“You have a friend who told you to practice lying when it doesn’t matter?” the Australian girl asked, still giggling. “By the way, you are the worst liar ever. Like, I had no idea you were lying, because quite frankly I barely cared about what you answered and was mostly just asking to pass the time. But at the slightest provocation you just broke completely. It was amazing. My cat is a better liar than you are.”
This time it was my turn to laugh. “Well you don’t have to rub it in. I can’t believe I almost got away with it. You have no idea how close I came to not coming here tonight in case you remembered me and knew I lied the last time.”
“On the bright side,” the girl replied, “I know you don’t work for the CIA. There’s no way the Americans would have trusted you with state secrets.”
“I kind of wish I’d kept up the lie. This is so embarrassing.”
“Don’t worry about it. Your friend sounds like a weirdo.”
“Oh trust me, she is.”
“I’m Brianne, by the way.”
“Cassie,” I replied.
“Is that your real name?” Brianne asked, arching an eyebrow.
“It is,” I replied, giggling. “That time, I was telling the truth.”
“So you don’t actually work at… was it McDonalds?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know why I said that. It was the first thing that came to my head.”
“What do you do then?”
“I’m a doctor. Well, I’m not really a doctor.” Brianne arched her eyebrow again. “No, no! I’m not actually lying to you,” I said. “I was trained to be a doctor, but then I was in an accident, so I can’t be a surgeon anymore. I kind of came to London to find myself, you know?”
Brianne nodded. “I can understand that. If I asked you what a septal myectomy was, what would you tell me?”
“Are you testing me?” I asked.
“Can you blame me?” Brianne replied with a wink.
“It’s open heart surgery that removes thickened septum from the heart to improve blood flow,” I replied, sticking my tongue out at her. “How do you know what that is, anyway?”
“There’s a lot to learn at a minimum wage job at Chipotle that you wouldn’t expect,” she joked. “But seriously, I’m actually taking medicine at uni myself right now. I’m at Barts and the London. This job just pays my rent.”
“Well, if you ever need a hand—a metaphorical one anyway—I know a lot of stuff that I can’t put to use anymore,” I told her, holding up my slightly deformed left hand.
“I’m sorry,” Brianne replied, her face filling with sympathy. “It must be tough, having done all that training, and then not being able to practice.”
“It is. I left America because I was just too depressed, moping around all the time.” I didn’t know why I was telling Brianne all this. She just seemed nice, and understanding.
“Well, listen, what’s your number? Let me send you a text. We should hang out sometime, grab a drink or something.”
“Sure,” I replied, smiling. “That sounds fun.”
I would have never guessed that I’d have walked into the Mexican restaurant looking for a burrito, and come out of it with a new friend.
Chapter 16
I took my burrito back home and ate it at the kitchen counter, while Biscuit tried his best to sneak his way into stealing it from me as well. We were going to have to set some boundaries for the mischievous little guy. It was almost eleven by the time I got back, but I put him in his harness and took him outside for a little bit, letting him explore his new neighborhood. This was a good time; it was late enough that there was no one on the street to see me walking a cat on a leash. Luckily for Biscuit, my desire to see him happily wandering around was greater than my own shame. After all, I’d embarrassed myself so much tonight that surely compared to being caught lying to Brianne, walking a cat on a leash wasn’t too bad.
When we got back in I lay down on the couch and decided to watch a bit of TV. I was, however, quite a bit more tired than I expected, and quickly found myself completely passed out.
I woke up the next day to one of those cute little historical English mysteries on TV. Biscuit was curled up in the nook of my arm against the couch, which obviously meant I couldn’t move, or I’d wake him up. So instead, I decided to watch some of the TV show. Apparently there was a killer going around in a little village up in northern England somewhere, and it seemed he’d already killed three people, all tall, brunette women.
The policeman in charge had no idea what to do. Funnily enough, he reminded me a little bit of DCI Williams. Maybe it was the red hair. Anyway, he decided he was going to use the one piece of information he definitely had: knowledge of the killers’ targets, and set a trap. He got a tall, brunette policewoman to wander around town at the same time as the killer was known to strike, and followed her closely. When the man came up to her and tried to kidnap her, the policeman jumped in and saved the day.
As the end credits rolled, I jumped up excitedly. Biscuit, falling to the floor—but still landing on his feet of course—let out a loud meow of discontent.
“Sorry Biscuit,” I apologized, running to the counter where I’d left my phone. “I didn’t mean to, but I have to text Violet. I think I may have figured out how to catch a killer!”
* * *
Five minutes later I was knocking on Violet’s front door. She’d said to come by immediately, so I threw on some clothes, ran a brush through my hair, left some breakfast out for Biscuit—along with a treat as an apology—and headed over. She led me into the study, the same room as I’d been in the last time. I sat on the couch as Violet perched herself on the edge of the desk.
“So? What is it that you have thought of?” she asked.
“Well, see I was watching one of those detective shows on TV just now. And the policeman only had one thing to go by: the preferred hair color and size of the women he was targeting. So he set a trap based on that.”
