest books at www.jacquelinediamond.com.
Happy reading!


The Police Chief’s Lady
Jacqueline Diamond


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In memory of my father

Books by Jacqueline Diamond
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS
962—DIAGNOSIS: EXPECTING BOSS’S BABY
971—PRESCRIPTION: MARRY HER IMMEDIATELY
978—PROGNOSIS: A BABY? MAYBE
1046—THE BABY’S BODYGUARD
1075—THE BABY SCHEME

Contents
Chapter One (#ueb5b3f47-58bf-5841-bb8b-8a87df2da7ae)
Chapter Two (#u57ef0652-84a2-5111-a21b-a1e4d7011a39)
Chapter Three (#u825ad4d8-8e62-573d-9f32-6df815299c5a)
Chapter Four (#ucdf40de9-173f-5d4f-958f-311e59bd3f35)
Chapter Five (#ud3b88c5d-8269-5cab-bf29-687193ed7c86)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One
“Nobody knows better than I do how badly this town needs a doctor,” Police Chief Ethan Forrest told the crowd crammed into the Downhome, Tennessee, city council chambers. “But please, not Dr. Jenni Vine.”
He hadn’t meant to state his objection so bluntly, he mused as he registered the startled reaction of his audience. Six months ago, he’d been so alarmed by the abrupt departure of the town’s two resident doctors, a married couple, that he’d probably have said yes to anyone with an M.D. after his or her name.
Worried about his five-year-old son, Nick, who was diabetic, Ethan had suggested that the town advertise for physicians to fill the vacated positions. He also recommended that they hire a long-needed obstetrician. In the meantime, patients who couldn’t be helped by the nurse practitioner or staff nurse had to drive twelve miles to Mill Valley.
Applications hadn’t exactly poured in. Only two had arrived from qualified family doctors, both of whom had toured Downhome recently by invitation. One was clearly superior, and as a member of the three-person search committee, Ethan felt it his duty to say so.
“Dr. Gregory is more experienced and, in my opinion, more stable,” he said. “He’s married with three kids, and I believe he’s motivated to stick around for the long term.” Although less than ideal in one respect, the Louisville physician took his duties seriously and, Ethan had no doubt, would fit into the community.
“Of course he’s motivated!” snapped Olivia Rockwell, who stood beside Ethan just below the city council’s dais. The tall African-American woman, who was the school principal, chaired the committee. “You told us yourself he’s a recovering alcoholic.”
“He volunteered the information, along with the fact that he’s been sober for a couple of years,” Ethan replied. “His references are excellent and he expressed interest in expanding our public health efforts. I think he’d be perfect to oversee the outreach program I’ve been advocating.”
“So would Jenni—I mean, Dr. Vine,” said the third committee member, Karen Lowell, director of the Tulip Tree Nursing Home. “She’s energetic and enthusiastic. Everybody took to her.”
“She certainly has an outgoing personality,” he responded. On her visit, the California blonde had dazzled people with her expensive clothes and her good humor after being drenched in a thunderstorm, which she seemed to regard as a freak of nature. It probably didn’t rain on her parade very often out in the land of perpetual sunshine, Ethan supposed. “But once the novelty wears off, she’ll head for greener pastures and we’ll need another doctor.”
“So you aren’t convinced she’ll stay. None of us is in the mind-reading business,” Olivia opined. “Is that the extent of your objections? This isn’t typical of you, Chief. I’ll bet you’ve got something else up that tailored sleeve of yours.”
Ethan was about to pass off her comment as a joke, when he noticed some of the townsfolk leaning forward in their seats with anticipation. Despite being a quiet town best known for dairy farmers and a factory that made imitation antiques, Downhome had an appetite for gossip.
Although Ethan had hoped to avoid going into detail, the audience awaited his explanation. Was he being unfair to the applicant? he asked himself. True, he’d taken a mild dislike to Dr. Vine’s surfer-girl demeanor, but he could get over that. What troubled him was the reason she wanted to leave L.A. in the first place.
“You all know I conducted background checks on the candidates,” he began. “Credit records, convictions, that sort of thing.”
“And found no criminal activities, right?” Karen tucked a curly strand of reddish brown hair behind one ear.
“That’s correct. I also double-checked with the medical directors at their hospitals.”
“You didn’t mention that,” Olivia murmured.
“I hoped I wouldn’t have to bring it up.”
“I wasn’t criticizing,” the principal said. “I admire your thoroughness.”
Around the room, heads bobbed. Ethan felt glad the townspeople respected his approach. Four years ago, when he left the Nashville Metropolitan Police Department and returned home after his wife’s death, he had believed his professionalism was the reason they’d chosen him as chief over several other candidates.
Well, he had a bombshell to drop, so he’d better get it over with. “A few months ago, Dr. Vine became enmeshed in a controversy.” He tried to ignore the impatient way Karen twirled a pencil between her fingers. “Dr. Vine was counseling one of her patients about marital problems. She met with the woman and her husband outside of work.”
“What’s wrong with that?” demanded the nursing home director.
“Nothing, on the face of it,” Ethan replied. “However, a short time later, the patient filed a complaint. She told the medical director that her husband had confessed to becoming involved in an affair with Dr. Vine.”
Karen’s pencil went flying. In the audience, a couple of exclamations broke the stillness and some faces registered disapproval.
Olivia raised one eyebrow. “From this you conclude that she’s a husband-stealing tart who would sully the moral fiber of our community?”
“If we hire her, we’re placing her in a position of trust,” Ethan responded. “If she’s the type of person to exploit a situation, it makes me uncomfortable.”
“Jenni has a right to defend herself,” Karen said. “Did you speak to her about this?”
“Not directly, but I did look further.” Ethan checked his notes. “In response to the hospital board’s inquiry, Dr. Vine denied the allegation. She claimed the husband had been antagonistic and lied to get her out of the picture.” It struck him as a weak excuse, but he was here to present the facts.
“What action did the board take?” Olivia asked.
He folded the notes into his pocket. “They concluded there wasn’t enough evidence to take action. However, word got out, and the medical director says Dr. Vine’s presence on the staff has become awkward. Even assuming she’s innocent, that reinforces my concern as to whether she intends to stay here or is simply grasping at the first chance to escape an unpleasant situation.”
Council member Mae Anne McRay, a retired principal whose wheelchair barely permitted her to see above the council’s raised counter, piped up. “We advertised that we were offering doctors a second chance, didn’t we?”
“A second chance to live in a friendly, affordable town and escape from practicing corporate medicine,” said the mayor, Olivia’s husband, Archie Rockwell, who owned the feed store. “Not a second chance to seduce someone’s husband.”
“How about a second chance to prove she cares about patients and isn’t afraid to stick her neck out?” Mae Anne retorted.
“A recovering alcoholic needs a second chance, too,” Ethan observed. “And he’s been clean for a couple of years.”
Archie frowned. “I’m with Ethan on this one. Seducing a patient’s husband—that’s a serious allegation.”
“Maybe she was conducting sex therapy,” cracked Gwen Martin. The peppery café owner lived by the dictum that nobody over fifty should hesitate to speak her mind. “For Pete’s sake, the hospital board cleared her.”
“We didn’t advertise for no sex therapist,” grumbled 79-year-old Beau Johnson, who maintained a colloquial way of speaking despite his stature as grocery store owner and a descendant of the town’s founder.
“It’s not a matter of yea or nay on Dr. Vine. We have an excellent choice in Dr. Gregory,” observed Mayor Rockwell, keeping a wary eye on his wife. Olivia ruled her family as firmly as she ruled the town’s elementary and high school in her consolidated role as the town’s principal.
“We have to be careful. A controversy like this could tear our town apart!” cried the council’s fifth member, Rosie O’Bannon, owner of the Snip ’N’ Curl salon. Since she was given to making dire pronouncements that hardly ever came true, no one bothered to answer.
“Let’s put it to a vote,” the mayor said. “I know some folks in the audience have to get up early in the morning to tend to their farms, so do I hear a motion?”
“I move we hire Dr. Jenni Vine,” Gwen said.
“Second,” said Mae Anne.
“Discussion?” the mayor asked, following the formalities.
“We already had one,” Beau snipped.
The vote split three-to-two, women against men. That surprised Ethan, who’d expected Downhome’s ladies to reject a potential predator in their midst.
In any case, the decision had been made. Dr. Vine would be offered the position.
As the meeting broke up, he tried not to show his disappointment. Although the physician might have been falsely accused, Ethan had always had a knack for sizing people up, and his instincts told him that their new doctor was materialistic, spoiled and accustomed to charming her way out of difficulties.
“Well, Ethan?” Olivia asked as she collected her purse. “Think you can get used to a liberated lady in a white coat?”
“I’d hoped whoever we hired would work on the outreach program, but she didn’t show much interest when I mentioned it.” He shrugged. “As for my son…Nick’s medical team is in Nashville. We only contact the local doctor if there’s an emergency.”
“That’s your answer? That you’re going to avoid her?” the principal challenged.
“Quite the opposite. I keep my eye on everything that happens in Downhome. But I expect she’ll soon get tired of playing Marcus Welby and find a job closer to a shopping mall.”
Nearby, Karen straightened after retrieving her pencil. She bestowed a brief glare on Ethan before heading off.
He wished he hadn’t made such a tactless remark in Karen’s hearing. She apparently identified with Dr. Vine, perhaps because both were single women in their early thirties…or because her family was no stranger to questionable accusations.
Well, the time had come to switch from cop to daddy and collect Nick from his grandma’s house. At this hour, Ethan could expect only a sleepy hug as he tucked Nick into bed, but maybe he’d get lucky and hear a five-year-old’s recap of the day’s events.
He decided not to worry about Karen’s reaction. By the time Dr. Vine arrived, his comments would be old news.
