get tired of being the only ones who bitch about lack of funds. Frankly, it’s galling to see all that money being poured into RestHaven. Sure, they’re spreading it around now in the remodeling part, but except for a couple of dozen jobs, the staff’s made up of outsiders.”
“Maybe Dr. Woo can inform us of other ways they’ll benefit Alpine,” I suggested. “He’s up next.”
“Screw Woo,” Milo said. “You know it’ll be a bunch of bullshit. Let’s eat. I just figured out that I’m starving.”
I scooted off his lap. I’d turned on the oven when the show had started. “I’ll put the bread in. Can you wait fifteen minutes?”
Milo had gotten out of the easy chair to shut off the radio. “Why can’t we start in on the crab—” He stopped. “What the hell? That Bree Whatzername announced ten uninterrupted minutes of Golden Oldies.”
“Bree Kendall,” I said, referring to Spence’s part-time DJ. “Woo must’ve cancelled.”
Milo turned the radio off. “I don’t like that.”
“I thought you didn’t want to listen to him.”
“I don’t. But why is he cancelling? Has he got the flu? Or …”
The sheriff never liked to speculate, which I realized was whathe was doing before he caught himself. Downing the rest of his drink, he handed me the glass. “Just a short shot. I’m calling Doc.”
To my annoyance—even if I understood the reason—Milo went out into the carport to make his call.
Boundaries, Emma
, I lectured myself.
You have his heart and his body, but you don’t have his badge and his job
. I started putting the crab and the salad on the kitchen table.
When Milo came back inside, he didn’t look pleased. “That flu thing’s no joke. Doc’s up to his ears. Why the hell can’t those high-roller doctors up at RestHaven pitch in?”
“Woo and Farrell are the only M.D.’s,” I said, sitting down.
Milo ripped a crab claw into pieces. “What about the shrinks? Psychiatrists have medical degrees.”
“True. And Jennifer Hood is an R.N. with a master’s. It’d be a goodwill gesture on their part to volunteer when things get rough.”
“They already are,” Milo said. “Doc and Sung have been trying to get somebody up here for a year. Nobody wants to be a G.P. The money’s not there. Gerry and Elvis can’t pay big salaries. I can’t, either. I could use two more deputies. The county’s grown since the college opened. Not a lot, but enough to stretch services across the board.”
“Hey,” I said, kicking him gently under the table, “nobody knows that better than I do. Don’t you ever read my editorials?”
Milo feigned indignation. “Sure. Usually. Sometimes.” He nodded toward the stove. “Smoke’s coming out of your oven. Again.”
“The bread!” I cried, jumping up.
“Is it toast yet?” Milo asked over his shoulder.
“No. The bread’s fine. It’s just some … grease.”
“Emma.” The hazel eyes conveyed a reprimand.
“Okay, so I haven’t turned on the oven since you were here. My appetite’s been off.” I switched subjects. “Why did you go to the courthouse today? Or is it some SkyCo state secret?”
Milo looked pained. “It won’t be in a day or so. Holly Gross is getting out of jail.”
I gasped, almost choking on a radish from the salad. “No!”
“Yes.” He turned in his chair. “Where’s the potato salad? You usually have that with crab.”
“I’m weaning you away from grease since your gallbladder surgery. It helps keep off the ten pounds you lost after the Bellevue siege.”
“You think I’m fat?”
“No. It hardly showed, but it’s better for you to stay leaner. Now tell me about Holly before I take away your melted butter for the crab.”
“You lost weight, too,” Milo said. “You’ll get so skinny that I’ll have to shake the sheets to find you.”
“I only lost six pounds. Come on, Dodge, let’s hear it.”
He chewed on some bread before answering. “She filed an appeal. That is, her
“Maybe Dr. Woo can inform us of other ways they’ll benefit Alpine,” I suggested. “He’s up next.”
“Screw Woo,” Milo said. “You know it’ll be a bunch of bullshit. Let’s eat. I just figured out that I’m starving.”
I scooted off his lap. I’d turned on the oven when the show had started. “I’ll put the bread in. Can you wait fifteen minutes?”
Milo had gotten out of the easy chair to shut off the radio. “Why can’t we start in on the crab—” He stopped. “What the hell? That Bree Whatzername announced ten uninterrupted minutes of Golden Oldies.”
“Bree Kendall,” I said, referring to Spence’s part-time DJ. “Woo must’ve cancelled.”
Milo turned the radio off. “I don’t like that.”
“I thought you didn’t want to listen to him.”
“I don’t. But why is he cancelling? Has he got the flu? Or …”
The sheriff never liked to speculate, which I realized was whathe was doing before he caught himself. Downing the rest of his drink, he handed me the glass. “Just a short shot. I’m calling Doc.”
To my annoyance—even if I understood the reason—Milo went out into the carport to make his call.
Boundaries, Emma
, I lectured myself.
You have his heart and his body, but you don’t have his badge and his job
. I started putting the crab and the salad on the kitchen table.
When Milo came back inside, he didn’t look pleased. “That flu thing’s no joke. Doc’s up to his ears. Why the hell can’t those high-roller doctors up at RestHaven pitch in?”
“Woo and Farrell are the only M.D.’s,” I said, sitting down.
Milo ripped a crab claw into pieces. “What about the shrinks? Psychiatrists have medical degrees.”
“True. And Jennifer Hood is an R.N. with a master’s. It’d be a goodwill gesture on their part to volunteer when things get rough.”
“They already are,” Milo said. “Doc and Sung have been trying to get somebody up here for a year. Nobody wants to be a G.P. The money’s not there. Gerry and Elvis can’t pay big salaries. I can’t, either. I could use two more deputies. The county’s grown since the college opened. Not a lot, but enough to stretch services across the board.”
“Hey,” I said, kicking him gently under the table, “nobody knows that better than I do. Don’t you ever read my editorials?”
Milo feigned indignation. “Sure. Usually. Sometimes.” He nodded toward the stove. “Smoke’s coming out of your oven. Again.”
“The bread!” I cried, jumping up.
“Is it toast yet?” Milo asked over his shoulder.
“No. The bread’s fine. It’s just some … grease.”
“Emma.” The hazel eyes conveyed a reprimand.
“Okay, so I haven’t turned on the oven since you were here. My appetite’s been off.” I switched subjects. “Why did you go to the courthouse today? Or is it some SkyCo state secret?”
Milo looked pained. “It won’t be in a day or so. Holly Gross is getting out of jail.”
I gasped, almost choking on a radish from the salad. “No!”
“Yes.” He turned in his chair. “Where’s the potato salad? You usually have that with crab.”
“I’m weaning you away from grease since your gallbladder surgery. It helps keep off the ten pounds you lost after the Bellevue siege.”
“You think I’m fat?”
“No. It hardly showed, but it’s better for you to stay leaner. Now tell me about Holly before I take away your melted butter for the crab.”
“You lost weight, too,” Milo said. “You’ll get so skinny that I’ll have to shake the sheets to find you.”
“I only lost six pounds. Come on, Dodge, let’s hear it.”
He chewed on some bread before answering. “She filed an appeal. That is, her
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