escort him to Chief Lindsey’s office.
“Two of our most recent developments are the children’s
library, built a few years ago, and the completely renovated and modernized
trauma wing. It was just finished last year when I joined the hospital,”
Shannon Dash, a member of the hospital’s public relations team, said as she led
him through a labyrinth of halls. “It’s the finest hospital in the county, but
our benefactor’s been making noise about funding a neuroscience center, hoping
to break ground in the next two years—if, of course, the land issues are worked
out and the new road built.”
His response to Shannon was a slight nod of
acknowledgment, and Sully Joe’s words came back to him.
“Yup, if it wasn’t for the hospital and the old hotel and
the mountains here that God gave us—and all the money folks’re piping into
it—this town would just dry up,” the gray-whiskered man had said, his dentures
clicking as he spoke. He'd taken his sweet time handing over Peyton’s gasoline
receipt. “But we ain’t for givin’ up our property just so some folks can show
off fat wallets.”
Now that he understood his grandfather was at the center
of a town debate, Peyton definitely wouldn’t dip into a conversation about the
“benefactor” who was very likely Nathaniel. Not that it was any surprise that
he’d put his stamp on the hospital that had cared so compassionately for his
wife in her final days. The facility in Los Angeles, connected to the
university where Nathaniel had intended for Peyton to earn his medical degree,
lay in the palm of Nathaniel’s hand. A position had been unofficially offered
to Peyton during a dinner party before he’d even graduated from UT Dallas, and
he’d spent the remainder of the evening downing vodka to drown the greasy
sensation in his gut that came with knowing his grandfather had bought his
future—and finally realizing he couldn’t keep living that way.
As he let Shannon lead him, he wondered whether Chief
Lindsey was a man whose integrity was for sale to the highest bidder. And he
hoped like hell this wasn’t the case, because after over a decade of earning
everything he got, he refused to relapse into being silver spoon-fed his
success.
The children’s library was mammoth. Arches resembling
stacks of colorful books towered high to the hand-painted dome ceiling. The
outer room boasted a bold electric fireplace and grand curios that contained
children’s books and artwork. The bookshelves, tables and desks with hutches
were crafted from the finest wood. Autumn and Halloween décor offered a festive
atmosphere.
When he followed the guide into the library a large gold
plaque stole his attention. He ventured forward. “The Anna Christine Jordan
Foundation Award,” he read aloud. Below the plaque was a list of the recipients
who’d received grants for medical care.
“We were recognized by the state for this foundation.
It’s very noteworthy—at least in these parts,” Shannon said with a satisfied
toss of her glossy white-blond ponytail.
Peyton frowned, looking closely at the plaque. How many
people with the last name Jordan lived in Night Sky?
“What do you know about this Anna Jordan?” he asked.
Shannon’s brow wrinkled. “Uh, not much, I’m afraid. Just
that this library was created in her honor after she died, and, of course, the
foundation. Your meeting’s starting shortly—”
He didn’t care about the meeting.
“Find me someone who can tell me about this foundation,”
he told her, feeling as if a blade was slowly being raked along his spine.
“Oh … right away, then.” Confused but obviously eager to
accommodate him, Shannon hurried off.
Peyton waited, his mind whirling. The hum of whispered
conversations, muffled giggles and cheery music from the intercoms swirled
around him. A burst of color in his periphery made him pivot sharply, his
senses on high alert.
The person standing close flinched but didn’t back away.
She