THE WHIRR OF THE SEWING MACHINE masked the ring of Jenni’s cell phone. Attuned to being on call, however, she stopped in mid-seam and made a dive for her purse, which she’d dropped on the sofa bed after work.
She extracted the instrument and said breathlessly, “Dr. Vine.”
“Jenni? It’s Karen.” The Tulip Tree director’s excitement pulsed across the two-thousand-mile distance. “They voted! You’ll be getting a call from the mayor tomorrow.”
She could hardly breathe. “Do you mean…?”
“You got it!” Karen crowed. “Congratulations! When Archie calls, act surprised, okay?”
“You bet. That’s wonderful!” Jenni performed a little dance across the worn carpet of her tiny East L.A. apartment, which was all she could afford while paying off medical school loans.
No more commuting forty-five minutes each way in heavy traffic! No more worries about a possible threat from the abusive man whose wife she’d tried to rescue, and no more dubious looks from colleagues because of his lies. And since she’d written her last student loan check the previous month—which she’d celebrated by bringing doughnuts for everyone at work—she could afford to take a small-town position.
She felt ready for a change and for a second chance, as the ad had suggested. The friendliness of the people she’d met on her visit—most of them, anyway—had clinched her decision to take the position if it was offered.
“How soon can you come?” Karen asked. She and Jenni had clicked instantly, a fact that made the town all the more inviting.
“I have to give two weeks’ notice.” Jenni’s mind raced ahead. There wasn’t much to pack, and the only person she felt close to, the physician who’d mentored her, had retired the previous year and moved with her husband to Arizona. “I’ll need to find an apartment. Or is there a residential hotel?”
“No, but I’ll watch for vacancies,” Karen said. “You can stay with me till you locate a place. I’m sure my brother won’t mind. We’ve got plenty of room in the house.”
“That’s really kind, but it seems like an imposition,” Jenni replied.
“Actually, I’d enjoy it,” her new friend responded. “Besides, you’ll find a place before long.”
“That sounds wonderful, then! Thank you.” Things were meshing so easily that Jenni instinctively wondered what might go wrong. In her experience, you had to prove yourself wherever you went. “Some people must have preferred the other candidate.” She’d heard he was a middle-aged guy with a family. “If there are reservations about me, I’d like to know in advance. Especially since I’m on three months’ probation.”
“That’s true,” Karen said. “Well…”
“You won’t hurt my feelings.” Living for years with relatives who didn’t really want her had toughened Jenni to rejection, and taught her to deal with it up front. “Frankly, I figured the council would prefer someone older.”
“Some of them did,” Karen admitted. “It was a three-two vote. The women wanted you and the men preferred Dr. Gregory. Come to think of it, that was true for the search committee, too. It’s funny how that worked out.”
Jenni remembered the other two members of the committee quite clearly. “I’m glad I won Olivia’s approval. So the police chief disagreed. What was his name again?” She’d done her best to put it out of her head.
“Ethan Forrest.”
“Right.” She’d first seen him as she pulled her rental car into the clinic’s parking lot, twenty minutes late after a long drive from Nashville. He’d been scowling as he paced the walkway.
Even at a distance, Chief Forrest’s solid build and dark, masculine good looks had struck her. When she emerged from the car, Jenni had experienced what she called a go-back moment, an abrupt mood shift; suddenly she felt like a fifteen-year-old about to be chewed out by an adult. As a teenager, she’d often landed in trouble because she defied anyone who tried to put her down.
Ethan Forrest hadn’t scolded Jenni for tardiness. He’d even managed a smile, but not a warm one. She’d felt his brooding gaze following her the whole day as she toured the medical facilities and the town. Apparently, he’d taken a dislike to her, although she had no idea why.
“What exactly were his objections?” she asked.
After a moment’s hesitation, Karen said, “He brought up some accusation—which I’m sure isn’t true—about you and a patient’s husband.”
Jenni’s hands clenched. How dare he embarrass her publicly without even hearing her side of the story! She had to remind herself that the council had voted in her favor anyway.
“I hope nobody believed it,” she responded. “Because it isn’t true.”
“I know that!”
“Apparently, Chief Forrest doesn’t.” She decided immediately to call him by his first name as if they were equals. In some ways, they were, although she still faced probation. “What else did Ethan say?”
“Something about keeping an eye on you,” Karen admitted.
What did he think she planned to do—spend her days targeting other women’s husbands? But Jenni refused to vent her anger while talking to her new friend.
With an exercise of will, she kept her voice level as she assured Karen that she felt certain Ethan would come around. “And I promise to sound totally shocked when Mr. Rockwell calls tomorrow,” she added.
“I’m so thrilled! My friend Leah Morris—she’s a teacher—suggested we single women hold a potluck in your honor when you get here. Maybe you can share some stories about L.A. and we can clue you in about the local guys. Not that there are many worth talking about.”
“That would be great.” Jenni looked forward to meeting a supportive group of women. In L.A., she’d barely had time to keep up with her professional reading and affiliations, let alone socialize.
Her good mood lasted until she and Karen hung up. Then the information about Ethan Forrest came back to her. What was the man’s problem?
Grabbing a pillow, she whacked the arm of the couch. “Why?” Jenni demanded of this imaginary target. “Why did you try to screw things up for me? What did I ever do to you?”
She stood there, pillow in hand, overcome by another go-back moment. Ethan Forrest was a big man in Downhome and she’d be an outsider. She could picture him forever finding fault, searching for ways to turn others against her as Cousin Laura had done when Jenni, as a high school freshman, had to stay at her aunt’s house after one of her mother’s drug-related arrests.
Laura, a junior who resented having to share her home and her mother’s attention, had made life miserable for months by taunting Jenni at school. Jenni had initially tried to please her, but finally decided she’d turned the other cheek long enough.
One day, she’d responded to a gibe in kind, in front of other kids, tossing out embarrassing details until Laura fled in tears. Following her, Jenni had threatened worse if she reported the incident, and after that, Laura had left her alone.
Jenni wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but she’d felt desperate. She’d learned a lesson that day about standing up for herself.
Confronting the police chief might not be the wisest policy. However it went against Jenni’s nature to let him run her down behind her back. If he had anything to say, he had better be prepared to say it to her face.
Still stewing, she returned to her machine. Thank goodness for her flair with the needle, because she could never afford to buy a designer suit like this.
That was another life lesson she’d learned: no matter how poor you were, dressing badly made you the object of scorn. Survival had its rules, and Jenni was a survivor.
She intended to get that message across to Ethan in a manner he wouldn’t forget.

Chapter Two
From his office window, Ethan glanced across Tulip Tree Avenue at a couple of dog walkers making their way through the central square known as The Green. On a Monday morning, the center of Downhome spread placidly before him. To his left, a dairy truck turned south at the intersection of Tulip Tree and Home Boulevard; across the street next to The Green, a couple of workmen emerged from Pepe’s Italian Diner with cups of steaming coffee.
The town didn’t appear a likely setting for a crime wave. And by city standards, the recent reports of petty thefts seemed tame. Still, Ethan found something disturbing about the reports on his desk.
“You wanted to see me?” Captain Ben Fellows, the top-ranking officer below Ethan, appeared in his doorway. Unofficially, Ben filled the role of assistant chief. A few years older than Ethan and with fifteen years on the force, he’d been in the running for the top job four years ago, but didn’t seem to resent having been passed over.
“Yes. Is Mark with you?”
“Right here” came the voice of Lieutenant Mark O’Bannon, who supervised detectives and traffic in the small department.
Ethan gestured them into seats. His office provided enough space for a few visitors as well as a bookcase, file cabinet and computer station. As for the decor, his mother, Annette, a part-time interior designer and part-time baby-sitter, had picked out the cream paint and subtle green-and-cream print curtains. He’d retained the former chief’s oversize desk, with its accumulated scars, as a tribute to departmental tradition.
“This latest report—that makes three cases,” Ethan noted. “I’d say it rules out family and friends of the victims, which means we could be dealing with a serial criminal. The fact that no one’s been hurt and property loss is minimal doesn’t change the reality that these crimes are invasive and threatening by their very nature. What do you think?”
Mark, the twenty-eight-year-old son of council member Rosie O’Bannon, deferred instinctively to Captain Fellows. Ethan was also eager to hear Ben’s insight, since the man served as pastor at the Community Church and knew the citizenry better than anyone.
“Frankly, it’s a new one on me.” Ben scratched his head. “Someone slipping into houses and stealing family portraits off the wall is weird. And I agree, somewhat scary because it seems like a hostile thing to do. The guy might have the potential for violence, especially if someone stumbles across him.”
“At first, I figured it was a prank,” Mark noted. “I assumed the photos would turn up soon.”
“We can rule that out at this point,” Ethan said. “The stories in the paper have made it clear how distressed the victims are.”
The first case had been reported a month ago. A woman returning from a shopping trip had noticed a family photo missing from her living room wall but assumed her husband had taken it down. Only when she’d asked him about it that night and learned otherwise had she remembered leaving a side door unlocked. When she’d called the cops, they’d found a couple of leaves tracked inside but no real evidence.
In the second theft, two weeks later, a retired couple had been puzzled by the absence of their favorite photo and distressed a few days later when they realized it hadn’t simply been mislaid by the cleaning lady. The group portrait, which was irreplaceable, included a son who’d been killed in military action.
The latest case involved Pepe Otero, who owned Pepe’s Italian Diner, although his family had immigrated from Argentina. Since he lived over the restaurant, he frequently left his apartment unlocked. The previous night, he’d lost a picture of himself and his three kids in their younger years, a scene from which he’d had the image of his ex-wife digitally removed.
“Maybe Connie took it,” he’d told Ethan that morning when he filed the report. “She’s still mad at me, even though it was her who got tired of living in a small town. Maybe she sneaked in and swiped it.”
