Prologue to Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  “See?” He threw his hands up. “What’s the point in explaining myself? It makes no difference. And remember, you’re the one who wanted to know why.”

  “I guess I just figured that the explanation would go something like I’m sorry, I was tired or not in a good mood or any other one of a thousand simple explanations.” She rose to her feet and glared at him. “Do you want to know what the difference between an explanation and an apology is? A real apology requires no explanation except I’m sorry, I was an ass. Not some sob story about how women fall all over you because maybe they want a Tesla, too. Boo-hoo. Suck it up, Doc, and get real.”

  His eyes widened. “I was being as real as I can with you.”

  Her head snapped up at the tone in his voice. “Why? Did you think that story would melt my heart and I’d fall over you because I felt sorry for you?”

  He stepped closer. “No, but think about it. When I introduced myself to you in the hallway, what was the first thing Serena said?”

  Addie shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

  “‘Dr. Emerson.’”

  “You’re right. Maybe it’s been a problem for you, one that isn’t part of my world, anyway, but I don’t understand how that excuses rudeness.”

  “You’re absolutely right, it doesn’t, which is why I’m here to apologize. I’m sick and tired of it, too, and tired of living like that. I thought Greyborne Harbor might be different, like you seem to be different. You were intrigued by my profession, but it didn’t come across as being in the same way.” He stood in front of her. “More like a professional interest, not personal. Am I wrong?”

  “No, you’re not wrong.”

  “Too bad for me, then,” he chuckled. “But I hope it’s not because you’re sick, and you need my medical services?” Concern filled his eyes as he studied her face.

  “No.” She pulled away, walked toward the window, and turned around. “But I do have some medical questions.”

  “For a friend?” The corner of one lip twitched with a half smile.

  “Not really. They’re about a case.”

  “My sister, Carolyn, told me about your involvement with the police department in the past. I should have guessed it’s my brain you’re interested in, isn’t it?”

  “Better than your social status.”

  “True, true.” He sat down on the sofa. “So what is it you want to know?”

  She eyed him sitting in her spot and looked at the far end of the sofa, where she would have to sit. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Be back in a minute. Cream and sugar?” she asked over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.

  “Just black, thanks,” he called.

  She returned in a few minutes, two steaming cups in hand. Simon was standing at her desk, toying with a small figurine. “Do you like it?” She set the cups on the coffee table, placing hers at the end of the sofa nearest the door. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust his motives, but, well, she didn’t.

  He returned to the sofa, looked at where she’d placed the black coffee, shrugged, and took his seat back in the chair in front of the fireplace. “You have some wonderful pieces here. This place is a collector’s delight, like that Louis the Fourteenth cherub.”

  “You know your antiques.” She sipped her coffee.

  “I was raised with them. My mother owns—owned—a shop in upstate New York.”

  “Did she sell it?”

  “She’s passed away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What about your father? What does he do?”

  “He was a surgeon.” His eyes dropped. “He’s passed away now, too.”

  “I’m sorry. Both my parents have also passed.” She took a deep breath. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Carolyn and I only have each other now. Well, aside from her husband, three kids, a dog, two cats, a bird, and I think a goldfish.”

  “Sounds like a busy house. I can see why you opted to stay at the Grey Gull until you find a place.”

  “You have a good memory for details.” He took a tentative sip of his coffee. “So, enough about me. You have a medical question?” His eyes drew her into their cavernous pools.

  “Yes.” Her hand trembled as she set her cup down. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the wave of whatever it was that rushed through her whenever he focused on her. “I was told that the cause of death in June Winslow’s case was blunt force trauma to the back of the head, most likely due to a blow by a large flat object.” She took a sip of her coffee, and instead of meeting his eyes, she looked at the floor and scrubbed an invisible spot with her toe. “Was that right?”

  He laid his arm across the back of the sofa. “Partially, that’s true. The strike to the back of the head definitely caused severe trauma—enough to knock her out, as indicated by the bruising and bleeding of the interior membrane—but my determination is that the fall, which broke her neck, actually killed her.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.” She drew her legs up and hugged her arms around her knees.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Did you run a toxicology screen?”

  “Of course. That’s standard in a case like this. It was clean—no drugs, alcohol, nothing. Remember, she’d just left a meeting at the library.”

  “True, but . . . I was wondering if there was anything else, like an herbal substance, present in the blood or—”

  “I’d need a sample of whatever it is you’re thinking that she might have ingested.”

  “I need to get back into that house.”

  “What house?”

  “June’s.”

  “What are you thinking, that she was drugged by an herbal concoction?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?” She rose to her feet and paced. “Although, why would someone drug her and take her in the utility building to kill her? They would have had to practically carry her from her car to the shed if the concoction did what I’m guessing it would, and that doesn’t make sense, does it?” She stopped long enough to glance at him and see him shake his head. “Also, how would they get the tea into her in the parking lot so it could take effect?”

  He stood up and moved toward her. “I think you’ve lost me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Think about it. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No . . . it doesn’t.”

