Her Last Summer: A Veronica Lee Thriller

by Melinda Woodhall

  Don't let me down, and don't let Finn know I asked you to babysit him. A man has got his pride after all.

  And remember what I always told you. Make it count today, cause you might not get tomorrow.

  Your old pal,

  Jordie

  Hunter's eyes fell on the worn travel bag over Finn's shoulder.

  "Is that your dad's old ruck sack?"

  Finn nodded, his eyes resting on the letter.

  Folding it carefully, Hunter put it in his pocket. He tried to keep his voice casual as he walked back to his desk.

  "Just so happens I need a cameraman around here. If you're anything like your dad, I'd be a fool not to add you to my crew."

  Finn's back stiffened, and his eyes flashed again.

  "You'd be doing me a favor," Hunter continued. "I had a cameraman quit yesterday and I'm short staffed. I'd need you to start right away."

  After an awkward pause, Finn nodded.

  "For some reason my dad really liked you, so I'll help you out until you find a replacement. Then I'm gone."

  "Where to?"

  "Wherever I can find a place that feels like home I guess."

  Hunter nodded, relieved that Finn had given in so quickly.

  “Well, you’ll stay at my place in the meantime.”

  Hesitating, Finn looked over his shoulder.

  “Only if Gracie can stay as well.”

  Hunter hurried to the door, a wide smile spreading across his mouth. He rushed across the room to kneel by a white Labrador retriever, who sat at attention by Veronica’s desk.

  “Gracie? How you doing, girl?”

  Hunter ruffled the dog’s fur, and she looked up at him with wide, solemn eyes. Time seemed to stand still as he met her gaze. He felt like he was back in Kabul. Like ten years hadn’t really just passed in the blink of an eye.

  “She’s not been the same since Dad died.”

  Finn’s voice sounded behind Hunter, and he heard the pain underneath the words.

  “You’re missing old Jordie, aren’t you, girl?” Hunter sighed and looked up at Finn.

  “You and Gracie have a home with me as long as you want it. Now, store your bag over there and let’s meet the crew.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Veronica slung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door. She wanted to get to the medical examiner’s office in time to talk to Portia Hart’s younger brother. According to her research, Julian Hart was Portia’s only living relative, and the heir to the enormous fortune Remington Hart had left behind after his fatal plane crash almost a decade earlier.

  “Veronica, wait up,” Hunter called out from the door to his office.

  She turned to see that the young black man who had interrupted their earlier conversation stood next to him.

  “This is Finn Jordan,” Hunter said as Veronica approached. “He's going to help out on the camera crew for the time being. He's worked with some world-class reporters, so we're lucky to have him.”

  Gesturing toward the white Labrador beside him, Hunter added in a proud voice, “And that’s Gracie, an old friend of mine.”

  Veronica smiled down at the big dog, wondering once again about Hunter Hadley’s background. They’d worked together for more than a year now, and she still knew very little about the station manager.

  “And Finn, this is Veronica Lee, our roaming reporter and something of a local celebrity.”

  Rolling her eyes at the phrase, Veronica looked at Finn with curious eyes. He smiled and nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn't look old enough to be a seasoned pro, but who was she to question Hunter? Her boss knew the industry and the craft better than anyone she knew. If he thought Finn was the right guy for the job, she wouldn't argue.

  “I'll show Finn around and introduce him to the crew,” Hunter said. “And once he's set up with his gear I'll let you know. Maybe by then you'll be ready with that breaking interview."

  Veronica turned away before Hunter could see how nervous she was. He was putting a lot of trust in her to pull together a story that would keep viewers tuned to Channel Ten. He seemed so confident that she would come through, but she wasn’t so sure.

  Will I really have the nerve to ask a man who just identified his sister’s dead body for an interview?

  The thought disturbed her. She’d often wondered what she would be willing to do in pursuit of a big story. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to find out.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Several people were standing outside the Willow Bay medical examiner’s office when Veronica drove by in her Jeep. She recognized Nessa Ainsley’s red curls, as well as Iris Nguyen’s sleek bob.