“Why would she?” Ethan asked. “She’s been gone for years.”
“Who else would take it?” Pepe had replied, and had been surprised to learn his was the third such theft. He admitted he rarely had time to read the weekly Downhome Gazette.
“We’re already pursuing the investigation,” Mark said. “What else should we do?”
“I’ll ask the paper to issue a warning,” Ethan answered. “I don’t want to make people panic, but they need to take this seriously and keep their doors and windows locked.”
“You want me to call Barry?” Ben was referring to the editor of the Gazette, Karen Lowell’s brother.
“I’ll handle it,” Ethan said. “However, I want to get your feedback first. You’ve both lived here longer than I have. Does anyone come to mind as a possible suspect? I’d like your gut feelings.”
Mark cleared his throat. “This probably isn’t relevant.”
“Let’s hear it.”
The young lieutenant folded his arms. “I stopped by the beauty shop to see Mom maybe six weeks ago and this guy named Arturo dropped by. He’s dating Helen, the manicurist.”
“Arturo Mendez?” Ben asked. “We’ve had some trouble with him. Minor stuff—mutual combat with other kids, graffiti, that kind of thing. He’s about nineteen.” Without being asked, he filled in. “Barely made it through high school, although he’s a talented artist. Does odd jobs around town and tries to sell his paintings where he can.”
“He seemed ticked off about this picture my mom has on the wall of her, me and Dad.” Mark’s father had died when he was young. “He made a crack about smug people who think they’re better than everybody else. Mom started clicking her scissors like she wanted to give him a haircut he’d never forget. Helen shooed him out of there in a hurry.”
“Does Arturo have a history of breaking and entering?” Ethan inquired.
Ben shook his head. “No, but he can be destructive. We made him repaint the back of the feed store after he covered it with graffiti. Archie said he liked the bright colors. Still, he couldn’t leave those four-letter words out there.”
“What about a search warrant,” Mark suggested. “We might find those photos at his apartment.”
“All we have are suspicions, not evidence,” Ethan said. “You can’t get a search warrant with that.”
“And if he’s not our culprit, seeing his house turned upside-down might push a mildly antisocial young man over the edge,” Ben pointed out.
“Agreed.” Ethan considered the matter. “Let’s do a little low-key sniffing around. Mark, drop into the beauty shop and encourage Helen to talk about her boyfriend. Ben, if Arturo tries any other funny stuff, that might give us a reason to check his place.”
Heads nodded. Ethan made a mental note to take stock of Arturo as soon as he found an unobtrusive way to do so. He wanted to assess the fellow for himself.
The two men left. Ethan would have preferred to spend the rest of this sunny June morning cruising the area to identify potential problems and become better acquainted with the citizenry. However, paperwork kept him behind his desk.
Half an hour later, he was contemplating fixing a third cup of coffee, when Amy Arroyo, who doubled as his secretary and as records clerk, wandered in wearing a puzzled expression. “Chief, Dr. Vine is here to see you. She’s in the lobby.”
Although he knew the doctor was scheduled to arrive today, Ethan hadn’t expected a visit. “This is a surprise.”
“Shall I show her in?”
“I’ll do it, thanks.” He got to his feet.
“I thought they were going to hire that doctor with the three kids,” the secretary said as she ambled into the hall. Although much of the town buzzed over every morsel of gossip, Amy lived in a world of her own.
“You didn’t read the article last week?” Barry Lowell had described Jenni in glowing terms, omitting any mention of her questionable past. Having once been convicted of a crime he swore he hadn’t committed, Barry—no doubt with Karen’s encouragement—obviously intended to give the newcomer plenty of leeway.
“My copy of Scientific American arrived last week. I didn’t have time to read anything else,” Amy admitted as she wandered off.
Ethan passed Ben’s office and the detective bureau, then opened the lobby door and saw Jenni. Against the tinted windows, she resembled a ray of sunshine with her short blond hair.
“Dr. Vine.” He thrust out his hand as he strode forward. “Welcome to Downhome.”
“Thank you.” She shook firmly.
She’d seemed giddier the last time they met. Today her chin had a resolute set and she held herself with military straightness.
“What can I do for you?” Ethan asked.
“May I speak to you alone?”
“Of course.” He held the door, noticing a light citrus scent as she breezed by. The desk officer gave her a big smile. When Jenni returned it, the fellow brightened as if she’d just made his day. Ethan suspected she had that effect on a lot of men.
For some reason, he remembered the night more than ten years ago in a Nashville country music bar when he’d first seen Martha perform. With her long chestnut hair, vivid face and soulful voice, she’d seemed utterly enchanting and unattainable. He would never have believed she could become his wife. Or that once he had her, he could lose her to cancer.
He shook his head, annoyed at the memory for intruding at this inappropriate moment. “My office is around to the left.” He wasn’t sure what made him add, “Ever been in a police station before?”
“I try to avoid them,” the doctor replied.
Her flame-colored suit smoldered against the subdued hues of his office. Instead of sitting, Jenni walked to the window and surveyed the downtown. “Great view.”
“I like it.” He remained standing. This was not, Ethan gathered, a social visit.
She turned. “I prefer to get things out in the open. I can’t stand when people talk behind my back, and I’m sure you would feel the same way.”
“If something’s bugging you, shoot.” He had a suspicion this outburst stemmed from the insulting remark Karen had overheard. Although he was willing to apologize, Ethan decided to let Jenni make the first move.
“First of all, I perfectly understand why you might prefer the other candidate. In your position, I’d probably have supported him myself,” she said.
Ethan kept silent.
“As for the slander that was spread about me in L.A., you should have asked for my side of the story.”
“The medical director told me you’d denied it and that the board took no action against you. I conveyed that information to the council,” Ethan explained.
She released a sharp breath. “But first you repeated that whole ugly business. Why?”
“It was my job. If I mishandled the situation, I apologize.”
“You don’t approve of me, do you?” she said coolly.
Ethan was caught off guard, perhaps because she’d hit on the truth. “I don’t know you.”
“You’re being evasive.” A death grip on her purse strap revealed her tension.
“You didn’t make a very favorable impression last month,” he conceded. “Perhaps I judged too quickly.”
“You don’t have to like me.” Jenni faced him squarely. “But you’re part of the establishment in Downhome and I don’t want to feel as if I have to watch my back whenever you’re around. I especially don’t want to have to watch it when you’re not around.”
Ethan found the implication insulting. “If you’re paranoid about authority figures, don’t take that out on me.”
“When someone objects to your high-handed behavior, do you always dismiss it as paranoia?” she returned.
They glared at each other across the office. Unwillingly, Ethan found himself admiring the woman’s gumption.
She’d originally struck him as a fluffy California blonde. Now he’d have to describe her as a fierce, fluffy California blonde, if such a creature existed.
Ethan wondered what it took to warm up those blue-gray eyes and why none of the millions of men in L.A. had given her a reason to stay. Suddenly, Downhome had become a more interesting place to live. But not necessarily a more comfortable one.
He needed to defuse the situation. Mildly, he said, “I should know better than to argue with a doctor. Particularly using a medical term like paranoia. I take that back,”
“Do you ever smile?” Jenni asked. “I mean really smile, not just twitch the corners of your mouth?”
He blinked in surprise. “All the time. At home, anyway.”
“I admire your wife if she has that effect on you.”
Ethan didn’t care to discuss Martha with Jenni. “I have a five-year-old son,” he said. “Naturally, he’s a brilliant wit.” Simply mentioning Nick lightened his mood. “He has a gift for making me laugh.”
“That’s better.” She relaxed her grip on her purse strap.
“What is?”
“When you mentioned your little boy, you gave evidence of containing actual human DNA.” she quipped.
A strange thing happened to Ethan then. He chuckled. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how rarely he did that around anyone aside from Nick. “I’ll have to be careful around you.”
“Why?” Jenni asked.
“You’re smarter than you—” He stopped.
“Smarter than I look?” Her voice held a challenge. “Believe me, I’ve heard that before.” She seemed rueful rather than angry. “It’s amazing the way some students assume a medical school must have accepted a blonde based on her sex appeal.”
“What did you do about it?”
“I kicked their gluteus maximus on exams,” Jenni returned. “It wasn’t easy, since I’m no genius. You can accomplish miracles if you study like a maniac and forgo a social life.”
She hadn’t mentioned needing to work. Perhaps her parents had paid the bills, but Ethan could hardly hold that against her. “I’d say you just kicked my gluteus maximus, figuratively speaking,” he said. “Coming here took guts.”
It was her turn to smile. “You’re a good sport.”
“How about a truce?”
Jenni released a long breath. Apparently, she’d been prepared for a rougher reception. “Fine. Live and let live.”
Ethan became aware that he’d instinctively shifted toward her. If he wasn’t careful, he might start flirting, he realized with a jolt.
He eased back, trying not to be obvious. Although he didn’t completely dismiss the possibility that Jenni had had an affair with her patient’s husband, he could see why Karen and Olivia believed her.
“There is one matter I wanted to mention,” he said.
“Oh?” She withdrew into caution again.
Being rich and gorgeous must be tougher than he’d thought if it produced such a strong defensive mechanism.
“Have a seat.” Ethan wanted to put their meeting on a more neighborly basis. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She perched on the edge of a chair.
He helped himself to a mugful from the pot atop a low file cabinet. “When did you get into town?”
“This morning.”
“You came to my office first thing? You must really have been steamed.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m not sure my wheels touched the ground on the way from Nashville. I don’t like the idea of being put under a microscope.”
“Fair enough. In fact, from now on, you have leave to put me under a microscope. Turnabout’s fair play, right?”
Her expression turned to one of mingled amusement and embarrassment.
“What did I say?” he inquired. “You have the funniest look on your face.”
This time she blushed deep red. “I was wondering who you use as your personal physician.”