  “I knew it.” She swept past him and paced again. “The tea must have been used for another reason. If I can get a sample, could you see if she’d ever been given that infusion at any time before?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She stared at him, and then broke out laughing. “God, I must sound like a crazy person.”

  “You’re making me dizzy.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Please sit, and then explain it to me.”

  She propped herself on the arm of the sofa. “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “There’s this map, showing a tunnel system under the town. I think, from what I’ve read in June’s notes, that she thought, after going through archives, that there might be a buried treasure somewhere, but so did someone else. The only problem is they needed June’s research for the book she wrote to find it, and they were prepared to kill her for it. Or,” she said, pursing her lips, “it’s not in her research, and only she knew about it, but she ended up dead, and they’re still looking for it.”

  Simon blew out a deep breath into his cupped hands over his face and shook his head.

  “Now do you see what I’m talking about?”

  “Not really, but I guess . . .” He shrugged and sat down beside her.

  She leapt up. “Here, I’ll show you the map.” She dug it out of her handbag. “Look at this. It’s a map of the town showing pirates’ smuggling tunnels that were constructed during the sixteen hundreds to the eighteen hundreds. Piracy was an important part of Harbor history.”

  He took it from her
shaking hand. “Now we’re talking about pirate treasures,” he chuckled. “This is becoming even more fascinating.” He squinted and looked at the map. “Where did you get this? Is it legitimate?” He looked up at her, his eyes seemingly pinning her to an imaginary board.

  At her nod, he stood up and handed the map back to her. “The whole story sounds like something out of a novel, and I’m not sure how I can shed any light on your theory, but if you can get me a sample of whatever it is you think she took, it might add one more piece to this crazy puzzle you are trying to sort out.”

  She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  He rubbed where she had kissed him and smiled. “Well, if my help leads to more of this, then I’ll be a very helpful, happy man.”

  She laughed and swatted his arm. “Don’t count on it. I was just lost in the—”

  A cell phone rang. Addie checked her pocket.

  “It’s me,” he said, retrieving his phone. “Hello, Dr. Emerson . . . Sorry, this is who? . . . Oh, hi Carolyn, yes, I’m on call tonight for Dr. Adams. . . . Where? . . . Why did they call the police station and not an ambulance? . . . Okay, I see . . . Yeah, tell them I’ll be right there.”

  “An emergency?”

  “Yes, do you want to come along?”

  “What, with you to see a patient?”

  “You said you wanted to get inside June’s house again to look for this tea, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “It seems Jeanie, who is currently staying in her mother’s house until her belongings are packed up, stumbled and hit her head. A friend who’s with her is a bit concerned, because Jeanie appears to be confused now. So, here’s your chance to get back in.”

  She grabbed her handbag and coat off the chair. “I’m ready. And before I forget, I think you owe Serena an apology, not just me.” But her words were met with a silence that continued to hover between them as they made their way outside.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You’re right. I guess I do.” His voice wavered and became strained as he opened the passenger door for her. “I’m just not sure what to say though.”

  “All you have to say is, ‘I was a jerk, and I’m sorry I was rude to you.’ That’s it—no further explanation required.”

  His lips tightened, and he went around to his door. “So, me sharing with you what I did wasn’t required.” Buckling his seat belt, he glanced sideways.

  “Not to her. I do appreciate you telling me about your ghosts, and it helped me understand what happened, but it’s not a required part of an apology . . . unless it’s meant as an ulterior motive?”

  “No, it wasn’t. I guess I just sensed that you have a few ghosts of your own and might understand.”

  She pursed her lips and stared out her side window, her cheeks growing warm. “This is a great little car. I can see why you bought it,” she said, hoping the change of subject would send him a clear message.

  “A self-indulgent treat, I’m afraid.” He glanced sideways at her. “There’s no real need for a car in New York City, but when I moved here and saw the endless miles of winding highways along the coastline, I couldn’t resist.”

  “That’s nice,” she mumbled absently, her thoughts lost in what he had said about ghosts and in remembering the plans she and Marc had made for Founder’s Day. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her tears in check.

  He pulled onto June’s street and slowed down at the sight of a police cruiser parked in front of the house. Addie sucked in a deep breath, her eyes glued to the side of the patrol car as they passed to park in front of it. Number 001. It was Marc’s. Her knees wavered as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Simon retrieved his medical bag from the trunk. She locked her knees and strutted up the sidewalk behind him. There was no way she was going to let Marc see how his rejection had pained her. Left her numb. The door swung open, and a voice she dreaded to hear cut through the crisp night air.

  “Hello. You must be Dr. Emerson. I’m Chief Chandler. You can call me Marc.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but frankly, I’m surprised to find you here.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Does the police chief usually attend all medical emergencies in Greyborne Harbor?”

  “Standard procedure, that’s all, especially when a head trauma is called in. We’re required to respond, assess and secure the scene before medical personnel can enter. Just to be safe, you know. And I happened to be the closest car, so here I am.”

  “Well, then, I feel we’re in good hands.” Simon stepped aside, revealing Addie’s presence, placed his hand on the small of her back, and presented her before Marc like a prize. “Do you know my companion, Addison Greyborne?”