  Steering the Jeep into the parking garage, Veronica found an empty space on the second floor and rushed down the dim stairwell, hoping to catch the chief of police and the medical examiner before they disappeared inside the big concrete building.

  Momentarily blinded by the dazzling sunshine as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, Veronica raised a hand to shield her eyes and headed toward the front of the building. She was relieved to see Nessa and Iris still talking outside.

  “Hi, Nessa, how are you?” Veronica called out, trying not to think about the last time they’d been together. “Can I ask you a few questions about Portia Hart’s death?”

  Appraising Veronica with narrowed eyes, Nessa put both hands on her hips and shook her head.

  "Well, I’m not feeling very generous with the press right now,” she said. “Not after your competition over at Channel Six made sure we didn't have a chance to notify Portia’s kin before everyone in the known world heard about it."

  Veronica’s heart dropped at Nessa’s rebuke, and she wondered again if she was doing the right thing. Perhaps she should just leave Julian Hart alone. She could always go back to the hotel and try to find witnesses there.

  Along with every other reporter in the state.

  Wearing a solemn expression, Iris stepped closer and put a small hand on Veronica’s arm, as if to stress the importance of her words.

  “We reached Portia Hart’s brother on the phone and asked him to come identify his sister’s body; he's on his way to Willow Bay as we speak. Hopefully you and the other reporters around here will show him some sympathy and let him mourn in peace."

  The clatter of high-heels on the pavement sounded behind her before Veronica could respond. She turned to see a petite woman in a neon pink shift dress. Her snow white hair had been cut into a pageboy, and she wore huge black sunglasses.

  “You’re the police chief I saw on the news,” the woman gasped, pointing at Nessa. “I'm Portia Hart's agent, Jane Bishop, and I need to talk to you. I don't care what they're all saying. Portia was not on drugs and she would never kill herself."

  Veronica pulled out her notebook and scribbled down the woman’s name and noted the statements she’d made.

  "She'd been seeing someone," the woman said, her voice rising. "She was trying to hide it, but I..."

  Nessa raised a hand to stop Jane Bishop from saying anything else, regarding Veronica's notepad with disapproving eyes.

  "Ms. Bishop was it?” Nessa turned back to the distressed woman and guided her toward the door. “You come inside with me and we'll talk in private."

  Veronica watched in frustration as Nessa led Portia’s agent into the cool interior of the building. She stared through the window, considered going inside, then spun on her heel and walked back to her Jeep. She needed to get to her laptop.

  Sitting in the driver’s seat with the windows up and the air conditioning on, Veronica typed Julian Hart’s name into the search engine.

  If Portia Hart’s little brother was on his way to Willow Bay, she might get the opportunity to approach him in person. If so, she would need to know a lot more about him. Convincing a total stranger to trust her enough to grant an interview wouldn’t be easy.

  A list of almost fifty million search results appeared, but within a few clicks Veronica determined that Julian was Portia Har
t’s only sibling; he was also an artist who avoided the spotlight almost as much as Portia had chased it.

  Clicking on an image, Veronica studied an abstract painting of waves crashing against a rocky coastline. The painting was titled “Hart Cove at Dawn” and Julian Hart had signed the bottom with a dramatic flourish.

  Intrigued by the mix of contrasting colors and textures in the landscape, Veronica wanted to know more about the man who had painted it. She suspected that Julian Hart had used the pain of losing his parents to inspire his art.

  I wonder if he’ll cope with the loss of his sister in the same way.

  She felt a stab of pity for the man who seemed to have everything in the world, other than a family. She read through the search results with growing interest.

  Portia and Julian had inherited a fortune after their wealthy parents died in a dramatic plane crash a decade earlier. Then, after an initial flurry of coverage, they'd all but vanished from the public scene.