Now he understood. If he became one of her patients, that would mean getting examined in a very intimate manner.
Ethan hoped his discomfort didn’t show as clearly as hers. “Fortunately for both of us, I have a doctor in Nashville. I make appointments when I take my son in. He’s diabetic,” he added.
“I see. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“There is, but not with Nick.” Ethan finished stirring his coffee and settled behind the desk. “There’s a public health project I’ve been trying to get under way for the past year, but it ran into some snags.” He’d mentioned this during her visit, but since she hadn’t responded, he chose to try again.
“Why is a police chief concerned with public health?” Jenni asked.
“It’s outreach—a form of crime prevention.” Inside a drawer, Ethan found the folder full of reference articles he’d saved, along with his comments. “I’ve been trying to talk the city council into funding a pilot project, but they don’t see the benefits. So I figured you and I could prove to them how great the need is.”
“There’s no funding?” She frowned.
He bit back the urge to point out that investing some unreimbursed time in her new community wouldn’t kill her, especially considering that she could obviously afford a small fortune for designer clothes. “Not yet,” he admitted.
“You realize we’d require materials?” Jenni probed. “I presume we’re talking about vaccinations and so forth?”
“Right now, I’m more interested in assessing medical needs and educating people about everything from child development to gun safety.” Ethan had been mulling the subject over since he’d returned to Downhome. “We’d make referrals rather than provide on-the-spot care.”
“‘We’?” she said.
“I’d need to accompany you, since we’d be visiting the less savory part of town.” He hadn’t viewed that part of the project as problematic until now.
“You could use this as a chance to snoop into people’s homes,” Jenni noted none too happily
“That’s not my motive.” Still, since she’d mentioned it, he wouldn’t mind paying Arturo Mendez a visit.
“Listen, Chief…”
“Ethan,” he corrected.
“Okay, Ethan,” Jenni said.
“May I call you by your first name?”
“Would you let me finish, please?”
He sat back, properly chastened. “Shoot.”
“First of all, I just got here. I haven’t even talked to my nursing staff or met my patients. It’s way too soon to contemplate a new project.”
“We could wait a few weeks. I realize I’m pushing hard, but I’ve run into delay after delay and I’m growing impatient.” Ethan could see that this approach wasn’t working, so he switched to a different one. “I’d like to get rolling this summer so kids don’t enter kindergarten and first grade with untreated health problems.”
“In addition,” Jenni continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I ran into trouble at my last position because I tried to help a patient outside a clinical setting. Which reminds me that, considering my reputation as a home wrecker, I wouldn’t want to spend too much time alone with a married man.”
“A married man?” He recalled her comment about his wife. “Oh, I’m single.”
She thought it over. “Still, gossips can make mountains out of molehills.”
He pretended to be perplexed. “Meaning?”
“You and me. Some people could read implications into it. Heaven knows why.”
“Yes, heaven knows why.” Aside from the fact that the air between us hums like a tuning fork.
“You’re smiling,” Jenni said. “That was an attempt at humor, right?”
Ethan drew himself up as if offended. “I was not smiling. That was my poker face.”
“Take my advice, Chief. If you want to play cards, stick to Go Fish.” She rose. “Sorry to disappoint you about the outreach, but I can’t handle it right now. If you’ll excuse me, my staff is expecting me.”
He didn’t press the point. As matters stood, they’d simply opened negotiations. He could wait a while and try again.
When they shook hands again, Ethan found himself enjoying the contact much more than he should have. “I’ll say one thing for you. You make a good sparring partner.”
“Since you oppose violence, I’m sure you’ll want to give me a wide berth,” Jenni retorted.
“That would be my preference. However, it’s a small town,” he teased.
She shot him a look. “I’m sure we can manage to keep our distance.”
Ethan felt a twinge of disappointment. “Of course. But they say distance is relative.”
He escorted her to the lobby. A weathered farmer filling out an accident form at the front desk spotted the newcomer. “Ma’am.” He swept the baseball cap off his head.
“Good morning. I’m Dr. Vine,” she replied cheerfully.
“You’re the new doctor? I feel better already,” the old fellow replied gallantly. “I mean, I feel sick. How about an appointment?”
She laughed. “I never realized Southern men were so courteous. Men in L.A. don’t remove their hats and they hardly ever pay compliments.”
“They’re durn fools,” the farmer observed. “Guess I’ll be visiting you about my arthritis soon. Just remembered my wife’s been nagging me to get some medicine.”
“I’ll be glad to help.”
When she went out, the man gripped the edge of the desk as if his knees had gone weak. To Ethan, he said, “She’s really the doctor?”
“Yes, she is.”
“And you wanted to hire some fella, instead? You ain’t as smart as I thought you were, Chief.” The farmer returned to his form.
Ethan felt as if he’d just lost a battle. He wasn’t entirely sorry, either.

Chapter Three
Ethan made frequent uninvited appearances in Jenni’s mind over the next few days. As if she didn’t have enough to do with getting to know her staff, meeting patients and searching for an apartment. Now she also had to deal with the shiver of excitement that ran through her every time she thought about that annoying man.
Until recently, she hadn’t understood what people meant when they talked about chemistry. Jenni had dated plenty of guys and had been intimately involved with several, yet they’d vanished from her awareness when they were out of sight. She certainly hadn’t anticipated running into them on the street, imagining she saw their broad shoulders and feeling disappointed if the man turned out to be someone else.
The good thing about chemistry, she discovered, was that it waned over time. By Friday, she hardly thought of Ethan at all, except once in the dry goods store when she caught a whiff of the same aftershave lotion and had to fight the impulse to invent a pretext to drop by the police station.
Why his wife had left him wasn’t hard to imagine. Despite his bluff appeal, the man was bullheaded and judgmental. He’d made no bones about the fact that he was seeking an excuse to pry into poor people’s lives, either, although she was willing to give him credit for caring about the children. As a father himself, he’d need to be a total monster not to have a soft spot for kids.
She still believed he’d been wrong to bring up her past in front of the city council. Ethan might claim he was doing his duty, but she doubted he’d have behaved the same way if he’d come across negative information regarding her competitor.
Thank goodness most people she met that first week didn’t appear to share his reservations about her. The clinic staff, far from clinging to some other candidate or the memory of the two departed doctors, greeted Jenni with enthusiasm, although perhaps that was due to their having lacked an MD on staff for months.
“You can’t believe what a load I’ve been carrying,” Estelle Fellows, the nurse practitioner and business manager, told Jenni. “I’m qualified to handle basic family care and the state of Tennessee allows me to write prescriptions, but without a doctor around, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope without a net.”
“You must be exhausted.” Jenni had sympathized after learning that Estelle had four kids. The eldest, nineteen-year-old Patsy, worked as office receptionist.
“And the hours!” Estelle went on, ruffling her short dark hair in frustration. “People think that because I’m the pastor’s wife, I’m at their beck and call any old time. I hope they treat you with more respect!” Her husband, Ben, Jenni had learned, worked two jobs, as police captain and as minister, so theirs was indeed a busy household.
“I just hope they accept me.”
“I’d say they already have.”
Sure enough, a steady stream of patients dropped in once word spread that the new doctor was on board. Some people must have saved up their ailments, while others, Jenni got the feeling, mostly wanted to take a look at the new girl in town.
She handled a couple of evening emergencies that week, one involving a broken arm and the other a baby with asthma. The on-call arrangement included her, Estelle and a Mill Valley doctor who lived halfway between the towns.
Estelle continued to treat those patients who requested her services, brought Jenni up to speed on the remaining clients and, at her request, gleefully left early a couple of afternoons to be with her younger children, who were on vacation. Later, she promised, she’d gear up to handle vaccinations and back-to-school exams.
A younger nurse, Yvonne Johnson, assisted Jenni in the office. If Estelle had been welcoming, Yvonne was downright effusive.
“I am so glad they hired a woman!” she said as the two of them ate sandwiches together in the clinic’s lunchroom on Friday. Yvonne was a striking young woman with long silver hair and violet eyes, the hue of which was probably boosted by contact lenses. “I can’t afford to move away, especially now that I’ve got a little girl,” she explained “but you wouldn’t believe how prissy folks can be about single moms.”
“It must be tough on you,” Jenni responded. During the past few days, she had heard Yvonne mention her year-old daughter, Bethany, several times. However, she’d said nothing about the father. According to Estelle, his identity remained a secret.
“That’s putting it mildly. I went to Mill Valley to give birth. I just couldn’t bear…” She stopped. “Well, never mind. Tell me about L.A. Did you go to clubs a lot? I’ll bet that would be fun.”
Jenni hated to admit how boring her life had been. “Once in a while I’d go dancing with some other women from the hospital.” They’d had to drag her, because she hated loud music and rude men.
“Are the guys gorgeous?” Yvonne sighed at the prospect.
“Gorgeous and full of themselves,” Jenni replied.
“You mean they expect sex on the first date?”
“I mean they expect sex before they decide whether there’s going to be a first date.”
The nurse made a face. “That almost makes Downhome sound appealing.”
The fourth member of the clinic staff was a technician, a fellow with the confusing name of Lee Li, who commuted from Mill Valley twice a week to handle sonograms, X rays and routine lab work. Anything complicated had to be sent out by courier, and anyone needing advanced diagnostic treatment such as an MRI had to travel to another town. For major emergencies, Jenni learned, she could call on Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s LifeFlight helicopter to transport the victim to Nashville.
To be so isolated after working in a metropolitan area where medical centers sprouted on every corner felt strange. In L.A., the question had been not where to find a cancer specialist or a neonatal intensive care unit, but which one to use.
Jenni hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with many such cases. No town was immune to tragedy, though.
After lunch on Friday, the influx of patients dwindled. Jenni felt tempted to slip out early to search for an apartment, but her sense of responsibility kept her around.
