“Well, then, you give me no choice.” The woman refocused on Amelia. “I’m Steve’s insurance agent. You know, from George Franccoppolis’s agency? We’ve had the unfortunate opportunity to get to know each other pretty well over the past few months with the vandalism and such. In fact”—she rummaged through her leather shoulder bag, retrieving a manila envelope—“you need to sign these. I marked the spots for you. Don’t worry, I don’t need it now. Just drop it in the mail in the next day or two.”
When Susan held out the envelope, Amelia had several thoughts. First, relief. Insurance agent. Yes. That made sense. Lots of paperwork and red tape from, first, the vandalism on Steve’s work site and now the slashed tires on Steve’s truck. Second, curiosity. What could possibly be inside that envelope that Amelia would have to sign, and if it was something important enough to merit a personal visit, then why have lunch with Steve in the park rather than come to their house?
“I’m sure Steve will fill you in. Well,” Susan said, closing her bag with a flip of her hair, “I need to get back to the office. Thanks for lunch. Next time I’m bringing you a calzone from Sleighford. God, what am I saying? Let’s hope there isn’t a ‘next time,’ right?”
The compelling laugh returned, and Steve joined in as though property damage and filing insurance reports were the height of fun. Amelia, determined to not be left out or made a fool, laughed along.
“Well, at least we got hot dogs out of the deal,” he joked.
“Fair trade,” Susan volleyed back, her eyes meeting Steve’s. Their laughter slowly diminished. She glanced back and forth between Amelia and Steve and then turned on one of her heels, tossing back over her shoulder a brief, “I’ll be in touch.”
As Susan sashayed away, Amelia tried to decide what to ask first. Before a word left her mouth, Steve wrapped her in a brief hug. Even through his coat she could smell his familiar scent.
“Hey, you okay? You seem a little off,” he asked, making Amelia bristle. She hated it when he assessed her like that. A little off? Yeah, sure, maybe, but surely these were extenuating circumstances. She stiffened and pulled away from his embrace.
“So, Susan . . .” She let the accusation trail off. She’d feel a lot less desperate if she didn’t have to say the words, Who is she, and why haven’t I heard about her before? Steve took a step back, increasing the distance between them, and put his hands into his coat pockets.
“Yeah, George assigned her to my case weeks ago. She’s really good at her job. Found a few ways to get payouts that I don’t think my policy even technically covered.” His eye contact diminished as the explanation dragged on. He knew. He knew she was jealous. It made her cheeks flush and made her feel weak, insecure.
Or maybe he was feeling guilty. The idea made her physically ill, and she had to put it away before she succumbed to it.
He hesitated, the breeze catching in his hair like a wind machine on a photo shoot. His forehead wrinkled in that all-too-familiar way. She knew that look. He was worried about her, and he was holding back. Usually what followed was a confrontation, a major disagreement on the finer points of Amelia’s stress triggers and how to alleviate them, which was the absolute last thing she wanted to happen in the middle of the park. But he didn’t. Instead, his face softened, the muscles in his neck unclenched, and a familiar kindness returned to his eyes.
“I think it’d be good if I got George back on this. Susan is great, but George has more experience,” Steve said, without even a hint of reluctance, then wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the crown of her head.
A wash of self-doubt and embarrassment made her bury her face deeper into his chest. She wanted to cry from relief but knew it would only make him question her sanity further. He pulled back and looked her in the eye. His eyes were a soft brown, warm, comforting. When they’d first started dating, she used to think she could stare at them endlessly.
“Listen, I’ve gotta get back to work, but we can go over all the insurance paperwork tonight.”
“Okay.” She waved the envelope Susan had given her, less interested in insurance payouts than she’d ever been. “I’ll make some caramel popcorn, sweeten the process.”
“Sounds delicious.” He gave her shoulder one last squeeze.
When Steve finally walked away, Amelia collapsed onto the bench. Her spot had grown cold. She examined the manila envelope—the flap wasn’t sealed. It was probably something about her father’s life insurance or the business, but after meeting Suze, Amelia couldn’t hold back her curiosity. She spilled the pile of papers out into her palm. As she straightened the edges, carefully tapping them on her knee to make them even, something caught her eye. At the top of the page wasn’t a summary of a damage complaint. It wasn’t even a petition for a full-price reimbursement for the tires. At the top of the packet was one header: LIFE INSURANCE POLICY. Underneath that: AMELIA SAXTON.
CHAPTER 11
ELLIE
Tuesday, May 10
11:21 a.m.
The doors swooshed open in front of Ellie. Chet had to park the ambulance—they could only leave it in the front drive if they had a patient, and as much as Chet wanted to give her a once-over, Ellie didn’t qualify. The blood that Ellie had been trying to escape when she ripped off her shirt back on Amelia’s driveway had soaked through the stiff fabric, and now, running into the emergency room at the hospital in Frampton, she realized her abdomen was covered in a blotch of crimson. The blood made her flinch, but it also got the attention of the nurse behind the counter.
“Miss, can I help you? Are you hurt?”
“My sister . . . Amelia Saxton . . .” She could barely get the words out between her heavy breaths. “My sister was brought in. Gunshots. Abdomen. Shoulder. Um . . . the medics were Cam and Patty.”
The middle-aged nurse, carrying more than a few pounds around her midsection in a way that made her look like she’d be nice to hug, turned her head to the side, surveying Ellie carefully.
“If you’d take a seat, I’ll see what I can find out for you.” She gestured to the small U of seats to the left of the counter. They were filled with a coughing toddler and his mom, a man with a bloody dish towel wrapped around his hand, and a woman half hunched over in what looked like abdominal discomfort.
“No.” Ellie swooped back around and placed her hand flat on the counter where all those sick people had signed their names and hoped for a short wait. She was not waiting. Not today. “I’m a paramedic, from Broadlands. I . . . I ride with . . .” Chet broke in through the sliding doors, calling Ellie’s name. To think she used to dread hearing Chet’s grouchy drawl.
“Chet! Good to see you.” The nurse, whose name tag read SALLY, greeted Chet with a smile and leaned forward, pressing her stomach against the counter.