Jack frowned. “What did she die from?”

Ted shrugged. “The old gent didn’t say other than that she died in her sleep. Contrary to what you might think, that place is not a gossip mill.”

“How long ago did she die, did the guy say?”

“He characterized it as ‘a while back.’ It could be last year or ten years ago. Then he just clammed up, and that was the end of it. I know, I know, I’m going to be checking the obits starting right now,” Ted said, sitting down at the dining-room table and opening his laptop.

Chapter 5

Maggie Spritzer stared into her bathroom mirror, wondering who the person staring back at her was. She looked like something the cat had dragged in and forgotten to drag back out. Yes, she’d come down with a killer summer cold, but she’d had colds before that never left her looking like the wrath of God. And she still felt like crap. Five days had passed since she’d taken to her bed with what she’d thought were the sniffles. Then came the fever, then the hacking cough, followed by the chills. She’d bought out the local pharmacy with treat-it-yourself meds. She knew she’d never be able to look at another bowl of chicken soup. Ditto for the garlic tea she’d read about online and Annie touted each time anyone was under the weather. Nothing had really helped, and she was forced to reconcile herself to the fact that the cold—or as she called it, the crud—just had to run its course.

Maggie leaned closer to the mirror to see if her eyes were glazed over and that was the reason she was looking so bedraggled. Nope. No glaze, eyes clear as crystal. She simply looked like hell warmed over. Even a ton of makeup wouldn’t help. She smacked the vanity countertop with a balled-up fist, then wished she hadn’t when a searing pain raced up her arm to settle in her shoulder.

A shower. Wash her hair. Clean clothes instead of these ratty pajamas she hadn’t changed in almost a week. I am a slob, she thought as she leaned forward to turn on the shower. She corrected the thought. She wasn’t a slob by nature; actually, she was neat and tidy for the most part. But once she’d come down with this rotten crud, she’d become a slob. How had she let that happen? Like she was really going to find the answer in the shower.

Forty minutes later, Maggie stepped out of the shower because she’d used up all the hot water. She dried her hair, brushed her teeth three times, and gargled with Listerine before she dressed in a set of fleece workout clothes even though it was July. It was all about being warm and staying warm, with no comeback chills. She wasn’t going anywhere, so it didn’t matter what she wore. All she wanted was to feel warm and better. A mere second later, she realized that she did feel better. So much better, her thoughts went to coffee and scrambled eggs, which she made and consumed in record time, her cat Hero watching her from his perch on the windowsill.