She enjoyed staying with Karen. However, the house was noisy, since Barry had a stream of newspaper subscribers and advertisers ringing the doorbell and the phone in the early mornings and evenings. Most could have contacted him during work hours, he grumbled. Still, he couldn’t afford to turn away business.
So far, most of the rentals Jenni had found were houses too large for her needs or rooms where she would have to share a kitchen and bathroom with strangers. Other than that, she’d visited one duplex apartment next to another occupied by a large family who screamed at one another while the TV blared.
There had to be something better.
“Dr. Vine?” Patsy, the receptionist, appeared in the doorway to Jenni’s office, where she’d retreated to write up the day’s reports. “Mrs. Forrest just brought Nick in. He scraped his shin and he’s diabetic, so she wanted you to check him out. They’re in examining room two.”
The young woman seemed to assume that Jenni would recognize the names. And of course she did. Nick must be Ethan’s son and Mrs. Forrest, she assumed, was the ex-wife.
Unexpectedly, her throat clogged. What was this woman like who’d managed to tame the glowering beast? And why, Jenni wondered, did she feel a curious reluctance to meet her?
“Is Yvonne with them?” she asked. The nurse should be taking the boy’s vital signs.
“She just finished. She’s in the nurses’ lounge, playing with her baby.” Seeing her perplexed expression, Patsy explained. “Usually, Yvonne’s cousin babysits, but Mrs. Forrest helps out sometimes. Today she brought Bethany with her.”
“I see.” In Downhome, everyone seemed to be connected to everyone else, Jenni reflected as she rose. It was a little disconcerting, but a welcome change from the lack of connections she’d experienced during her own fractured childhood.
Outside the examining room, she read the clipboard containing the boy’s medical history. Now five years old, he’d been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at age three. A year later, he’d been fitted with a pump to provide the insulin his pancreas couldn’t make.
Like most children, he had some problems complying with the strict diet and the frequent finger pricks to make sure his blood-sugar level held steady. However, the chart indicated he was generally healthy.
Still, the injury concerned Jenni. Due to reduced circulation, diabetics were vulnerable to infections, particularly in their lower extremities.
Taking a deep breath, she tapped on the door, then went in.
Two earnest faces tilted toward hers. On the examining table, a little boy with huge dark eyes and chestnut hair regarded her anxiously. From his slightly dirty shorts and the smudge on his nose, she could tell he’d been playing outdoors.
In the chair beside him sat a woman of around sixty. Her worried air softened as she smiled at Jenni. From the stylishly cut hair to the trim pantsuit, she gave the impression of a retired professional. A scan of Yvonne’s notes revealed that the woman’s first name was Annette.
This had to be Ethan’s mother, not his ex, Jenni realized with an odd sense of relief. At the same time, she wondered why the grandmother, instead of Nick’s mother, cared for the boy.
“Mrs. Forrest? I’m Dr. Vine.” Jenni shook hands with her. Although she wanted to get to know the woman, she wished to establish a rapport immediately with the patient, so she turned to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Nick.”
“Are you going to stick me with a needle?” the boy asked.
“I don’t plan to.” She glanced at his chart again. “I see you’ve had a tetanus shot, so you won’t need one of those. Can you show me where you hurt yourself?”
Biting his lip, he stuck out his leg. The scrape, midway between knee and ankle, was about two inches long, wide but shallow.
“I cleaned it right away and applied an antiseptic,” Mrs. Forrest explained. “It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but Dr. Luther always insisted I bring him in for antibiotics if he got hurt.” By Dr. Luther she must mean Luther Allen, Jenni thought. Mrs. Forrest had probably referred to him this way to distinguish him from his wife. He’d been the pediatrician and she the family doctor.
“I don’t see any signs of infection,” Jenni was saying when the door opened.
With his muscular frame and restless energy, Ethan Forrest dominated the room even before entering it. Scarcely nodding to the two adults, he rushed to Nick’s side. “Are you okay, little guy?”
“I have a boo-boo, Daddy.” The boy wiggled his leg.
With a grim shake of the head, Ethan glanced at Jenni. There was no sign of lightheartedness about him now. “Well?”
She hoped he wasn’t going to overreact to a minor childhood mishap. In her experience, take-charge fathers who hated losing control often demanded unnecessary treatments. Still, she knew his response stemmed from love. “I was just beginning my examination.”
Reluctantly, Ethan stepped back. “Go ahead.”
Jenni washed her hands at the sink, then bent over the boy. “Tell me how it happened,” she said as she examined the wound more closely.
“I was riding my bike on the sidewalk.”
“In shorts?” Ethan demanded of his mother.
“I didn’t realize he’d gone outside,” she answered without sounding defensive. “Ethan, he’s not made of eggshells.”
“He got hurt, didn’t he?” The chief waved one hand apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that when they gave me your message, I thought the injury might be serious.”
“I understand,” she replied.
Jenni asked more questions, establishing that the sidewalk recently had been washed and that Mrs. Forrest hadn’t found any dirt or bike oil in the wound. “It’s not necessarily bad that he was wearing shorts,” she said. “Fabric can harbor bacteria, and if it gets pushed into a cut, it’s bad news. Puncture wounds through sneakers are particularly nasty. You wouldn’t believe what grows in some people’s shoes.” For Nick’s sake, she added, “It makes them stink, too. Peeuw.”
He wrinkled his nose and grinned. The sweetness in his face touched her.
Jenni cleaned the wound again. Normally, the nurse would have done this. However, Jenni saw no reason to interrupt Yvonne’s time with her baby, and besides, she wanted to make it clear she took a personal interest in her patients.
“I can apply an ointment if you like, but frankly, it might delay healing,” she told her audience. “I don’t recommend stitches for a scrape like this, since it’s so shallow.”
“Aren’t you going to cover it?” Ethan inquired.
“I will if he’ll be playing outside again,” Jenni answered. “Otherwise, it’s best to expose it to air.”
“I’ll keep him inside,” Mrs. Forrest said.
“Does it hurt?” Jenni asked Nick.
He straightened like a miniature version of his tough-guy Dad. “I can take it.”
“That bad?” she queried.
“Not really,” the boy admitted. “It used to sting, but it’s okay now.”
“You’re a very brave young man. I think you’re going to be fine.”
“Whoa.” Ethan gave her a disbelieving stare. “What about a prescription?”
She remembered his mother’s statement about Dr. Allen. “Antibiotics aren’t recommended in a case like this. Overuse causes them to lose their effectiveness and there can be side effects. But if he develops any pus or the skin becomes red, warm or swollen, or it starts hurting badly, I’ll be glad to prescribe some.”
“That’s it?” the chief asked. “I could have treated him this well myself!”
“I know you’re used to a different approach with Dr. Luther,” she responded. “Times change and so does medical care. We’ve learned that in minor cases like this, sometimes nature is the best healer.”
“I like you better than Dr. Luther,” Nick announced.
“You do? And I haven’t even offered you a sugar-free lollipop yet!” Jenni joked.
“Why do you like Dr. Vine better?” Ethan regarded his son.
“She talks to me and not just the grown-ups.” To Jenni, Nick said, “Do you have any lemon pops?”
“Let me see.” She searched in a drawer. “Sure thing.” After handing him one, she offered a sampling of flavors to Ethan and his mother.
“I don’t mind if I do.” Annette chose cherry.
Ethan tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t. “I haven’t had one of these in years,” he admitted, and selected lime.
Jenni relaxed. Apparently, the chief had decided to bow to her expertise. Considering his obvious worry over his son, that meant a lot. “We’ve got coloring books, too.” She gave Nick one about healthy foods.
“You’re good with children,” Annette commented.
“I love kids.” Jenni enjoyed treating them as part of her practice. She hoped the next doctor to be hired would be an obstetrician rather than a pediatrician, although she did want the kids to get the best possible care.
“According to the grapevine, you’re looking for an apartment,” the woman went on.
“Mom!” Ethan’s voice sank to a growl.
Jenni didn’t know what was going on here. Still, she figured she ought to stay out of it. “I’m sure I’ll find one eventually,” she replied, and turned to the chart. “In case of emergency, I need to be sure we have up-to-date contact information.” The Allens hadn’t double-checked phone numbers and addresses for years, she’d discovered earlier. “Is this correct?” She read off the phone numbers for Ethan and Annette.
Both nodded.
“Is there anyone else?” Jenni didn’t want to be too blunt, but omitting one parent seemed strange. “A child’s whole family is important.”
“There isn’t anyone.” Annette glanced at her grandson. However, he was absorbed in looking through his coloring book. “My husband and daughter-in-law both passed away some time ago.”
“I’m sorry.” So Ethan was a widower. Jenni felt a wave of sympathy for the man and child who’d lost so much.
This didn’t make her like him any better, though. In fact, it made her wary, because with his judgmental nature, he probably compared every woman he met with his deceased spouse.
“Speaking of families, didn’t your parents object to your moving so far away?” Annette asked. “They must worry about you.”
“My parents?” That was almost funny, although Jenni didn’t suppose it would strike anyone else that way. “They’re not the sort of people who worry about others, I’m afraid.”
“You’d be surprised,” the older woman said. “Maybe they’re afraid you’d resent it if they showed how much they cared.”
“If they cared, they could have stuck around when I was a kid.” Hearing her edgy tone, she added, “Sorry. That was inappropriate.”
Ethan looked puzzled. His mother wore a determined expression. “I knew you were the right person to rent the flat over my garage! If you haven’t got a family, you should at least live close to one.”
So that was what the two had been clashing about earlier. Jenni peeked at Ethan, but he was studying his son. “That might be awkward, since your grandson is my patient.”
“Awkward? Having a doctor on the premises would be reassuring,” Annette countered. “Besides, everyone in town is likely to be your patient at one time or another. And it’s furnished, which I believe you need, since you didn’t ship any furniture.”
