Virgin River (Virgin River #1)(29)

“No,” she said. “I heard about you is all.”

The woman’s eyes were drawn down sleepily, as though she had trouble staying awake, with dark circles under them. She was a large woman, maybe five-ten, and rather plain, her greasy hair pulled back. It was possible she was sick. Mel stuck out a hand. “Mel Monroe,” she said.

The woman hesitated a minute before accepting a handshake. She wiped her palm down her pant leg first, then reached out. Her grip was strong and clumsy, her nails dirty. “Cheryl,” she said in response. “Creighton.” She pulled her hand back and put both her hands in the pockets of baggy pants. Men’s pants, it looked like. Mel stopped herself before saying, Ahhh. That would be the Cheryl who was supposed to clean the cabin; the Cheryl Hope suspected was drinking again. Which would explain her sallow complexion and weary eyes, not to mention all the little broken blood vessels in her cheeks. “Sure I can’t do anything for you?”

“No. They say you’re leaving right away.”

“Do they now,” she said with a smile. “Well, I have a few things I made a commitment to see through first.”

“That baby,” she said.

Mel tipped her head to one side. “Hardly anything goes unnoticed around here. Do you know anything about the baby, or her mother? I’d like to find the woman w—”

“So you could go sooner? Because if you want to go—I could take care of the baby…”

“You have an interest in the baby?” she asked. “May I ask why?”

“I just mean to help. I like to help out.”

“I really don’t need much help—but I sure would like to find the baby’s mother. She could be sick, giving birth alone like that.”

Mel chanced a glance toward the bar and noticed that Preacher had stopped sweeping and watched. At that same moment, Doc came out of the house. “Cheryl,” Doc said.

“Hey, Doc. Just telling the nurse here—I could help out with that baby. Watch her for you and stuff.”

“Why’d you want to do that, Cheryl?”

She shrugged. “Jack told me about it.”

“Thanks. We’ll sure keep you in mind,” Doc said.

“’Kay,” she said with another shrug. She looked at Mel. “Nice meetin’ you. Explains a lot, now I see you.” And she turned and walked back the way she’d come. Mel looked up at Doc and found him frowning. “What was that all about?” she asked him.

“Seems like she wanted to see what you look like. She tends to follow Jack around like a lovesick puppy.”

“He shouldn’t serve her.”

“He doesn’t,” Doc said. “Jack’s a generous guy, but not a foolish one. Giving Cheryl booze would be like throwing kerosene on a fire. Besides, she can’t afford Jack’s place. I think she gets some of that rotgut they keep out in the woods.”

“That’s going to kill her.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Can’t somebody help her?”

“She look to you like she wants help?”

“Has anyone tried? Has Jack—”

“Jack can’t do anything for her,” Doc said. “That would put an awful lot of useless ideas in her head.”

He turned around and went back into the house. Mel followed him and said, “Do you think it’s possible she gave birth?”

“Anything’s possible. But I doubt it.”

“What if we checked her? It would be obvious.”

Doc looked down at her and lifted one snowy brow. “Think I should call the sheriff?

Get a warrant?” And he walked off toward the kitchen.

What an odd little town, Mel found herself thinking.

While the baby napped, Mel took a break and wandered down to the store. Connie poked her head out of the back and said, “Hey, Mel. Can I get you something?”

“I just thought I’d look at your magazines, Connie. I’m bored.”

“Help yourself. We’re watching our soap, if you want to come back here with us.”

“Thanks,” she said, going to the very small book rack. There were a few paperbacks and five magazines. Guns, trucks, fishing, hunting and Playboy. She picked up a paperback novel and the Playboy and went to the back where she’d seen Connie. A parted curtain hung in the doorway to the back room. Inside, Connie and Joy sat in old canvas lawn chairs in front of the small desk, coffee cups in hand, their eyes focused on a small TV that sat on a shelf. The women were complete physical opposites—Connie being small and trim with short hair dyed fire-engine-red, and Joy must be easily five-nine and two-fifty, very plain with her long, graying hair pulled back into a ponytail, her face round and cheerful. They were an odd pair and it was said they’d been best friends since they were kids. “Come on back,” Joy said. “Help yourself to coffee if you want.”

On the television a very pretty woman looked into the eyes of a very handsome man and said, “Brent, I never loved anyone but you! Ever!”

“Oh, she is such a liar!” Connie said.

“No, she’s not—she didn’t love any of them. She just screwed ’em all,” Joy said. On the TV: “Belinda, the bab—”

“Brent, the baby is yours!”