of a housekeeper, so don’t complain. It’s got power and running water.”
Jack discovered Moira was fast asleep. “We’re here, Moira,” he said.
Brooke unlocked the cabin, and as they entered, Jack was impressed. From the outside it appeared to be like any basic fishing cabin, squat, flat-roofed, weather-faded, and unpainted. Overhanging shingles acted as a gutter. The windows were covered with heavy wooden shutters. The door was solid wood. A newer wooden outhouse was visible behind the cabin.
But inside, it was as nice and comfortable as any hotel room with a sofa, two leather recliners, liquor cabinet, fireplace, and a big-screen television. He spied a fully equipped kitchen off to the left. And to the right was a door that probably entered the bedroom. A closed door was in the back of the kitchen.
“Is that the back door?” he asked Brooke.
She saw where he was looking. “No. It would have led to a bathroom. My dad had got as far as framing and hanging the door when he passed away. The door is nailed shut from the outside. I’ve never had a chance to finish the cabin.”
Jack nodded. It was a six-panel inside door, made of pine, but it wasn’t as thick as the front door. It may be nailed shut, but it was the weakest point in the rear. He could force it if he had to. So could the killers.
Moira sat down on the sofa while Jack checked out the cabin. She leaned back with her eyes closed, both hands in her lap. When Brooke switched on the front room lights, Moira’s wound didn’t look as bad as he had thought. Her front was covered with blood, but she didn’t exhibit any signs of shock. He just wanted to make sure she didn’t go to sleep.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Brooke offered. Jack nodded and she went back outside. Every police car was equipped with a basic first aid kit.
He woke Moira and helped her into the kitchen. He pulled up a chair for her near the sink, turned on the water, and heard a pump come on under the sink. He twisted the hot tap all the way open and looked around for clean towels. He found several dishtowels under the sink and put one under the water. It was still cold.
“No hot water,” Brooke said, coming back in with the kit. “On my to-do list.”
“Can I have a drink?” Moira asked.
“The water’s okay,” Brooke said. “Just tastes like iron. It’s from a well.” She opened a cabinet that revealed a couple of red plastic picnic cups. She filled one and handed it to Moira, who drank thirstily and asked for another.
Jack tried to hand the wetted dishtowel to Brooke, who declined, saying, “What makes you think I know how to clean a wound? Just because I’m a woman?”
Moira grinned slightly, and her hand went back to her face. “Brooke, could you please? Thank you, Jack.”
Brooke relented and ran the water and dabbed Moira’s face, washing the blood away.
Jack went to the front and opened a window, then the shutter, and had a view of the lake and the dirt drive approaching them. He looked back toward the kitchen and made eye contact with Brooke.
“It’s not too bad,” Brooke said. “You’ll need this examined, but maybe there won’t be a scar.”
“I hope not,” Moira said.
Brooke expertly applied a bandage over the laceration and taped it in place. “There. That will hold for a short while.”
“I think I’ll lay down for a minute,” Moira said, and Brooke led her to the bedroom and pulled the door shut. She walked over and stood beside Jack, looking out the window.
“Were you hit?” she asked.
Jack looked down and noticed blood dripping from his hand onto the hardwood floor. He lifted his sleeve and saw a hole on both sides of his bicep.
“Come in the kitchen and we’ll get you patched up, too.” Brooke pulled him away from the window to the chair by the sink.
She gently turned the arm and examined his injury before saying, “It’s a through and through wound. You’re lucky.”
“Yeah. Lucky,” Jack said in a sarcastic tone.
“So . . . do you want me to bandage it, or do you want to just act tough?”
“Will I still be able to play the piano?”
She smirked and wet a towel. “Tell you what. I’ll use a dirty towel. How about that?”
He held his arm over the sink while Brooke, none too gently, washed the blood off and then poured something