Snowfall on Lighthouse Lane

by JoAnn Ross

  “There’s more.”

  “Of course there is.”

  “Six weeks after that, she drowned. Her body was found in the ocean not far from the Hermosa Beach pier. At night. Dr. Denise, the coroner who drew the case, declared the death undetermined. Since there was salt water in her lungs, but she wasn’t dressed for swimming, there was some conjecture that she may have been hit by a sneaker wave. Her husband said she’d been drinking at dinner, which guests confirmed, but her blood alcohol level wasn’t enough to have her going down to the tideline.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it turned out she really did run every day, just never on the beach. She confessed that she’d done that only to meet me, because she was afraid of the water. Even in the daytime. There was a full moon that night, but she still never would’ve been out there that close to the tide on her own.”

  Aiden had already left LA by then. But, that didn’t mean that he’d ever stop being a cop. Even now that he was a small-town one.

  “Interesting timing.”

  “Yeah. It was a helluva coincidence,” Bodhi said, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

  “Where was the DC at the time?”

  “At home.”

  “Alone?”

  “Of course. He did admit they’d had an argument because he hadn’t made it home for a dinner party. He said he called her from the station during the dinner to tell her he was caught up in an operation and couldn’t get away.

  “Dinner guests remembered the call. He said he came home late, after everyone had left, she was furious, threw a crystal vase with flowers that had been the dining table centerpiece, then stormed out. He figured she’d drive around and cool off like she did most other times. According to him, they’d been fighting a lot because of his extra hours on the Homeland Security deal since his promotion. He told the investigating detectives that she had a helluva temper, tended to get overemotional and had threatened suicide more than once. But he figured those were just threats to get him to cut back on his hours.”

  “Did you ever notice a temper? Did she seem suicidal, or ever mention thoughts of taking her life?”

  “No. She wasn’t happy in her situation, but she’d never mentioned suicide and she’d certainly never shown any indication of being a risk. In fact, the last time we talked, she was determined to leave and was looking forward to her new life...

  “And granted, if I were interrogating me, I’d point out that ours wasn’t exactly a domestic situation, so we hadn’t had that that much reason to argue—”

  “Unless she’d been planning to stay with her husband. Who outranked you, so made more bucks. A fact that could have made him the more attractive choice to stay with, while you were younger, better-looking and more fun to play around with as the guy she kept on the side.”

  “Yeah. Since investigations always start with the husband and/or boyfriend, under normal circumstances, I’d have been a person of interest, if I hadn’t already been out of the picture by then. And for the record, she didn’t care about money or position. She’d wanted to leave because of the abuse. I told you about the bruises.”

  “What did the coroner’s report say about them?”

  “That she could have gotten them by her body hitting the pier or rocks. She was wrapped in some kelp. But like I said, she was looking ahead. We were planning on making it permanent.”

  He turned, looking out the window at the harbor where a white-and-green ferry was chugging toward the dock. “I loved her, Aiden. I’d been through enough hookups to know this was the real thing. And I know it was real for her, too. I also suspect that us falling in love might have been the impetus for her getting up the nerve to leave. So, that puts her death on me.”

  Aiden was about to point out that Bodhi hadn’t been responsible. Maybe he’d been part of the reason she’d upped her timeline, but the simple fact was that if she hadn’t left, her husband could well have killed her. Aiden suspected he had. Women had also been known to be killed after getting an order of protection, something he was determined not to allow to happen to Amanda Barrow on his watch.

  No longer hungry, he rolled down the window far enough to toss out the rest of the doughnut that the seagulls—who’d been flying hopefully over the harbor, waiting for ferry to churn up fish—immediately attacked. As the noisy birds began fighting over the sugary fried dough, Aiden raised the window again. “And you never told me anything about all this back then, why?”

  “Like I said, I knew you’d warn me about being crazy, and I didn’t want to get in an argument about it because I wasn’t going to quit her. I figured, once we moved in together, I’d probably get kicked off the team—”

  “You think?” Aiden’s tone was as dry as the sand on Hermosa Beach. “But you could have told me afterward. When you showed up here.”

  “I was planning to. When the right time came along. But at first you were so fucked up, I didn’t want to risk you running down to LA to confront the DC, avenge my death like the straight-arrow guy you are, and get yourself killed.”

  “That wouldn’t have happened. Because I’d have fucking killed him first.”

  Aiden had killed before. Twice in the line of duty as a Marine, then once as a sniper during hostage situation, to save a life. And again, that night he and Bodhi had been ambushed he’d blasted away at the bad guys in an attempt partner and him from being killed.

  But, although he didn’t want to think of himself as being capable of murdering in cold blood, Bodhi had been like a brother. Sometimes even closer than his own, given what they’d gone through together. If he’d found out about this while he’d been trying to drink the state dry, with his brain all messed up, he damn well might have done exactly that.

  “You just proved my point,” Bodhi pointed out.

  “I probably wouldn’t have killed him. But I damn well would’ve wanted to.” Aiden took another long drink of coffee and made a decision. “I’m calling a couple guys I know in LA.” No way would he go back there. Not unless he wanted to do something that got him arrested. And cops never fared all that well in prison, which could’ve made it a suicide mission.