“How do you know that?” Jenni asked in amazement.
“My mother is friends with Gwen Martin, who owns the café, and half the town shows up there to gab.” Ethan’s gruffness couldn’t disguise his affection. “Between the two of them, they know almost everything that happens around here.”
“That’s a little scary.” Anonymity had become Jenni’s friend over the years. The fewer people who learned about her family, the better, and getting away from vicious rumors had been one of her reasons for moving to Downhome.
“If you’re my renter, I promise we won’t gossip about you,” Mrs. Forrest said. “I only live three blocks from the Lowells, so you can stop by anytime. The house faces Jackson Park.”
Jenni had walked by the park several times and enjoyed the relaxed, old-fashioned setting. The lush greenery, like much of the Tennessee landscape, soothed her after the hard urban surfaces of L.A. “It isn’t the beautiful Victorian with the window boxes, is it?”
Annette nodded. Ethan shook his head, but he was obviously joking. “She failed to mention that the apartment overlooks my backyard.”
Uh-oh. She’d have the police chief for a neighbor? Not good.
“Can I get back to you on that?” she asked Annette.
“Of course.”
“Take your time,” the police chief said. “Months, if necessary.”
“Ethan, where are your manners?” demanded his mother. “You’ve hurt Dr. Vine’s feelings.”
“No, he hasn’t,” she assured them.
“I know how it feels to be an outsider,” Annette persisted. “When my husband and I moved to Nashville—he worked for a religious publishing company—it took the longest time for me to make friends. Jenni, the least you can do is look at the place.”
“I can’t…”
“Surely you’re curious about the house!” Mrs. Forrest teased. “You’ve acknowledged that you noticed it.”
Jenni smiled. “Yes, but I really can’t come tonight. Karen Lowell is having some friends over for a potluck. Kind of a welcome party for me.”
Apparently satisfied that he’d won the day, Ethan lifted a radiant Nick onto his shoulders. “We men are going to go take care of the bill,” he told his mother. “See you in a few minutes.”
“Giddyap!” the little boy cried, then looked self-conscious.
At age five, he was already feeling too grown up to act like a toddler, Jenni realized.
Annette beamed at the pair as they exited, both ducking to clear the doorway. “I can’t believe my grandbaby’s going to start first grade in September.”
Instinctively wanting to keep her hands occupied, Jenni straightened the examining room. If there’d been patients waiting, Yvonne would have alerted her, so she could afford to linger. “I’m sorry to hear his mother’s deceased.”
“Martha was a beautiful girl and a wonderful singer. She bowled Ethan over,” Annette said. “Nick was only a few months old when she died.”
“That must have been terrible.” Not wanting to pry into Ethan’s personal life, Jenni veered from that subject by focusing on Annette. “You probably weren’t expecting to take on child-raising duties again.”
“No, but it’s worth it,” she said. “I’d do the same to help my daughter, Brianna, Ethan’s younger sister. She just went through a nasty divorce and I’d love for her to move here.”
“I’m sorry about the divorce.” Jenni hadn’t expected so many confidences. “If she does come back, she might need the apartment.”
“I don’t see it happening anytime soon. I’d like you to take a look at the place.”
Annette obviously wasn’t an easy woman to dissuade.
“The offer’s open. Drop by any time.”
“Thanks,” she replied.
After Annette left, a glance at the clock showed it was after five o’clock. Jenni gathered her purse, helped Yvonne close the office and went out to the compact car she’d leased.
Tonight ought to be fun, a chance to let down her hair and get to know some other women. Karen had promised that they’d give her the lowdown on the singles’ scene.
Jenni didn’t want to start dating anytime soon, though. Ethan already considered her a husband-stealing flirt, and for some reason, she wanted to disprove his low opinion.
The prospect of living next door to him made her shudder. No one could stand up to that kind of scrutiny, especially if she was being compared with an idealized wife.
Yet an image lingered of him carrying the little boy on his shoulders, two pairs of dark eyes shining and two sets of white teeth flashing. It made Jenni long for something she’d never had and probably never would have.
Pushing away the thought, she headed for the Lowells’ house.

Chapter Four
Shortly after six p.m., Ethan found the outdoor terrace already filled at the Café Montreal, Gwen Martin’s establishment at the south end of The Green. Once in a while, he stopped in for lunch or dinner, as much to keep his ear to the ground as for the exceptional food. He preferred to dine with his mother and Nick, but tonight they were attending a kids’ birthday party.
On this warm June evening, customers sat enjoying their meals as colored globes glowed in the twilight. Ethan identified the scents of garlic, sausages and orange crepes, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. He paused briefly to exchange greetings with Archie and Olivia Rockwell before making his way inside.
A waitress showed him to a table near the glass-fronted pastry display. Although picking out a dessert was hard to resist, he ordered only his usual bowl of onion soup and a patty melt on rye.
Ethan had no idea what a real French café looked like, whether in Paris or Montreal, but he enjoyed the ambience created by Impressionist prints on the walls and striped awnings above the service counters. He also appreciated that between this cafe and Pepe’s Italian Diner, Downhome offered international cuisine in addition to the Southern fried chicken, hush puppies and grits available at the local coffee shop.
His fellow diners were a mix of workers, farmers and retired folks. The strangers sprinkled among them must be travelers passing through. The town didn’t attract tourists except the one weekend a month when Gwen organized a Farmers Market and Crafts Fair on The Green.
The owner, in a red-and-white checked apron, stopped by his table. Although she wore her steely gray-on-black hair in the usual bun, tendrils curling from the sides softened the contours of her face. “So what do you think of our lady doctor? I heard Nick went to see her.”
“She seems competent.” Ethan had been impressed by Jenni’s assurance and by the rapport she’d struck with Nick, whatever his other reservations about her. Despite his impulse to demand further treatment, he’d recognized that she was probably right to avoid antibiotics. “What’s the consensus?”
“The women love her. They say their husbands are suddenly deciding they need the physicals they’ve been putting off for years.”
“They’re not jealous?” he asked.
Gwen shook her head. “Any woman can tell Jenni’s not on the prowl.”
“I don’t see how.”
“She isn’t needy. Or greedy, either.” Gwen swung toward the pastry counter and addressed the young man behind it. “Box me up a dozen of those tarts, a couple of pounds of cookies and a lemon pie, would you, Jimmy?”
“Sure thing,” he called back.
“What’s that for?” Ethan inquired.
“Potluck at Karen’s.”
“Oh, right.” He remembered Jenni mentioning it. Too bad he wasn’t invited. The food would be great, and always curious, he’d love to know the topics of conversation.
“Still think we made the wrong choice of physician?” Gwen challenged.
“Too soon to tell.”
“According to the grapevine, she paid you a visit Monday morning.” The café owner watched her employee box the desserts. “Must have been an interesting discussion.”
“Very.” He let it go at that. No point in feeding the gossip mill, which was obviously working overtime.
Gwen shook her head at him. “One of these days, Ethan Forrest, some woman is going to get under your skin. You’ll open that gorgeous mouth of yours and poetry will flow out.”
He raised his water glass in a toast. “I live for that day, chérie.”
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “If I weren’t old enough to be your mother, I’d take a stab at it myself.” Across the counter, she accepted a stack of pastry boxes. “Well, I’m off. I’ll give the ladies your regards.”
“Please do.”
His onion soup arrived, encrusted with melted cheese. Savoring the taste, Ethan let his thoughts wander back to that afternoon.
He wondered what Jenni had meant about her parents not being around much during her younger years. Perhaps they’d shuffled their child off to boarding schools.
Having worked summers and weekends since he was a teenager, Ethan found it hard to sympathize with a poor little rich kid, but he had to admit Jenni had turned out squarely grounded. She must have worked hard in medical school, and he assumed she put in long hours at her profession.
That she’d chosen to relocate to Downhome puzzled him. Even in light of the scandal in L.A., she must have had other options. Perhaps she’d decided to play at being a country doctor.
What had Mom been thinking when she offered to rent to Jenni? The last thing Nick needed was to grow attached to a short-term renter.
More people entered the restaurant, and Ethan forgot about Jenni as acquaintances stopped to say hello. One expressed concern about the portrait thefts. A couple of people asked if he’d heard the talk of a proposed new shopping center on the west side of Downhome. He had, of course. Rumors had swirled for months over the sale of several hundred acres in that area, but so far a proposal had not come before the city council. Ethan knew no more than anyone else.
He was digging into his patty melt when Barry Lowell slid into the chair across from him. “Mind if I join you?” The editor had picked up a Reuben sandwich at the take-out counter.
“Be my guest. Did your sister ban you from the premises tonight?”
“What? No.” He pulled the plastic lid from his soda cup and took a swallow. A few years younger than Ethan, Barry had thick brown hair that perpetually flopped on to his forehead, almost covering the scar he’d received in prison. Although he worked next door to the Snip ’N’ Curl, he rarely found time to pay it a visit. “I just finished putting the paper to bed.”
The Gazette, which came out on Tuesdays, was printed in Mill Valley. Ethan assumed Barry sent his pages over there electronically. “Competing with other media must be hard when you only publish once a week.”
“It’s not hard at all,” Barry said between bites. “You think CNN’s going to cover the disappearance of Pepe Otero’s family photo?”
“I suppose not.” Hearing a touch of bitterness in the editor’s voice, Ethan avoided making further comments about the national media and turned to the need for people to lock their doors until the wave of break-ins was solved.
Barry readily agreed. It was a far cry from the kind of journalism he longed to practice, though, Ethan knew.
By all accounts, Barry had been an ambitious teenager, editing the school paper and working part time for his parents’ Gazette. He’d made no secret of his plans to write for a major newspaper someday.
When he was seventeen, he was accused of killing a farmer during a prank. Based on the testimony of his best friend, Barry had been convicted of manslaughter, despite his claim that he’d only struck a glancing blow in self-defense.
