day and past memories. They ended each night and morning with a simple prayer.
Her mother enjoyed sharing stories about when Peyton was little, and Peyton was starved for memories about how her mother had grown up on a working cotton farm. Although her grandparents had died when she was small, Peyton had gotten to know them through her mother’s nostalgic tales.
The days were growing shorter outside with fall, and so was her mother’s memory. Doctors called it sundowner’s syndrome, where elderly people became confused at night because of the lack of light. Some grew agitated and depressed. They lost track of time. Depression and disorientation were serious side effects.
All the more reason she made it a point to encourage the seniors to sit outside and enjoy the sunlight during the day. She needed the fresh air and sunshine herself.
Her mother’s comment about the stranger still disturbed her. Dr. Sweetwater, the geriatrician on staff, warned her that dementia could cause hallucinations, especially in the wake of UT infections, a recurring problem with her mother and worse with the patients in the nursing home who were bedridden.
She pressed a kiss on her mother’s cheek, then covered her with the candlewicked quilt she’d helped her mother make ten years ago before her mother’s hands grew too gnarled and twisted with arthritis to sew. Worry needled her, and she stood and watched her sleep for a few minutes before leaving the room. “I promise I’ll always take care of you, Mama.”
Satisfied she was resting, she checked the lock on the window in the bedroom, then went into the den and tidied up.
Before she left for her own apartment, she checked all the window locks along with the French doors.
Weary and exhausted from the strain of the day, she walked out to her car, but scanned the parking lot and property for anyone lurking around. Something moved in the trees behind the building. Near the rose garden.
Peyton went still, her heart stuttering. Had her mother been right about a stranger being at Golden Gardens today?
* * *
HERBERT BRANTLEY LIVED in the small town of River’s Edge, about thirty miles from Whistler and not far from Golden Gardens.
“How’s Cora doing?” Liam asked as Jacob drove around the mountain.
“She’s ready to have this baby and see her toes again,” Jacob said with a chuckle.
Liam grinned. Ever since Jacob got married, he’d softened, become a family man. But that was okay. His brother deserved to be happy.
Jacob veered down the winding road for a mile, then turned onto a graveled drive. His SUV bounced over the ruts as he drove, tires grinding gravel. A half mile later, a rustic A-framed cabin slipped into view. Liam spotted the Harley parked beneath a carport beside what he assumed was the convertible which was draped in a car cover.
Jacob parked, and they surveyed the property as they walked up to the door together. Jacob knocked, and they waited several seconds before the door opened. A short, stocky guy in sweats stood in the doorway with a beer in his hand. His hair was scruffy, a scar ran along his right eyebrow and his nose looked as if it had been broken more than once.
“Herbert Brantley?” Jacob asked.
Herbert’s gaze shot back and forth between them, then his eyes narrowed, and he rocked back on his feet. “Yeah. What’s going on?”
Jacob introduced both of them and Liam flashed his credentials. “We’d like to talk to you about the Whistler Hospital fire. May we come in?”
“Now?” The man hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. Did he have company?
“Yes, now. It won’t take but a few minutes,” Jacob said. “And it’s important.”
The man raked his fingers through his hair, then sighed. “All right. Just wait here a minute.” He closed the door, leaving them on the stoop.
“He’s hiding something.” Jacob laid his hand over his weapon. “Maybe drugs?”
“Could be.” Liam jiggled the doorknob and opened the door. He stepped inside, braced for trouble, and saw Herbert coming from the bathroom. The sound of the toilet flushing echoed from the hall. “Guess he just got rid of it.”
Jacob cursed, then Herbert spotted them and halted in the hallway. “I thought you were waiting outside.”
“We got cold,” Liam said, daring the guy to argue. He gestured toward the living area. “Now, sit down, Herbert.”
Herbert looked rattled but sank onto a brown leather sofa that looked worn. Two plaid chairs flanked the stone fireplace and a rustic coffee table sat in the center of the seating area. Apparently,