The Upstaged Coroner

by Paul Austin Ardoin

  McVie broke from the kiss, and Fenway opened her eyes.

  “That was nice,” he murmured.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “That was nice.”

  “Maybe we can skip the fancy dinner and continue this at my place?”

  Fenway’s stomach rumbled.

  “Never mind,” McVie said. “We’ll get some steak in you.”

  Signing in the cruiser took longer than they expected, and they walked to the Highlander together, hand in hand. It was a short drive to the restaurant, and when they entered, it was noisy and most of the tables were full, but no one was waiting in the front for a seat.

  “Good evening,” the maître d’ said. “Can I help you?”

  “I had reservations for six thirty,” McVie said, “but unfortunately, I had some police business to attend to, and we’re a little late. I wonder if you can still accommodate me and”—he lightly elbowed Fenway—“my date.”

  The maître d’s smile didn’t fade. “Not a problem, sheriff,” he said. “Of course we’d love to accommodate you. I’ll make sure we have a table available.”

  Fenway took a step closer to McVie. “I’m your date,” she said, halfway into his ear. He leaned closer to her and Fenway’s upper arm rested against McVie’s chest. She put a little of her weight into him, and McVie put his arm around her waist.

  “You’re my date,” he said.

  The maître d’ rushed over. “Your table is ready,” he said, grabbing two menus. “Follow me.”

  He led both of them, McVie still with his arm around Fenway’s waist, to a four-person table at the side of the restaurant, with a booth on one side and chairs on the other.

  Fenway looked at the table and blinked hard.

  “Do you want the chair side or the booth side?” McVie said.

  “We could, um,” Fenway stammered. She cleared her throat. “We could both sit on the booth side.”

  He looked at her like he might say something—maybe make a clever remark—but he smiled instead, released her, and they both went around opposite sides of the table to sit in the booth.

  The maître d’ handed them their menus. “Your server this evening will be Mateo. Can I get your drink order to him?”

  “Bourbon, neat,” McVie said quickly.

  His immediate order surprised Fenway, especially since he had gone out of his way to be a traditional gentleman, but she smiled at the maître d’.

  “Is there a particular bourbon you had in mind?”

  “Do you have Buffalo Trace?”

  “We do. Very good, sir. And for you, miss?”

  “A glass of the house red,” Fenway said.

  The host nodded and turned away.

  Fenway looked at her menu. She already knew she’d order the Gaucho steak, with the fried plantains and the sautéed mushrooms. She looked over at McVie and scooted a little closer to him, so that their knees brushed against each other. He looked up from his menu and smiled.

  “You’re getting something crazy, aren’t you?” he asked. “They have conch here. I’ve never had conch. I thought that was something they only ate in Lord of the Rings.”

  Fenway chuckled, suppressing a strong desire to correct him to Lord of the Flies. “They’ve got sweetbreads, too,” Fenway said, as the server came to deliver their drinks.

  McVie smiled and leaned closer to her. “You order sweetbreads and you’re not getting any action tonight.”

  A thrill ran up Fenway’s spine and stopped at the base of her skull. She put her hand on McVie’s knee and turned her face to whisper into his ear.

  “If I order sweetbreads and I want a little action tonight,” she breathed, “I’m pretty sure you won’t say no.”

  The grin on McVie’s face widened and his ears darkened.

  “Oh,” Fenway said, pulling back a little with her head, but moving her hand to the top of his thigh. “I didn’t realize I was embarrassing you, Sheriff.”

  McVie took a sip of his bourbon.

  “Am I sitting too close to you?” she whispered. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  McVie closed his eyes, nodded slightly, and shifted his weight. “In a good way.”

  The phone in Fenway’s purse rang.

  McVie grunted.

  “It’s like the universe knows we’re on a date,” Fenway said, “and it doesn’t want us to get together. First, they had to arrest my father. What do you think it is now? Nuclear war?”

  “Damn Puritan universe,” McVie said, taking another drink.

