the springed needle against the side of Mrs. Hastings’s thumb.
“Ow.” Mrs. Hastings jumped, her brows drawing together.
“You’ve been testing on the pads of your fingers again.” Paige examined the faded black-and-blue marks. “You’re supposed to test on the sides so it won’t hurt after.” She may as well have been talking to herself given the thinning of Mrs. Hastings’s lips. When the readout blinked fifty, Paige’s training kicked in. “Fletch, see if there’s any orange juice in the fridge, please. If not, a soda or anything with high sugar in it.”
“Yeah.”
What Paige wouldn’t give for a stethoscope or blood pressure cuff. She reached for the old woman’s hand and took her pulse again, counting down the unending seconds until she felt a steadier beat.
“Here.” Fletch handed her a glass of orange juice. “Should I call the ambulance?”
“That depends.” Paige urged Mrs. Hastings to drink. “Let’s give this a few minutes and see how she feels. Okay? Nice and slow. There you go.” She smoothed Mrs. Hastings’s hair back from her face.
Mrs. Hastings nodded, her trembling hands taking the glass from Paige as she did as she was told.
Paige set the medications out on the table and filled the organizer, something she should have done in the first place.
“Your hovering isn’t going to make me feel any better, young man,” Mrs. Hastings said in a stronger tone. “You go fix my locks like you said you would.”
“Ma’am.” Fletch nodded but stepped back to look at Paige, who added her own gesture of encouragement as the concern melted from his gaze.
“I’ll call if we need you.” Paige pulled Mrs. Hastings’s free hand toward her and dropped today’s pills into her wrinkled palm. “Take them, please.”
“Don’t need a babysitter.”
“Apparently you do,” Paige said with a forced lightness of tone. Dealing with elderly patients took care and patience. Fighting them did no good and often created more problems than solutions. “I think you did this just to get me back here more frequently.”
Mrs. Hastings smirked, opened her now-clear eyes. “You have enough on your plate without worrying about an old woman.”
“I’m not worrying about an old woman—I’m worrying about my friend. Besides, Charlie would never forgive me if something happened to you. She loves coming here. Now take them, please.” She watched, satisfied when Mrs. Hastings followed instructions. “I’m going to go into the kitchen to finish fixing our tea. And if you’re feeling better in a few minutes, I’ll bring you one of the blueberry scones Charlie helped me bake yesterday.”
“Would be nice to see your Charlie again. You’re a good girl, Paige.” Mrs. Hastings caught hold of her hand as Paige got up. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“You’re nothing of the sort. Now, you just rest and I’ll be back in a bit.” Paige returned to the kitchen and turned the kettle back on, sparing a glance over her shoulder to Fletch as he replaced the dead bolt on the back door. “It’s a good thing you were here.”
“Looks like.” Fletch shook his head. “Reminds me of my grandfather. They can seem so...”
“Fragile.” Paige nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“You were very good with her.”
“I’ve had some experience with patie—um, situations like hers.” Paige bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself to choose her words more carefully. “An elderly neighbor, where we lived before, had similar issues. Charlie and I used to check on her.” Had it really been over a year since she’d seen or spoken to Mrs. Brennan? Paige could only hope one of her grandchildren had stepped up to oversee her care.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about your past.” Fletch angled his screwdriver differently to pop the old lock off. “So much for my theory you and Charlie sprung out of someone’s flower bed.”
“I’m not one to dwell on what happened before.” Paige’s heart jumped in her chest. She spent most of her down hours doing just that. Could she be around the man for more than five minutes without lying? “How are you doing, Mrs. Hastings?” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m not feeling fragile, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
Paige chuckled. Yeah, Mrs. Hastings wouldn’t be needing a ride to the hospital today.
“Fletch, I expect you to stay for tea once you’re done with those locks,” Mrs. Hastings called.
Fletch’s cheeks went red. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this side of you before.” Nor had Paige ever seen him look so uncomfortable or out of his element. She found it more charming than she expected.
“Once my high school principal, always my high school principal.” He bent down to retrieve the new lock and screw it into place. “I swear, I step foot inside this house and I’m a teenager again.”
Paige poured the hot water into the teapot to warm it before brewing—a lesson she’d received on her first visit a few months before. “It’s a nice problem to have.” She rose up on her toes to look out into the overgrown yard and spotted a collection of tools resting against the side of the house she didn’t remember seeing before. “Mrs. Hastings, have you been doing yard work?”
“Isn’t going to get done on its own. Stop snooping on me.”
Fletch leaned out the back door for a quick look, then shook his head.
“I hate weeds!” Mrs. Hastings announced.
“Right. Weed hater. Adding that to the list.” Paige pulled out her phone and tapped open her calendar, looking through for a spare few hours. “I get off from the diner early on Thursday, Mrs. Hastings. I can bring you an early dinner if you’d like.” And while she was there she could tackle some of that yard work.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Mrs. Hastings repeated after a long hesitation.
“If it were a bother, I wouldn’t offer.” Paige added it to her schedule, avoiding Fletch’s curious look.
“I do like Ursula’s club sandwich,” came Mrs. Hastings’s reply.
“Who doesn’t?” Fletch said as he closed up, tested and locked the back door. “One down, two to go. Hold that tea for me, will you? I’ll just do the shed and then the front door.”
“Sure, yeah, okay.” Paige watched him trudge through the overgrown grass and weeds on his way to the rusted-out storage shed in the backyard as she pulled out a third dainty flower-painted teacup and arranged it on the tray beside the other two. “Deputy Fletcher does tea. Who knew?”
* * *
“I APPRECIATE YOU not bringing up Jasper or the break-ins while we were in there,” Fletch said a little over an hour later as he and Paige walked down Mrs. Hastings’s front steps. “She’s already worked up enough reading about them in the paper.”
“A lot of people are.” Paige retrieved her bike and walked beside him. “I hear plenty of them talking about it at the diner. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about Jasper.”
“Contrary to what you might think, and the fact we did find evidence of his presence at one of the houses, I haven’t declared him guilty, Paige. But I would like to find him and talk to him.” Fletcher glanced at her. “Don’t suppose you have any idea where he might be.”
“No.” She visibly swallowed and flinched. “Why would I know?”
Why would she, indeed? But it was clear she was hiding something. “I’m going to take another walk through