Natalie had sounded hale and hearty during their phone conversation to finalize all the arrangements, but shewasin her early eighties. And she did have long-standing physical challenges. While people developed workarounds for those sorts of things, health-related conditions could create problems on occasion.
Grimacing, Cara pulled to the side of the drive and set the brake. Been there, done that. Experience was an excellent teacher.
Hopefully whatever had happened in this house wasn’t as bad as it appeared.
A fit-looking man in uniform exited through the front door, and Cara slid from behind the wheel to meet him by the hood.
“Cara Tucker, I presume.” He extended his hand. “Brad Mitchell.”
She returned his firm clasp. “I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I’m not certain that’s the most appropriate sentiment under the circumstances. Is Natalie okay?”
“She claims to be. The EMTs aren’t convinced yet.”
“What happened?”
“According to her, she felt lightheaded, lost her balance,and fell when she got up after her nap. The housekeeper heard the fall, found Ms. Boyer in a disoriented state, and called 911.”
“Did she hit her head?”
“She says she didn’t. I told her you were here, and she confirmed you were expected. Maybe you can convince her to go to the ER and get checked out. She hasn’t been receptive to that suggestion so far.”
Cara shook her head. “I doubt I can change her mind. Our one face-to-face meeting won’t buy me much influence.”
His eyebrows rose. “I got the impression you were friends.”
Flattering, but a bit of a stretch.
“More like acquaintances. My association with her is professional. I’ll be spending weekdays here during the fall semester to work on an academic paper.”
She left it at that. The sheriff likely wouldn’t be interested in hundred-year-old journals written in a vanishing language. Even her siblings’ eyes glazed over if she went on too long about her research project.
“Are you a student?”
Her lips twitched in anticipation of his reaction. “No. Associate professor at SEMO. Historical anthropology.”
He did a double take.
Not surprising.
At thirty-four she still looked more like a typical undergrad than a professor.
But the sheriff recovered quickly. “Impressive. What sort of paper are you writing?”
She studied him.
Did he have a genuine interest in her project? Or was he simply being a thorough law enforcement officer and digging for more information about the woman who’d appeared out of the blue in the midst of a crisis?
Didn’t matter. A top-line answer would suffice in either case.
“French culture around Old Mines. Natalie has material that will be helpful to me and offered to assist. Since commuting two hours each way every day wasn’t practical, she also offered me a place to stay.”
“Interesting.” A beat passed as he considered her, but rather than follow up on that comment, he motioned toward the house. “Why don’t we go in? It’s too hot to stand out here in the sun. If you were able to convince Ms. Boyer to let you invade her turf, I’m still hopeful you may be able to persuade her to pay a quick visit to the ER.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“You can’t do any worse than we have. Shall we?”
He let her precede him up the walkway and the steps that led to the galérie but reached around to twist the knob when she arrived at the door, giving her a subtle whiff of an enticing aftershave.