  Fenway pulled the phone out of her purse. The call was from the 805 area code, but she didn’t recognize the number. She pushed her phone in front of McVie. “You know this number?”

  He screwed up his face. “Is it someone telling you not to order the sweetbreads?”

  “I’m serious, Craig.”

  Craig shook his head. “It kind of looks familiar, but I don’t know it off the top of my head.”

  Fenway answered, grimacing as if she expected to be hit. “This is Fenway Stevenson.”

  A whisper came through. “Fenway?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Piper. And I’m in trouble.”

  Fenway sat up straight and pressed the phone to her ear. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m at Central Auto Body,” she said. “Someone is here. If they find me, I think they’re going to kill me.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Wait,” Fenway said, “how can we—” But the silence on the other end of the line was ominous. She looked at her phone—the call was no longer connected.

  Alarm was in McVie’s eyes. “What was that?”

  “Piper.” Fenway debated calling the number back, but thought if Piper was in danger, the last thing she needed was her phone going off in a silent room while she was trying to hide. “She needs help.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Central Auto Body.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “I don’t know why—” Fenway started.

  McVie paused. “What is it?”

  “Shit.” Fenway smacked her hand on the table. How could she forget something like that?

  “Out with it, Fenway.”

  “Piper had something to tell me before I left. She said she found something. She was worried.”

  “You didn’t get any more information than that?”

  Fenway almost started talking about the ledger, then remembered Marisol Velásquez hadn’t wanted to trust him. “Uh—I was planning to go to the office and talk to her after I saw my father. But I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  “Yes, I forgot. Oh, no.” Fenway held her head in her hands. “My father accused me of—well, never mind, it’s just a dumb excuse. I let myself get distracted. I went straight over to Nidever.”

  “And, what? Piper took the law into her own hands?”

  “She did say it was time-sensitive.” Fenway covered her eyes. “Oh, shit. If something happens to her, it’s all my fault.”

  “Piper wouldn’t go anywhere without a warrant,” McVie said, “and even if she had a warrant, she wouldn’t go anywhere by herself, would she?”

  Fenway got up from the table. “We need to go. I don’t know exactly why she went to Central Auto Body, but she wouldn’t do it on a whim. She must have thought it couldn’t wait.”

  McVie put two twenties on the table and stood. “Did she say why she was in danger?”

  “Someone else was there.” Fenway paused but just for a moment. “We need to get going. Now.”

  They walked through the restaurant, and the maître d’ had a look of shock on his face as they passed by. “Hold on, sir, miss—”

  “Emergency,” McVie said gruffly. “I hope that’s enough to cover our drinks.”

  The cold November evening air revitalized Fenway as soon as they pushed open the door to the outside. She stole a glance at McVie’s face, creased with concern.

  McVie unlocked the car with his key fob, and they pull
ed the doors open.

  “Okay,” Fenway said, as McVie started the engine and drove out of the lot before she could even put her seat belt on. “What’s the plan?”

  McVie pulled the radio from under the seat. “Possible two-four-oh at Central Auto Body on Thirtieth. Repeat, possible two-four-oh in progress. Sheriff requests backup.” He clicked off. “You’re staying in the car.”

  Fenway was quiet. She wanted to help Piper, but without a gun, she was more likely to put herself in danger than she was to help out. It struck her that McVie probably shouldn’t have brought her along.

  The Highlander was an older model and radiated dad vibes, but when McVie stamped on the accelerator, the car shot forward. Fenway glanced at the speedometer; it passed seventy as McVie put the siren ball on top of the suv.

  “Yeesh,” Fenway breathed, “this car moves.” She thought of the time a few months before when there had been a shooting at the hospital, and how McVie had driven on the freeway. At the time, it had seemed wild, but not particularly fast, but this, with empty streets at nine at night, as opposed to a crowded freeway in the daytime, pushed Fenway down in her seat.

  “I’m not sure what the plan is yet,” McVie said. “I don’t think we’ll have a plan until we get there. I don’t know who else is there, or what the threat to Piper is.”

