Rachel moved through the dining room and wide center hall. She paused at the half-open parlor door. “George,” she called softly. “Are you awake?”
“Awake? Of course I’m awake. Get in here, girl. I can’t believe it took you this long.”
Rachel took a deep breath and stepped into the grand parlor. It was much as she remembered it with the rows of leather-bound books, the marble fireplace, and silver candlesticks. The hospital bed dominated one corner of the room, complete with IV poles and a heart monitor. George was propped up into a semi-sitting position, a stack of books spilling across his lap and a laptop on the desk beside the bed.
“Get over here and give me a hug,” George insisted.
“Love the hat,” Rachel said. A knit seaman’s cap covered the scars on his bald head, but nothing could hide the ravages of the disease.
George, being George, was wearing colorful striped silk pajamas and a man’s vintage silk smoking jacket in silvery gray. A small tube delivered oxygen to his nose, and an IV line ran directly into his left arm. He’d lost even more weight since she’d last been here, and the bones stood out on his face, wrists, and hands. Hugging him was like embracing a scarecrow.
“Not a pretty sight, am I?” he asked.
“Your color’s good.”
“Good for what? A ghost?” George laughed. “No need to pretend with me, my girl. I won’t let Ell do it, and I’m not about to let you get away with it. I’m dying, plain and simple.” He clasped her hand. “Now, that’s out of the way. What can I do for you? How can I help? I know you’re playing detective again.” He patted the bed. “Here, sit here beside me. The nurse is out and I’ve given the staff the day off. Just me and Ell and Sophie.”
“You know I’ve been praying for you,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“You don’t need to tell me that. And you know well enough that I need all the prayers I can get. But the Lord in His mercy gave me time with Ell, something I never thought to have. She’ll do wonders with the bookstore and the other businesses, and she’s found herself a capital young man. He’ll keep those shiny teeth as white as snow.” George chuckled at his own joke, coughed, and then brought a tissue to his mouth. “You know what I’ve done and you know I’ll have to answer for it, but I still give thanks for His blessings. I’ve had far more happiness in these last years than I deserve.”
“Ell is a wonderful young woman,” Rachel agreed. “And she has your brains.”
“And a bigger heart than mine.” George coughed again and when he spoke again, his voice was strained. “We don’t have much time before the cancer rears its head and bites.” He tapped his head. “Not up here. No pain here”—he touched his midsection—“but it’s spread to my bones and that can be a bit much. So, ask what you came to ask and see if I can do something to help.”
Rachel nodded and took his hand in hers. His skin was cool to the touch and his fingers so frail. Her heart sank. George had his faults, but he’d been a good friend to her and it wasn’t her place to judge him. “You’re not to worry about Sophie,” she said. “I’d like to take her when the time comes. If you’ll let me.”
A tear spilled down George’s sunken cheek. His complexion was the shade of cornstarch and his eyes were sunk back into his head. “I’d like that,” he said. “Ell will protest, but you know she prefers her cats. Sophie will be happier with you at Stone Mill House. After all, she is a part owner there.”
“Yes,” Rachel agreed. “She is.”
“Good.” George’s voice came back stronger. “I’ll tell Ell that Sophie is to come with you and no arguments.” He waved toward a pitcher of ice water. “Would you pour me a glass? I’ll need a straw.”
Rachel’s hand trembled as she poured the water and held it for George to sip.
“That’s enough,” he said, coughing again. “That’s my drink of choice now. Those nurses are always trying to get me to drink energy shakes and that nasty stuff in the cans, but I’m not hungry anymore and I’m putting my foot down. No feeding tubes. Now, what can I tell you that you haven’t figured out for yourself about this murder?”
“Moses has confessed. Moses Studer is—”
“Yes, yes,” George said impatiently. “I know who the Studers are, and I know about Moses’s condition. Whatever gossip the housekeeper doesn’t bring me, Ell or one of the nurses hears in town. You’re thinking Moses is innocent?”
Rachel smiled. “Yes, that’s about it.”
“And you’ve tracked down that crazy Indian who lives on the mountain who Daniel was arguing with?”
“I have,” she agreed. “But I don’t think he shot Daniel Fisher, either.” She looked down at him. “I feel as if I’m going around and around in circles and getting nowhere. I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the matter.”
George gripped her hand with surprising strength. “To find the killer, you need to find the motive. Why do people kill? If they aren’t insane, they need a good reason. It’s not easy to kill another human, and I’d be in a position to tell you that. It goes against the grain. So what would be a good enough reason to do such a thing?”
“Some people kill for money,” she ventured.
“True, but this isn’t the case, is it? With Daniel Fisher dead, the farm stays with Alma Studer and her children, but it never really left their hands. And