  Only after Portia Hart's book, Simply Portia, had hit the bestseller list last year, had she become a household name, and a social media darling. Portia’s name and face had appeared in hundreds of reviews, articles, and photos, and the Hart name was once again synonymous with money and fame.

  But from what Veronica could see, Julian Hart had shunned the spotlight, preferring to stay at his family home in Hart Cove to work on his art. She could find only a few mentions of him online, and all the references were focused on his famous parents, his famous sibling, or his artwork.

  Portia Hart’s brother didn’t seem to use social media and didn’t appear to have much of a social life.

  Closing her laptop, Veronica pondered her next move. If she waited outside the medical examiner’s office, she might get lucky and catch Julian Hart coming or going. In a perfect world, he would agree to an interview, maybe even tell her what he thought had happened to his big sister.

  Or maybe I'll stand out there sweating for no reason while Nick Sargent hunts Julian Hart down and gets my scoop.

  She gritted her teeth at the idea of Nick Sargent getting to Julian Hart first. The Channel Six reporter was ruthless.

  He won’t care about Julian Hart’s grief or respect his privacy.

  Her indignation drained away as she recognized the hypocrisy of her own thoughts. Was she any better than Nick Sargent after all?

  The buzz of her cell phone saved Veronica from having to answer that question. Hunter Hadley had sent a text.

  Our new camera guy is ready to roll. He’ll meet you at the scene.

  Veronica didn’t need to ask which scene. Portia Hart’s sudden death was the only story in town. Easing the big Jeep out of the narrow space, she pulled out of the parking garage and took a last, regretful look at the entrance to the ME’s office. She wondered what information Jane Bishop had provided as she headed back toward the Riverview Hotel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jane Bishop’s hand trembled as she picked up a glass of water off the tray Wesley Knox had set on the desk. Nessa waited for the older woman to take a drink, noticing the dark smudges under her eyes. She wasn’t sure if Jane had been crying, or if the stifling heat had caused the woman’s mascara to melt.

  “Thank you, Wesley,” Iris said, sitting down at her desk across from Nessa and Jane. “I’ll let you know once we’re ready to start.”

  Glancing at her watch, Nessa forced herself to remain quiet while Jane regained her composure. If the woman really did know something about Portia’s death, Nessa couldn’t afford to rush her. So far Jane Bishop was the only person who claimed to know why the popular author had ended up dead in a hotel bathroom.

  “Portia never took any drugs…not even pain killers,” Jane finally said. “She was dedicated to a natural, unmedicated, unstimulated lifestyle. It’s all in her book…you’ve read her book, haven’t you?”

  When neither Iris nor Nessa responded, Jane looked shocked.

  “Haven't you read Simply Portia?"

  “No…although I did buy it,” Nessa admitted. “It’s on my bedside table, but I’ve got two little boys and I don’t get much time to read.”

  Jane tutted and pointed a stern finger in Nessa’s direction.

  "Then you definitely need to read it. It'll help you simplify your schedule and make more room in your life. Most people have a schedule that’s just as cluttered as their house."

  Smiling in polite agreement, Nessa looked at her watch, then over at Iris, who was supposed to be performing the autopsy on Portia Hart. Iris raised her finely arched brows and nodded, silently reassuring Nessa that she was doing the right thing by waiting to hear what Jane Bishop had to say.

  “Ms. Bishop, I’m Iris Nguyen, the chief medical examiner, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  The medical examiner’s words sounded sincere, even though Iris must have uttered the same phrase hundreds of times before.

  “If you can help us determine the circumstances around Portia Hart’s death, we’d be grateful,” Iris continued. “We were just preparing for the autopsy, and-”

  "Can I see her?" Jane interrupted in a hoarse whisper. “If I see her, I’ll know it’s true. That this isn't just a bad dream."

  Sitting back in her chair, Iris looked over at Nessa, who shrugged. After a slight pause, Iris picked up the phone on her desk.

  “Wesley, can you prepare Portia Hart for a viewing?”