  “What do you want to do to figure out if Piper is safe? Do you think we should kill the siren?”

  “No,” McVie said. “With the siren going, whoever is after Piper will hopefully leave. If they’re trying to catch Piper breaking in or something, they they’ll think we’ll be on their side. Either way, the other person will want to keep Piper unharmed.”

  “Gotcha.” Fenway braced herself as they squealed around a corner onto Thirtieth Street. She looked behind them; a police cruiser was four or five blocks away, also coming up Thirtieth.

  “Not a bad response, Craig,” she said.

  “It’s not my first rodeo.”

  They pulled up next to a red Toyota Prius with a bumper sticker that said My Other Car is a Quantum Computer. In the lot, next to the Prius, was a black sedan without markings. Fenway couldn’t tell if it was a Ford or something more upscale.

  “Stay down,” McVie hissed at Fenway.

  “No problem.” Fenway ducked in her seat.

  “And stay here. No rushing in and trying to play hero for Piper.”

  “I know I don’t have a gun or anything. I’ll stay safe.”

  McVie shot a warning look at her. “Stay in the car, Fenway.”

  She sighed. “I promise.”

  McVie opened the door and got out, standing in the noise of the blaring siren. The police cruiser screeched to a halt on the other side of McVie.

  He closed the door and she heard him speak to the other officers, but she couldn’t understand any of the conversation above the noise of the siren. The top of McVie’s head bobbed toward the front of the car where it disappeared from view. She heard two car doors slam and assumed it was also the police cruiser.

  And then Fenway heard nothing but the wail of the siren. The red and blue of the lights cast harsh, swirling shadows around the inside of the suv. For several moments, Fenway concentrated on the sound of her own breathing so the siren wouldn’t drive her mad. She looked at the phone in her purse; it felt like half an hour had passed since she got the call, but it had only been five minutes.

  She heard voices again and poked her head above the sight line of the dashboard, and McVie and Callahan came into view. Piper Patten, her shoulders covered in a red-and-black plaid blanket, stepped out from behind Callahan to stand next to McVie, who took her by the elbow. On the other side of Callahan stood a man wearing a dark suit and a light blue dress shirt, talking a stream of words, his brows knitted, his eyes dancing in agitation. Fenway recognized him, but wasn’t sure where from. She pulled her phone up and took his picture.

  McVie looked at Fenway, and she pulled the phone down quickly. He made a quick cutting motion in front of his neck with his whole hand. She looked down at the siren controls on her left and fumbled with them for a moment before toggling the switch. The siren, thankfully, went silent. Callahan walked to the cruiser, reached inside, and turned his siren off too.

  “—certainly will press charges,” the man in the suit finished.

  Fenway remembered. That rude, entitled tone of voice belonged to the man who had pushed Fenway out of the way when she was leaving Dr. Pruitt’s office. She tried to remember the name she heard Pruitt say over the crackle of the intercom—Gray something.

  McVie shook his head. “This property belongs neither to you, nor the company you work for. We’ll decide if we’ll arrest this young lady or not.”

  “I was hired to protect this property, and I have every ri—”

  “Mister Grayheath,” McVie said, his speech growing more curt, “your supervisor may have asked you to keep an eye on this property, but you have no more right to be here than this young lady.” He turned to Piper. “If this is some sort of prank—”

  “No, I swear, Officer—” Piper said.

  “Sheriff,” McVie said.

  Fenway cocked her head. They were pretending they didn’t know each other. Was this for Grayheath’s benefit?

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” Piper said, looking down at the ground. “I swear, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to enter the building. I thought it was a public space until I went into the offices.”

  “Perhaps if we all go to the station, we can discuss this,” Grayheath said.

  “If you own, or lease, the property, sure,” McVie said. “As it is, you can’t even make a citizen’s arrest.”

  Grayheath frowned.

  “This is ridiculous. I haven’t—”

  “You’re not law enforcement, Mr. Grayheath. If you had concerns about this young lady trespassing, you should have called the police, not tried to confront her yourself.”