“And so you propose that we set a trap as well?”
“Yes! After all, we have the bank account details of the person who is still blackmailing Leo Browning, and who likely killed Elizabeth Dalton. What if we somehow lured them to the bank? Like, if we told them there was a problem with their account, or something?”
Violet nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I could see how that could work. As it is Saturday there is nothing to be done right now. I will organize this over the weekend, and on Monday, we will catch ourselves a murderer.”
About three hours later, I decided I was going to be an adult, and that included grocery shopping. After all, as much as I enjoyed subsisting entirely on take-out food, I was pretty sure my waistline wasn’t going to enjoy it that much. I spent the morning enjoying Biscuit’s company and watching the news on TV, then I got changed and headed out.
As I walked past Violet’s place, however, I ran into someone with mussed-up blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes and a smile to die for. He was wearing slacks and a polo shirt today; tight clothes that showed off just how much time he must spend in the gym. Jake Edmonds, also known as Doctor Gorgeous, was on my street. And he started talking to me.
“Cassie, hi!” he said as he came toward me. Oh my God. I was dressed for a mid-day run to the local grocery store, wearing an oversized cat-print sweater and leggings. I was so not dressed for a random meeting with the hottest guy in London. I silently thanked God that I’d at least thought to brush my hair and tie it up in a ponytail. That was something, right?
“Oh, Jake, hey,” I said, trying to flash a sexy smile that felt more like a grimace. Ugh. I was so out of practice at flirting. The last time I had a boyfriend had to have been at least eighteen months ago, probably closer to two years. “What are you doing here?”
I winced as soon as I said the words. They sounded so accusatory. Great. Grill the hot guy about why he’s on your street, great idea, Cassie, I thought to myself.
“I’m dropping off a copy of an autopsy for Violet. Don’t worry,
it’s not the case you’re working on. She wanted it as soon as possible.”
“She doesn’t really seem like the patient type,” I replied, and Jake laughed.
“That’s true. So what are your plans for the day?”
“Well, I was just going to run out and get groceries, then I was thinking I might do the tourist thing for a while. You know, get to know London and stuff?”
That second part wasn’t exactly true, in the sense that I hadn’t really planned on doing it, but it wasn’t totally a lie, either. I had looked at Google maps the other day and seen that I now lived only a few blocks away from the Natural History Museum, the Science Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum, and had thought to myself that I should definitely give them a visit.
“Hey, if you want a quintessential London experience, why don’t you come join me at the Queen’s Arms? Every time I leave Violet’s place I feel like drinking heavily, and there’s a great pub nearby.”
I was pretty sure I just stopped and stared at Jake without saying anything for at least a full minute.
“Yeah, sure,” I finally stammered out, and he grinned.
“Awesome. As fun as it is to sit at a bar drinking alone, it’s always better with someone else,” he joked.
I laughed a little bit too hard and tried to calm down the multitude of feelings happening inside of me. This wasn’t a date, I reminded myself. This was a guy who just wanted someone to chat to while he drank a beer. So not a date.
“I can see how Violet can drive people to drink,” I said as we headed back down the street.
“She is pretty intense. But she’s extremely good at what she does. Honestly, I’d rather have a police force made up entirely of people like her.”
“So you agree with her then, that all cops are idiots?”
“Well, I don’t go that far. But let’s just say a few of the police stations have a few people who have risen up the ranks a tad further than their intelligence should have allowed them to.”
I laughed. “I know what you mean. There were a few of those in medical school as well. Luckily they were all weeded out before they actually got to practice.”
We walked up a lane that was so quintessentially English, I couldn’t help but stare around. Old brick buildings rose up on either side of us, about three stories tall. Gorgeous, colorful flowers bloomed out the front, lushly leaved trees rose up at steady intervals, and some of the walls were even covered in ivy!
At the end of the road, on the corner, was a fairly nondescript building whose ground floor was painted in teal, with flower pots hanging from the walls. Two old school blackboards out the front advertised the specials.
“This is the place,” Jake said, leading me inside. The dark hardwood floor creaked underfoot as we stepped inside. The place had a dark, classically British ambiance. To one side was a dark wooden bar, glasses and bottles of spirits piled high on the shelves behind. Jake and I sat at a table in a corner by the window, looking out to the road, on a couple of dark stools. Dim lighting set the mood as city workers and locals alike crowded together, drinking glasses of beer and eating delicious looking food.
“What can I get you to drink?” Jake asked. I wasn’t normally much of a beer drinker, but the ambiance here seemed to demand it.
“Whatever beer’s good,” I said, and he came back with a glass of ale with a nice head on it. I sipped it carefully, half expecting the beer to be room temperature, having heard all the jokes about how that was the way the English liked their beer. Luckily for me, it seemed that was one stereotype that wasn’t actually true, as the beer was nicely chilled, and tasted pretty good.