Although Ethan’s family had moved away by then, he’d read the police reports since his return. The case was a tragedy all around, since it seemed obvious Barry hadn’t intended to harm anyone. Still, he must have struck harder than he realized, because the farmer died of his injuries.
In prison, Barry had taken college courses and, following his release, earned a journalism degree from the University of Tennessee. His murder conviction had ended his dreams of making it in the big league, however, and he’d eventually returned to Downhome to take over the Gazette from his parents.
“So you get to relax for the weekend?” Ethan asked, making conversation.
“No. I’ve got an advertising publication to put together.” Barry downed a handful of french fries before continuing. “And I’m working on a story of my own, kind of a long-term thing. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I’ll be in my office for a few hours tomorrow,” Ethan said. “If you want to access records, though, you’ll need to wait till Monday, when Amy’s on duty.”
“No, no, I’d just like to show you what I’ve put together. I’d appreciate your opinion,” Barry explained.
“It’s a crime story?” This aroused Ethan’s interest. If the newspaper planned to run an exposé, he wanted advance notice. “I’d be glad to read it.”
Barry swept aside the remains of his meal. “Are you free tonight?”
It occurred to Ethan that his colleagues in Nashville would have found it odd to see a police chief eating dinner with a convicted murderer, and even odder to find him treating the man as a friend. But Barry Lowell had reclaimed his place in society, and besides, Ethan liked him.
“Sure. We can walk over to your office right now.”
“It’s not at the office. It’s at my house,” Barry said. “I was hoping you could stop in on your way home.”
Now, that was a tough one, Ethan thought ironically. He’d just been invited to the very place where Jenni, Karen et al were probably dissecting him and the town’s other single men.
Discretion urged him to schedule a visit some other time. But he’d like to get his outreach program started this summer, and if he had a chance to join the conversation, he might be able to enlist the support of the other ladies.
He supposed the tactic might irritate Jenni. On the other hand, she could hold her own, and Ethan was in the mood for a round of sparring.
“That would be fine,” he replied.
Barry crumpled his paper napkin. “Let’s go.”
THE LOWELLS’ TWO-STORY BRICK HOUSE on Heritage Avenue rang with lively voices and good fellowship. Jenni found it hard to believe she was the center of attention, accepted by the other women as if she belonged here.
She wasn’t accustomed to belonging. They almost seemed to have mistaken her for someone else—although she knew that wasn’t true.
Karen had set out her best patterned china on the cloth-covered dining table, along with a plate of deviled eggs and platters of cold cuts and sliced bread. She’d waved away Jenni’s offer to cook something, as well—a relief to Jenni, since her chief culinary skill was reheating pizza.
Jenni was surprised to discover that Karen’s women friends ranged in age from their thirties all the way up to 80, but in a town this small, she learned, people didn’t segregate along age lines—and the menu proved the big winner. Gwen Martin had brought incredible pastries from her café. Rosie O’Bannon, the forty-something owner of the beauty parlor, produced a multilayered taco dip with sour cream, guacamole and refried beans. She proudly offered it as a California recipe in Jenni’s honor.
Rosie’s niece, Leah, a first-grade teacher, was introduced as Karen’s best pal since childhood. She’d prepared not one but two dishes—a green bean casserole and a Jell-O mold. Leah radiated goodwill, appearing not the least threatened that her closest pal had acquired a new friend.
From the nursing home, Karen had fetched Mae Anne McRay, the liveliest octogenarian Jenni had ever met, who’d prepared a fruit salad. Despite being confined to a wheelchair due to osteoporosis, she served on the city council.
Two people were missing. Renée Lowell, Karen and Barry’s mother, whom Jenni had met previously, had stayed at the convalescent home because of a headache. A quadriplegic since a tractor hit her car years earlier, Renée had inspired Karen to apply her business administration training to running the convalescent center.
In addition, Amy Arroyo, the police chief’s notoriously absentminded secretary, hadn’t shown up by the time the women began taking their places around the table. Karen went into the kitchen to call her and returned a few minutes later.
“She forgot,” she reported.
“No surprise there,” Gwen responded.
“She said she’s taking a bubble bath and reading a book. Naturally, she didn’t remember to fix any food, either.” Karen shook her head indulgently. “I urged her to come anyway, but she declined. I think she was embarrassed.”
“She should be,” Mae Anne observed.
“I hope it’s a good book. Still I doubt it’s worth missing this feast,” Jenni said.
“Amy ought to pay more attention to real life,” the hostess replied. “I hope you aren’t offended.”
“Not at all,” Jenni responded. “I learned a long time ago that it’s healthier to forgive and forget.”
“Does that include Ethan Forrest?” Karen teased as she took a seat.
Across the table from Jenni, Leah let out a low whistle. “Getting a little personal, aren’t we?”
“He didn’t mean to attack her in front of the council!” cried Rosie, who, Jenni was learning, tended toward the dramatic. “Surely she doesn’t hold it against him.”
“Of course not. The woman isn’t blind.” Mae Anne helped herself to the Jell-O mold. She’d positioned her wheelchair at the foot of the table, where the food gravitated toward her. “He’s the best-looking single man in Downhome. How could anyone hold a grudge against Ethan?”
“He was at the café earlier.” Gwen tilted her head, apparently visualizing him. “It’s a darn shame he’s still carrying the torch for his late wife. That man’s too good to waste.”
“There are other desirable men around here,” Jenni protested. “Like your brother, Karen.”
“Not in his current state,” her hostess replied promptly. “He’s got too much to prove before he can even consider getting involved with anyone.”
She’d explained earlier about her brother’s murder conviction. Sharing a house with a killer had made Jenni uneasy at first, but Barry had reassured her with his openness and his intellectual curiosity about almost everything. She’d come to believe he really was innocent.
“Rosie’s son Mark is cute,” volunteered Gwen. “He’s a lieutenant at the police department.”
“Too young for me, even if he wasn’t my cousin,” Leah noted. “He’s only twenty-eight. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a girlfriend, though.”
“He went to the senior prom with Amy, but he doesn’t have a girlfriend now,” responded her aunt. “He’ll probably die a bachelor and I’ll never have grandchildren!”
“Aren’t there any other cute guys over thirty?” Jenni asked.
“Pepe Otero.” Rosie clapped her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that! He likes Gwen.”
“He does not,” said the café owner. “Besides, he wouldn’t dare ask me out. It’s kind of a long story, Jenni. See, he gets food at a discount from Beau Johnson, who’s mad as a wet hen because I organize a once-a-month Farmers Market that he considers competition for his grocery store. Beau ups the prices anytime I walk in the door, so I buy my supplies out of town.”
Rosie nodded. “When she needs milk, I pick it up for her.”
Jenni wondered if they were joking. “You don’t mean the grocery store changes prices for different customers!”
“Just Pepe and me,” Gwen explained. Heads nodded. “Pepe gets a discount—because Beau figures his restaurant is my competition.”
“Well, if Pepe won’t ask out the woman of his dreams because he might have to pay more for milk, he’s a pretty poor prospect,” Jenni said.
“I agree,” Gwen volunteered. “A man ought to have the courage of his convictions. A woman, too. If I were young enough, I wouldn’t give up a chance at Ethan Forrest, even if it meant paying triple for everything.”
“Could we not talk about the chief?” Jenni asked, and then realized she’d probably revealed more than she meant to about the state of her thoughts.
Tactfully, no one pointed out that she wouldn’t mind if they were discussing, say, Beau Johnson’s romantic attributes. Or anyone else’s.
“Okay,” responded Karen. “Who has news to share?”
During the brief silence that followed, Gwen handed around a plate of cookies. At last Leah spoke. “I guess this is as good a time as any to make a confession.”
Karen paused with a gingersnap in one hand. “About a man?”
“No! About myself.” The teacher steepled her hands on the table. “I suppose I should have discussed it with you before, Karen, but I came to this decision on my own. I’m going to leave Downhome.”
A flurry of shocked responses filled the air. “Why?” and “Since when?” and “Where would you go?”
Jenni listened with a trace of envy. She couldn’t help recalling that no one at the hospital in L.A. had seemed distressed upon hearing of her impending departure.
“I’m not sure where,” Leah explained. “Next month, I’m going to visit my cousin in Austin, Texas, and then an old friend in Seattle to apply for teaching jobs. It could take a while to land one, so my departure isn’t imminent.”
“What brought this on?” Karen looked the most stunned of anyone.
Leah gazed around the table. “Certainly not a desire to leave my old friends. Still, except for college, I’ve lived my whole life in Downhome. If I don’t leave, I’ll grow old here without ever having an adventure. I guess that sounds kind of naive, but it’s what I want. And I’d like to have children, too.”
“I can relate to that,” Karen admitted. She and Leah were both thirty-two, a year younger than Jenni.
She understood their feelings. Sometimes when she held a baby or examined a child, she was overcome by a longing to have one of her own. However, her parents had set such a poor example that she wasn’t sure how well she would handle motherhood. She might risk it if she met the perfect guy, but how likely was that?
“You were always such a shy child,” Rosie said. “Then you turned from a duckling into a swan in high school and scared off the guys.”
“Is that what happened?” Leah asked ruefully. “They sure steered clear of me. It was painful.”
“Is finding Mr. Right part of your plan?” Karen asked.
“Not really.” Her friend gave her an apologetic smile. “I want to do exciting things, get to know new places, do something wild. I can’t act that way here. A guy—well, he might hold me back. I’ve been thinking about adopting a baby from a foreign orphanage.”
“I had a brief spell of wanting kids when I was in my thirties, but I got over it,” said Gwen. She’d never married, Karen had mentioned.
“Congratulations, Leah,” Mae Anne said.
“Because I’m taking a risk?” the teacher inquired.