  “That’s nonsense. She was accessing some—” Suddenly, a pinched look came over Grayheath’s face and he clamped his mouth shut.

  “Accessing some what, Mr. Grayheath?”

  “Accessing some computers that obviously didn’t belong to her,” he continued. “I couldn’t let her do that. What if she were a hacker and she was stealing social security numbers or credit card information?”

  “I’d say it was a good thing that we came when we did, then,” McVie said. “If you hurt or injured this woman, we’d be taking you down to the station, too, and you’d probably get free lodging for the evening.”

  Grayheath didn’t say anything else.

  “I’d suggest you get in your car and figure out how to explain this to your boss so that you look like the hero,” McVie said.

  Fenway looked over at the unadorned sedan and typed the license plate number into her phone.

  Grayheath glanced from McVie’s face to Piper’s, back to McVie’s. A snarl formed on his lips, his hands curling into fists, and then he closed his eyes and breathed in and out. Finally, he gave a short nod. “Gentlemen,” he said, “you’re right. I’ll head to work. Thank you for taking care of this unfortunate situation, and I appreciate your sensitivity in this matter.”

  McVie and Callahan both watched him walk all the way to his car. As he got in, Callahan put Piper in the back seat of the cruiser. Grayheath nodded at McVie as he drove out of the lot.

  McVie motioned for Fenway to get out of the car, so she joined him. Piper, looking up at them guiltily, sat on the rear seat.

  “McVie,” Fenway said, “that was the guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy who was going into Pruitt’s office while we went out.”

  “Really?”

  “And you’ll never guess who he works for,” Piper broke in.

  “Who?” asked Fenway.

  “Global Advantage Executive Consulting.”

  “Oh no,” said Fenway.

  “Am I supposed to know what that is?” said McVie.

  Fenway and Piper looked
at each other.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” said Fenway.

  “I hope the story ends with me knowing what Piper’s doing here, and why she played it like she didn’t work for the county.”

  “I had to come here,” Piper said. “Everyone else had left, and Fenway didn’t come back, and I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You didn’t have a choice?”

  “Not without risking Grayheath destroying the evidence.” Piper shifted on the seat uncomfortably.

  “Okay,” Sheriff McVie said, “start at the beginning.”

  Piper looked from Callahan to Fenway to McVie and took a deep breath. “I looked into the payment book that Fenway gave me earlier today,” she said.

  “Payment book?”

  “Mrs. Velásquez brought it in,” Fenway said. “It was from Central Auto Body.”

  “I thought you already looked into those finances,” McVie said.

  “I did,” replied Piper, “but these were records of transactions I hadn’t uncovered, and there were some account numbers I hadn’t heard of, too.”

  “And that led you here?”

  “No—not yet. I saw the name Grayheath in the book.”

  Fenway cocked her head. “Regarding what?”

  “That’s what I was trying to find out. I came across some new bank account numbers and some big transactions. One was marked Grayheath, then a dash, then the word sea, then a notation for one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Whoa,” Callahan said. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “The word see as in look and see?” asked Fenway.

  “No, sea, like the ocean.” Piper pressed her lips together. “I got excited. I thought maybe Grayheath had sold Mr. Velásquez his boat, and he was using it to go out to the oil tanker and disguise it before it came into the Ferris Energy port, or maybe disguise it after it went out. Or maybe he’s hiding on the boat. I thought if we could get some sort of nautical id on it, we’d know what we were looking for.”

  “Wait,” McVie said, “what? Oil tanker? Disguise? What’s going on?”

  Piper looked at Fenway, and Fenway looked at Callahan.

  McVie could know about this, but Callahan was an unknown. True, Fenway had gotten to know him pretty well over the last few days when he was on her protection detail, but that was only a few days, and McVie still thought there was a mole in the department. Fenway didn’t think Callahan was the mole, but still, it paid to be cautious, even though Piper had said too much already.