  Marc’s face crumbled when he looked from Simon’s twinkling eyes to Addie’s panic-stricken ones.

  “Yes, we’ve had the pleasure. Good evening, Miss Greyborne.” He tipped his cap and stepped aside.

  “Good, then no further introductions are required. I’ll be off to see my patient, then.” Simon swept them past Marc into the house.

  Addie hesitated. She cast her gaze downward. She glanced up at Marc as they passed him, but his narrowed eyes appeared to be drilling holes into the back of Simon’s head. She lifted her chin and strode into the hallway. The door thudded shut behind her, the sound vibrating in her chest. She glanced over her shoulder, but Marc hadn’t followed them in.

  Jeanie lay stretched out on the sofa in front of the window. Simon went immediately to her side. Addie stood in the doorway, shuffling from one foot to the other, torn between running outside and explaining to Marc why she was here with Simon or searching for the tea. Her right foot won. She turned and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. When she passed the bedroom door, it was slightly ajar. She peeked over her shoulder—all clear—and poked her head around the door. In front of the closet were shoeboxes, an old suitcase, and stacks of books tipped over, but it was the sight of an empty file box similar to the one Jeanie had given to her with June’s research notes that drew her into the room.

  She surveyed the ransacked heap at her feet, crouched, and pulled a tissue from her handbag. Shielding her fingerprints, she picked through the items. Pieces of a shattered teacup underneath one of the file boxes caught her eye. Clearing the debris covering it, she picked up the largest piece in her tissue-wrapped hand and rummaged through her bag for another tissue with her free hand, wrapped it, and slipped the package into her purse.

  Addie stood up and scanned the room, noting a lamp stood intact on the bedside table. She was certain it was the same lamp she caught a glimpse of earlier through the doorway before Jeanie closed it behind her. She looked from the bed to where the shattered teacup lay. Her eyes followed the splatter marks up the wall and came to rest on a slight indentation at about her head height. The point of impact? She bit her lip. “Why did you throw a teacup, and who were you throwing it at?” she muttered and resurveyed the room, and then she remembered the black-haired man had exited this room not long after she’d heard the crash.

  She pulled her cell out of her pocket, snapped photos of the clutter on the floor and the splatter pattern across the wall, checked the front hall, and dodged into the empty kitchen. A coffee maker hissed and gurgled on the counter; a teapot sat beside it. She peered around the dining room doorframe into the adjoining living room. Simon was bent over Jeanie, checking her pulse. Mildred, the owner of the Emporium on Main, sat on a chair across from them, sipping from a large mug with the words “I Love Coffee” written across it, and on the coffee table beside Jeanie was a delicate teacup.

  She went over to the teapot on the counter and wrapped her hands around it. Still warm. She lifted the lid, inhaled, cringed, and closed it. Behind the pot was a cellophane bag, clearly marked with a sticker that read, SerenaTEA, Special Blend. Addie undid the twist tie holding it shut, rummaged through the drawers until she found a sandwich bag, and then retrieved a tablespoon fro
m another drawer. She transferred two heaping spoonfuls of tea leaves from the cellophane bag to the sandwich bag, which she zipped closed and tucked into her purse. She sealed the cellophane bag again with the twist tie and placed it back where she’d found it.

  “Looking for something?”

  She jumped and spun around. “Marc? No, well, yes, I was going to get more coffee for Mildred. Would you like some?” She pointed to the steaming carafe.

  He shook his head slowly and said, stroking his jaw, “So, tell me, Addie, have you given up detective work and taken up nursing since I last saw you?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Why are you accompanying the good doctor on a house call? You play detective with me, and nurse with him. Are you a chameleon, changing color to please whoever you’re with at the moment?” His narrowed eyes fixed on hers.

  Her knees gave way at the stinging strike of his venomous tone. She grabbed behind her for the counter edge and hung on.

  His top lip turned up at the corner of his mouth, and he spun on his heel out of the room.

  She heaved out a breath and squeezed her stinging eyes shut to fight the tears back. Marc’s voice echoed down the hall. She sprinted around the corner into the dining room.

  He stood in the hall at the living room entrance. “Well, are you going to transport the patient or not?” His look turned to Addie. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get on with your evening plans.”

  Simon removed his stethoscope from his ears, hung it around his neck, and turned to Marc. “To be honest, Chief, I’m not really clear on why you’re still here. Obviously, these two lovely ladies are no threat to myself, nor to Miss Greyborne.” He reached casually into his medical bag and pulled out a prescription pad.

  “Standard procedure—but why am I explaining this to you? I’m sure it’s the same wherever it is you come from.”

  “New York City—and yes, sometimes it is, when a call comes in where the patient could possibly cause harm to first responders. Or in the instances that it is a known crime scene. However, you did your due diligence in securing the scene before my arrival. I think your job here is done, because obviously those are not issues in this case.” His eyes locked with Marc’s unyielding glare. “Unless, of course, you have another motive for wanting to remain here?”