For a minute we just sat there sipping our beer. I was honestly a bit afraid to ask Jake anything. I was so out of practice at flirting that I was pretty sure if I tried to ask him anything I’d probably get flustered, fall off my stool and knock my beer all over myself on my way down.
“So what part of America are you from?” Jake asked. Good, this was an easy question. I could probably answer this without falling all over myself in an attempt to impress the hottest guy ever.
“San Francisco,” I said. “I’m a California girl through and through, despite the lack of blonde hair.”
“Really? You gave up year-round sunshine and the ocean for the London weather that can only be kindly described as ‘woefully depressing’?”
I laughed. “I just needed a change. Something completely different. Plus, my dad was born in Scotland, so I have a UK passport. It makes it easier than going through all that visa stuff to live somewhere else.”
“So you’ve moved here for good then?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I’m not really good with long-term plans. This move was more of an on-a-whim sort of thing. How about you, how long have you worked at the coroner’s office?”
“About two years. I worked at a hospital for a couple of years after finishing my studies, then moved into the coroner’s office.”
“What made you go into pathology?”
“I discovered pretty quickly when I started medical school that I hated most patients.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s half the reason I went into surgery,” I replied. “All the important stuff is done when they’re asleep and they can’t complain about what you’re doing.”
“I know, right? My first year I was following a doctor doing his rounds, and there was a lady there that refused to tell him any of her symptoms because of ‘privacy reasons’. He asked her how she expected him to diagnose her, and she told him that if he was a good enough doctor he should be able to figure it out, since after all, that’s what vets do all day.”
I burst out laughing. “No way! What did the doctor say to that?”
“He told her if she wanted to be as stubborn as a bull there was a veterinary clinic just up the road.”
“Wow!” I laughed. “That’s amazing. Did he get in trouble for it?”
Jake grinned. “Well the woman complained, and I think the doctor got a half-arsed dressing down from the hospital director, but that was it.”
“Oh man, that’s crazy. I once got to watch a knee surgery, a meniscus repair, where the patient remained awake the whole time. He spent the entire surgery asking the doctor to explain in detail what he was doing and why. Eventually the doctor said if the guy didn’t let him do his job he was going to have to put him under completely.”
“People are nuts,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Of course, not working with patients—live ones anyway—means you don’t see the crazy things people come in with to Accident and Emergency.”
“First thing you learn in medical school,” I replied. “There’s nothing people won’t stick in their rectums.”
“The worst I saw was a half-full container of raspberry jam.”
“Well, I’m glad you can still be an optimist after seeing that,” I joked, earning myself a hearty laugh from Jake. I liked his laugh. It was sincere, and it lit up his face and made him look even better than he normally did.
“So do you work at a hospital in London yet? Or has Violet hired you to be her own personal doctor, since she apparently doesn’t trust us?” Jake asked.
I laughed. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Oh, I never take anything Violet does personally. I don’t think she realizes she’s the way she is half the time.”
“Agreed. But in this particular case, she didn’t hire me at all.” I explained to Jake how we’d met in the police station when I went to the wrong floor, and how she invited me to tag along on her cases.
“Oh, so she was telling the truth when she said she was showing you around London.”
“She certainly was. In fact, for all the teasing we do about how socially inept she is, I think she’s a lot more perceptive about people than she lets on.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me at all. Violet is very good at acting.”
My face began to flush red at the memory of that incredibly awkward moment she’d created i
nside the morgue. Don’t mention it. Don’t mention it. Don’t mention it.
“She could have done without that comment the other day in the morgue.”
What was wrong with me? It was like something in my brain was wired to completely ruin everything whenever I was in front of this incredibly friendly, funny, super-hot guy that I was now sharing a beer with. Could I possibly be worse at flirting? Thankfully, Jake just laughed.
“Yeah, that was classic Violet. Trust me, she’s worse when you’re actually in a relationship. You can’t hide it from her. She just knows.”
I laughed. “That sounds about right. I’m still not totally sure she’s completely human.”
“Definitely. So you say you’re a surgeon?”
“Well… not anymore. I was trained to be a surgeon.” Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the fact that Jake seemed like he’d understand. I told him everything. From the night I got hit by a car, to the moment I hit rock bottom, to when I decided to move to England on a whim, in a last-ditch attempt to get myself out of my depression.
“Damn,” Jake said softly when I was finished. “You need this beer more than I do.”
I couldn’t help myself, I laughed.
“Seriously though,” he continued. “I’m really sorry. What you went through, that’s incredibly tough. I think what you’re doing is good. Don’t rush into any decisions. You have lots of time to think things through. But let me tell you: there is hope. There are lots of specialties that aren’t surgery but also aren’t doing general practice for the rest of your life. You might find something you love. And if not, well, you’ll find something you like to do in another career path. But it’s all right to be depressed. Everything you’re feeling is normal. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks,” I said. Funnily enough, that was the first time anyone had actually treated me like I was a normal person when I mentioned my depression.
“So that’s what you meant when you said Violet was perceptive.”
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