“How does your face feel?” he asked. The blood had stopped flowing.
She touched her nose with delicate fingers. “Fine.”
“What were you doing there?”
Martha was saved from explaining herself by a sharp rap on the front door. “Hey, Paul!”
“What do you want?”
Frank, the new sheriff, entered the house. “I’d noticed that Miss Martha left these bags at the hotel.” He looked down the short hall to the kitchen, nodding in Martha’s direction. “I thought I’d bring ‘em on by before somebody stole them.”
“Thanks, Frank.” Paul left the kitchen and took the bags, setting them on the steps of the nearby staircase. “I appreciate it.”
“Just doing my job.” Frank tipped his hat, then ducked out the door.
“What’s going on here, Martha?” Paul asked, his eyes confused.
Martha dipped the rag in the warm
