A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

direction of the sheriff’s office still too stunned to move. What had she ever done to Annabelle Smith? Everyone knew Annabelle had been really young when she’d had Wyn. While there was a history between Victor and Wyn’s mother, Jo had always admired her. For one specific reason: Annabelle Smith had never let Victor Montgomery intimidate her.

Jo stood there a long minute, attempting unsuccessfully to put the confrontation from her mind. Finally, she moved slowly making her way down the slight slope toward the corner. The winter weather stole through her wool coat, the quietness of the street sending a frisson of apprehension over her, raising the hair on her neck. There was nothing to fear, she told herself, shaking off the sensation. Montgomery Island was the safest place in the world—except Victor had been murdered here and she’d been shot at.

Jo reached the corner and let out a trembling breath. She started across the street still shaken by Annabelle’s threat—

Her head shot up. A late model automobile bore down on her, rendering her immobile.

A second later she was on the side of the street near the curb, a blinding pain throbbing behind her eyes. “Dear God. Jo.”

“Wyn?” she whispered, her body quivering with uncontrollable fear.

“It’s me,” Wyn said. “Are you hurt anywhere?” With gentle fingers, he checked her arms and legs for broken bones.

Jo lifted her hand to her temple and could already feel a lump forming. “I-I don’t know. I think I hit my head.”

He helped her to a sitting position. “Take it slow, babe, all right?”

Melinda came tearing out of the Cobblestone. “Who was that?”

Nancy and Garrick appeared from the Rock Tavern Grill and ran down the street towards her followed, by what had to be every patron from the establishment. “What happened?” Nancy yelled.

Even Cornelius stood in front of her holding a wrench. “Heavens. Miss Weatherford? Who would do this?”

Wyn touched Jo’s neck. “Blood. Let’s get you to the doc’s office.”

Fortuitously, Dr. Max’s office was located on the opposite corner of the sheriff’s office.

“Clear the way, folks. Let her breathe. Let her breathe.” The townspeople backed away and Wyn swooped her from the ground.

Melinda stepped forward with Jo’s purse. “Here you are, hon. I tried to get it all, but I’m not sure I found everything.”

“Thank you,” Jo whispered, hugging her bag to her chest, wishing the sidewalk could just swallow her up.

Wyn strode down the street with her in his arms as if she weighed but a feather.

“I’ve lost a shoe,” she said, unable to keep the tears from her voice. It seemed such an incongruous thing to say.

“You don’t need it. I’ll get you home. You’re not walking anywhere.” His jaw looked clenched tight enough to shatter, yet he handled her as if she were a delicate piece of china.

She buried her face in his shoulder to avoid the prying eyes. They were everywhere. She wished she could plug her ears from the footsteps that clopped along after them as they neared Dr. Max’s office. Nothing stopped the throbbing at her temple.

Wyn halted just short of the clinic doors. “All right, everyone. Go about your business. If you have any ideas who was driving like a bat out of hell down Main Street, stop in my office and let Dorothea know,” Wyn said.

“Don’t worry about comin’ in tomorrow, Josie. Me and Davin, we’ll manage,” Melinda called out.

“We’ll hunt him down, Sheriff. Not many on the island have a ’34 Packard,” Cornelius said.

’34 Packard. That was important but it was beyond Jo to articulate the reason why at the moment.

The ferry’s horn blasted, that drummed the inside of Jo’s head, signaling its departure for the mainland.

“Well, hell. Bastard probably made the last ferry.”

“Packard? Jackson drives a Packard,” Jo said.

“So does your pal, Julius Styles,” Wyn responded.

17

W

hat the devil did you do to bump your noggin’?” Dr. Max probed the swelling with gentle fingertips.

It still hurt. “I’m not five,” Jo grumbled. “I crossed the street and fell.” She flinched at his ginger touch. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard the commotion. Everyone else in town had.

He speared her with a sharp look.

“A car came out of nowhere…”

He dabbed at her chin with a cotton ball of rubbing alcohol. “The blood is from a small abrasion on your chin,” he told her. She hissed at the sting. “You’re lucky you weren’t flattened, young lady.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Dr. Max grabbed a penlight. “I need to check your eyes. Look up. Focus on something over my shoulder.”

“You might as well have a look at her ankle while she’s in here,” Wyn said.

She focused on Wyn with a heartfelt glare. “It was fine until my unfortunate fall. Just a little sore.” She’d never be able to keep a job at the rate she was going.

“Any nausea?”

“No.” Not yet.

He set the penlight aside and picked up a small rubber hammer. “Let’s check your reflexes.” He tapped the soft part below one knee-cap. The reflex was a tickling sensation and the whole bottom part of her leg jerked in a kick. Then the other. “That’s a good sign. Do you know my nurse’s name?”

“What a ridiculous question.”

Both the doctor’s and Wyn’s eyes watched her with an intensity that unnerved her. “Della,” she mumbled.

“Can you remember what you were doing just before you fell?” Dr. Max said, still piercing her with that severe acuity.

“Of course,” she said coolly, watching Wyn. “Annabelle Smith stopped me on the street to…talk.”

Surprise crossed Wyn’s features.

Max appeared to assess her words in what seemed forever before lifting her foot to probe at her swollen ankle. “What happened to your ankle?”

She swallowed the curse of pain. “I fell.”

“I don’t remember you ever being so clumsy, my dear. It needs ice.”

“I had ice on it. For two days. I must have tripped on the curb and reinjured it.”

“It doesn’t appear broken, just some swelling that should go down in a day or two.” Frowning, the doctor turned her foot, examined the swollen flesh