Free Dead End by Stella Cameron

Tourpack so she could carry supplies.
    She mounted the sidewalk, noticed Oribel Scully’s bicycle leaned against the fence, and the yellow Jag that had to belong to Precious Depew, and braced herself. She drove through the front gates. Then she saw Precious Depew and Oribel seated on the steps to the house. Glowing in the neon orange workout clothes she wore to Toussaint’s tiny health club, Oribel clasped a showy bouquet of flowers.
    Oribel bearing gifts? Now that was a scary thought.
    “You’re gonna break your head riding that thing,” Oribel called. “A lady—a
doctor,
cruisin’ around town on an ugly brown motorcycle with all that flashy stuff on it. Not dignified at all.”
    Reb thought her chocolate brown wheels were the most beautiful conveyance she’d ever seen. “Excuse me while I put this in the garage.” She wheeled the cycle around the house to a single, separate garage at the end of a gravel pathway and placed it carefully in the middle of the floor. Then she hung her helmet over a handlebar and removed her gloves.
    When she returned to the front of the house, Oribel and Precious had risen from their perches and were standing expectantly at the door. Reb could have groaned with frustration. She didn’t want visitors. She wanted to take a long, bubbly bath, listen to some music, and get ready for Marc to come and pick her up.
    As if this were going to be a date. Hah! All work and no play was making this girl dull and fanciful.
    “Okay, ladies. Which one of you is sick?” If Precious, who had visited Reb the previous week, wanted her health mentioned in front of Oribel, she’d bring it up. “Clinic was over hours ago, but of course I’ll take care of you.”
    “You always were somethin’ special,” dark-haired, gold-skinned, and voluptuously petite Precious said. Even in impossibly high heels, she didn’t come much past Reb’s shoulders. “Kind, that’s what you are. I don’t think you ever turned a soul away no matter who they were. We all know half your patients don’t have insurance—or any money.”
    Precious was spoiled, but she had a sweet side, and when she smiled her expression was ingenuous. Her light brown eyes shone. A pretty thing. Reb thought about Marc’s revelations and wondered why women fell for Chauncey Depew.
    “That’s a nice thing to say,” Reb said, still wishing her visitors would leave. “Let me open the door and we’ll go right through to the consulting room.”
And then they
’
d go away again—quickly.
    “Will you listen to her, Mama?” Precious Depew said. “I think that’s just plain sad. A nice woman who doesn’t think anyone would want to visit just because they like her company. It’s been too long since we came by, sugar. Besides, Mama and me is parched. We need some of that good iced tea you make.”
    Reb’s iced tea came from a mix, and she couldn’t recall ever serving any to Oribel and Precious. But she said, “You’ve got it. Come on in.”
    They followed her straight into the kitchen, where Gaston slept in his favorite spot—in a puddle of sun on the chipped enamel draining board.
    Oribel tutted at the sight of him. Reb lifted his nose and kissed it, and said, “How come I don’t get a better greeting than that.” She frowned a little. It wasn’t like Gaston not to rush to the door to greet her. He must be miffed—probably with the company.
    Grateful she’d mixed up a jug of tea earlier, Reb filled three glasses and waved toward the back porch. “It’s nice out there.” Oribel showed no inclination to set down her flowers and carried them with her as she went.
    Seated in facing gliders, they drank in silence. Reb’s daylilies crowded together, their colors alternately garish or delicate in the sunshine. They grew in wide, irregular beds near the porch, and their scent was sweet and heavy.
    “Nice bouquet,” Reb said of the cellophane-wrapped explosion of color Oribel held. “Would you like to put them in water—just