“No. Because you got our minds off Ethan Forrest for about five minutes.”
Chuckles sounded around the table, then broke off as, in the next room, the front doorknob turned. Jenni still hadn’t grown accustomed to the Lowells’ habit of leaving their house unlocked during waking hours.
Barry entered. Peering through the archway between dining and living rooms, Jenni was startled when she glimpsed his companion.
“Uh-oh,” Rosie muttered.
“Well, now, that just blows the whole thing, doesn’t it?” commented Mae Anne, sending them into gales of laughter.
In the living room, Ethan wore such an endearingly baffled expression at their mirth that Jenni almost sympathized with him. Then she remembered telling him that she’d planned to attend this party tonight. He’d accompanied Barry knowing full well she would be here.
She reminded herself not to make assumptions. Maybe he had business to conduct. Besides, the warmth with which some of the other women greeted him made her realize how much female attention he must attract wherever he went.
Determined not to reveal her mixed feelings, Jenni gave the men a lazy grin and stretched like a cat. “Hi, Barry. Good to see you, Chief.”
Ethan’s appreciative gaze made Jenni blushingly aware that the movement had drawn her knit top tightly across her breasts. Darn it, she’d been trying to act casual, she thought as she shifted to a more modest position.
“Good to see all of you,” Ethan said. “Carry on, ladies. We have a few things to discuss.”
With a nod, Barry headed for the stairs. “Want to take some food with you?” Karen offered.
“No, thanks.” As usual, her brother was in a hurry.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Ethan strolled to the table, his powerful build inside the tailored suit drawing more than a few pairs of admiring eyes. As he claimed a cookie, he graced them all with a knowing wink that brought a round of smiles. Then he followed Barry up the stairs, leaving behind the sophisticated scent that had plagued Jenni’s senses all week.
Nobody spoke until, upstairs, a door closed. “That man,” Gwen said at last, “has charisma.”
Jenni didn’t bother to argue.

Chapter Five
For one inexplicable instant downstairs, the entire room had vanished except for Jenni Vine. Ethan didn’t understand it. He’d never been drawn to blondes, and he considered this one an ill fit to the community. Yet he’d battled the urge to stand there drinking her in, as if she cast a sunny spell over him.
She’d been perfectly aware of the effect she created. She’d stretched provocatively, while he, who made a point of keeping a friendly distance between himself and anything resembling male vulnerability, had stood there verging on meltdown.
This wasn’t entirely her fault, he conceded. As Gwen had said earlier, men all over town were scheduling their long-delayed physicals for a chance to be around her. Reducing adult males to the level of lusty adolescents had probably become second nature to her.
He almost wished he weren’t so scrupulous, or so cognizant of his position. If circumstances had been different, Ethan might have enjoyed a fling with the lady before she decamped for more interesting surroundings. Assuming she wanted a fling, of course.
No, he thought, he wasn’t the love ’em and leave ’em type, or the love ’em and be left by ’em type, either. When he’d fallen in love with Martha, he’d stayed in love. Heaven help him if he ever made that mistake with Jenni.
“What’ve you got for me?” he asked, following Barry into an upstairs rec room converted to a large office. Amid the file cabinets, desk and computer equipment was a bulletin board covered with old clippings and hand-drawn charts.
“Although nobody seems aware of it, Ethan, you’ve got an unsolved murder in this town,” Barry replied.
That caught his attention, all right. “Who’s the victim?”
“Norbert Anglin.”
Anglin was the farmer Barry had been convicted of killing. So this was about that case. “Go ahead.”
“The coroner said the killer struck him three times. I only hit him once,” Barry said.
“With a shovel,” Ethan reminded him dryly.
“He attacked me with a pitchfork.” Barry and his friend Chris McRay, Mae Anne’s grandson, had aroused Anglin’s wrath one night when he caught them freeing chickens at his farm. “Maybe I hit him harder than I thought, but I know I didn’t land more than one blow.”
“I’ve heard this before,” Ethan reminded him, studying the piles of papers in dismay. To see such a talented man unable to move beyond the past bothered him. “They said you might have lashed out two or three times without realizing it.”
“But I didn’t. And the cops were so quick to finger me they never tried to figure out who really killed him.” Barry selected a chart. “I’ve diagrammed his property and re-created the movements of everyone at the farm that night—Mrs. Anglin, the hired man, that transient who was supposedly sleeping in the barn—and, of course, Chris and me.”
Ethan resisted the urge to dismiss the matter. The editor had invested too much work and too much emotion to let go that easily. “I reviewed the case at your request last year, as you’ll recall. I can’t say the police did as thorough a job as they might have, but they had an eyewitness.”
“Chris.” Barry’s voice rang with resentment. “He’s the one who put me in prison.”
“He testified to the same thing you did—that you smacked Mr. Anglin with a shovel,” Ethan noted.
“No, he didn’t!” the editor replied. “He said I was yelling and flailing around, so he couldn’t be sure the shovel didn’t connect more than once.”
Ethan saw no point in debating. Better to go right to the point. “Are you telling me you’ve identified another suspect?”
“Yes, I have.”
That startled him. “Who? The transient?” He’d been ruled out because Chris had testified to seeing him some distance away as the two boys fled.
“Let me explain first so you’ll understand.” Barry selected a paper bearing a shaky signature. “I had to track Lou Bates—the transient—all the way to New Orleans, but I managed to interview him. I found the hired hand in Oklahoma six months ago.”
Barry had attended a newspaper conference in Louisiana the previous month, Ethan recalled. He supposed the Oklahoma trip had involved work, as well. “So that’s why you’ve been traveling so much.”
Barry forged ahead. “They both said the same thing. They spotted two figures running, and then a few minutes later they saw one of them sneak back.”
Ethan weighed the implications. “At the trial, the transient said he might have seen you head back.”
“And the DA implied that if I didn’t strike Norbert more than once the first time, I returned to finish the job,” Barry added. “But both told me they only made those statements because the police asked leading questions. They really didn’t think the man moved like me, only they were afraid to contradict the authorities.”
“After so many years, they probably don’t remember what happened.” Ethan had to play skeptic, no matter how much he sympathized with Barry. “Besides, Chris said he couldn’t find you afterward.”
“We split up while we were running, and I laid low for a while in case Anglin came after me. I was pretty scared.”
Ethan could envision a number of possibilities, including the witnesses conspiring to lie for some reason of their own. Since neither had profited from the farmer’s death and they’d had no criminal histories, however, such speculation couldn’t clear Barry. “You said you have a suspect.”
“It’s Chris. He must have done it.” The paper rattled in Barry’s hand. “He was the one who’d had an argument with the farmer the week before. That was why we were picking on him.”
“What did they quarrel about?” Ethan didn’t recall the subject appearing in the trial documents. Probably it hadn’t been relevant to the DA’s case, and Barry’s lawyer hadn’t introduced it, either.
“The old coot accused him of flirting with his wife. Which is ridiculous, considering she was twenty years older than we were, but he embarrassed Chris in front of other people.” Barry moved restlessly around the room.
“That explains the prank, but it’s hardly a motive for him to go back and kill the guy, then pin it on you,” Ethan observed.
“I don’t think he intended to frame me,” Barry conceded. “We focused on the fact that Anglin tried to stab us. But he also threatened to bring charges.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“It bothered me, but it must have upset Chris a lot more. I mean, he was planning to be a doctor. They’re held to high standards.” Barry pushed a wing of overgrown hair off his forehead. “An arrest record would have hurt his chances of getting into medical school. So I guess he wanted to shut Anglin up permanently.”
“Didn’t you have the same concern?” Ethan asked. “Or aren’t journalists held to high standards?”
The editor paused in front of his computer screen, glanced at a couple of flashing instant messages and then clicked them shut. “Being an ex-con has shut off certain avenues, but it doesn’t stop me from running the Gazette, because I inherited it. Chris wasn’t going to inherit a medical practice.”
“So he might have had a motive and opportunity,” Ethan said. “That isn’t evidence, Barry.”
“You could reopen the case and dig some up.” The editor’s movements grew more agitated. “How do you think it makes me feel that he’s gone on with his life, while mine has been torn apart? My dad never got over it. He died of a heart attack while I was in prison.”
“While Chris went on to become a pediatrician.” Ethan knew all about that, because McRay had applied for a position at the clinic. “But he left town. He must have felt bad.”
“Of course! He was ashamed to face me and my family,” Barry said. “Chief, he got away with murder. The evidence has to be there. The witnesses are still alive. Why not give it a chance?”
“Barry, this case is fifteen years old,” Ethan told him regretfully. “What you’ve found isn’t even close to enough evidence to persuade the DA to file charges. I’d be wasting the town’s resources to reopen the case. I respect the work you’ve done, but the truth is likely to stay buried. You’re only hurting yourself with this obsession.”
“I’m going to clear my name. Whether you help me or not. It’ll make a terrific story when I run it. Maybe I’ll even get a chance at the big time, after all. Chris threw my whole life off track. I only went along that night to do him a favor. He has to pay for what he did.”
“Make sure you stay on the right side of the law.”
“I’m not stupid. The last thing I’d risk is being charged with another crime.”
“Please keep me informed of what you find.” Ethan wished he didn’t have to leave it at that. However, he couldn’t get involved in a personal vendetta.
Unfortunately, he could tell from Barry’s narrowed eyes that the man wasn’t likely to give up. And that he now considered Ethan an obstacle, if not an outright antagonist.
FOR A WHILE after Ethan went upstairs, the conversation centered on police matters. Jenni was puzzled to learn that someone had been stealing family portraits.
“Just the pictures?” she asked. “Nothing else?”
“Not that anyone has mentioned,” Gwen told her. “Except the frames, of course.”
“It might be just the first step,” Rosie warned. “This man could be studying his victims and planning to murder them in their sleep.”

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