  Ten minutes later Jane Bishop stood outside a glass partition, staring down at Portia's swollen, discolored face. With a soft cry, Jane turned away from the horror beyond the window and shoved her dark sunglasses over her eyes.

  "That bastard," she managed to spit out. "This is all his fault. "

  "Which bastard?” Nessa asked. “Who’s fault?"

  Taking Jane by one trembling arm, Nessa led her to a row of chairs against the wall. Jane’s knees buckled, and she abruptly sat down.

  "The bastard Portia met in the Bahamas a few months ago,” Jane said. “She was only supposed to be going for a long weekend but ended up staying almost a month. I knew a guy had to be involved. She wouldn't tell me anything specific, but I had a bad feeling...then I saw him that time in New York.”

  “Did you get the man’s name?”

  Jane shook her head, then stood and pushed past Nessa.

  “I need to use the restroom,” she muttered as she flung the door open. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Iris sliced a y-shaped incision into Portia Hart’s chest, then pulled the skin up to reveal the rib cage. Nessa closed her eyes as the diminutive medical examiner lifted a small electric saw and began to cut away the cartilage holding the ribs in place.

  Jane Bishop's words echoed through her mind.

  That bastard…this is all his fault.

  Feeling Wesley beside her, Nessa opened her eyes to see the brawny forensic technician leaning in to help Iris lift out the rib cage. She closed them again as they took photos, then began to remove and weigh the internal organs.

  After what seemed like hours, Iris stepped back, pulled off her gloves, and pushed up the plastic face shield.

  "She has liquid in her lungs and stomach,” Iris said, her voice grim. “I’m confident that the cause of death is drowning, or more precisely, hypoxia and acidosis leading to cardiac arrest.”

  “But what about the pills?” Nessa asked. “Did she take too many? Could they have caused her to drown?”

  Iris shrugged as she watched Wesley collecting and packaging specimens to send to the lab.

  “It’s possible that the pills could be a contributing factor. We'll have to wait for the test results to know what she took, if anything."

  Gesturing toward Portia’s limp hand, Iris sounded hopeful.

  "We did find traces of something under her fingernails, so we took clippings to see if we can get viable DNA."

  “Good.” Nessa tried to sound optimistic. “And while you’re checking for drugs in her system and skin under her fingernails, Alma wi
ll be testing the residue we found on the hotel floor. She thinks it might be water from the bath mixed with traces of blood.”

  “Well, I doubt it would be Portia’s blood,” Iris said. “The only external injury I saw during the autopsy were her broken fingernails, and they didn’t seem to have bled much.”

  Nessa suddenly wondered if they were misreading the evidence. Perhaps Portia had simply fallen and broken her fingernails after taking too many pills, then lost consciousness and drowned in the tub. Maybe it had just been a horrible, senseless accident. But her intuition chaffed at the idea. All the little inconsistencies at the scene seemed to add up to homicide

  And if it really was homicide, the killer is still out there, somewhere.

  A jarring ring startled Nessa out of her brooding. She turned to see Wesley Knox cross to a phone mounted on the wall. After a short exchange with the caller, Wesley hung up and called over to Nessa and Iris.

  "That was Detective Vanzinger. He said to tell you that Julian Hart showed up at the police station. He’s bringing him over here to identify his sister's body."

  Noting the look of distress on Nessa’s face, Iris frowned.

  “What’s wrong, Nessa? I thought you’d be happy. It’s your chance to talk to someone who may be able to shed light on Portia’s death.”

  “I am…I guess,” Nessa replied with a sigh. “It’s just that Julian Hart will ask how and why his sister died, and we still don’t know.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tucker Vanzinger tried to think of something to say to the quiet man walking beside him, but his mind drew a blank. He wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was; should he try to make small talk, or leave the young man alone with his grief?

  What can I say to a brother who is on his way to identify his sister’s body?

  Glancing over at Julian Hart, Vanzinger wondered if he should try to prepare the poor man for what he was about to see.

  It’s messed up to have to see any dead body, but seeing the body of your sister? That must really screw with your head.