  “Guys in IAD?”

  “No. Homicide.”

  “What makes you think they’d be interested?”

  “Solving murders is what they do. They’re also former Marines, who take that Semper Fi thing as serious as all of us do. So, they’ll look into the case for me. But also, because they believe in upholding the law. The idea of any cop—especially one with the power the deputy chief has—making deals with drug dealers and gunrunners would majorly piss them off.

  “That’s not the part of America they risked their lives for on seven combined tours. If there’s anything there, they’ll find it. And probably bring Internal Affairs into it. I’m going to also call the coroner, since we both know that once IAD gets started, they aren’t going to tell me anything during the investigation.”

  “Dr. Denise always liked you. Didn’t you go out with her for a while?”

  “Not that long. A few weeks. Then I started noticing wedding magazines on her bedside table and she asked me if I liked kids.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Sure. It’s just marriage I wasn’t into. We both know cops make lousy husbands. Undercover cops have the worst divorce rate on the force because the only people we meet are scumbags and women who tend to be junkies, strippers or hookers. Or all of the above. I liked Denise too much to put either one of us through the hell that relationship could have been. Meanwhile, you need to tell me everything you know. Including how the hell you know that the DC’s wife—”

  “Jessica. That was her name. But I always called her Jess.”

  “Sorry.” Of all people, Aiden, being a cop and talking with too many victim’s family members should’ve remembered how important it was to use the names of loved ones. “But how the h
ell do you know that Jess supposedly drowned after you’d already been killed?”

  “I haven’t a clue. I guess that’s another one of those eternal mysteries.”

  “Fuck that woo-woo stuff. We’re going to break this case and bring that murderous son of a bitch down.” Aiden pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Now that,” Bodhi said, “is worth coming back for.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DR. LAURENNE LANCASTER’S office was located in one of Honeymoon Harbor’s big old historical Victorian homes, much like the one Brianna had restored for her bed-and-breakfast. There had obviously been a great deal of interior wall moving, allowing for a reception area and waiting room, that led to various treatment rooms that probably would have been parlors back in the day.

  Although Jolene had never been invited into the older heiress’s home, the office appeared to have once been a library. The doctor had kept the jury-paneled bird’s-eye maple walls lined with bookshelves. Many, Jolene noticed, were medical tomes. Other volumes covered history, art and nature, including several books on the Pacific Northwest.

  “Hello, Gloria.” The doctor rose, came out from around the desk, paused to pump some sanitizer on her hand from a container over a sink and greeted her mother with a handshake. Then turned to Jolene. “You must be Jolene. I’m pleased to meet you. Your mother has told me so many wonderful things about you. Including how hard you work, always flying around the country or the world to work on movies and TV shows. It must be a very exciting life.”

  “It’s one of those jobs that sounds more exciting than it is,” Jolene said, grateful that her Emmy nomination hadn’t come up. She had a feeling that loss might end up being the first line in her obituary. And wasn’t that depressing?

  “I totally understand. From some of the comments I’ve received at social events, I get the feeling people expect my life to be like Grey’s Anatomy, with me having a grand love affair with Dr. McDreamy.”

  “He died,” Gloria said. Then literally covered her mouth. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I’m just really nervous and I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It was quite a few years ago.” Dr. Lancaster turned toward Jolene to explain her mother’s dismay. “I’m a widow. My husband, who was an ER doctor and quite dreamy, at least in my opinion, died of sudden cardiac arrest at forty-three while running on one of the park trails.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jolene said.

  “Not as sorry as I am,” Gloria murmured.

  “You truly have nothing to apologize for, Gloria. I understand why you’d be nervous. So, let’s get down to business. Would you like some water? Coffee? Tea?”

  “Your receptionist already asked,” Jolene said. “We’re good.” Just impatient.

  “The ultrasound showed a cyst.”

  “Oh, that’s positive, right?” Jolene asked. “I had a friend who had one of those and they just keep an eye on it.”

  “It’s fairly good news,” Dr. Lancaster said cautiously. “But in this case there are some concerns because it also contains some solid factions that could just be fat necrosis. Or blood cells that died.” She brought out the film and pointed them out.

  “There’s no reason to be terribly concerned because I sent a copy to another radiologist, and he agrees with me that since the shape is very regular and the low odds of cysts being cancerous it’s very encouraging at this point. But we all agree that you should have a biopsy to be sure we don’t miss anything.”

  “Fine needle?” Jolene asked.

  “You’ve been doing your homework,” Dr. Lancaster said. “Some of my fellow doctors get annoyed when patients get medical information from the internet, because there’s a great deal of misinformation out there, but I find it helpful if a patient does have some idea of what can often turn into medical speak.

  “So—” she turned back to Gloria “—the needle used in a fine-needle aspiration is a very fine needle, hence its name. It’s a smaller gauge than the needle normally used to draw blood.”

  “I hate having blood drawn,” Gloria said.

  “I doubt many people enjoy it. This is a simple outpatient procedure that you’ll have in the same department where you had your ultrasound. Your file doesn’t show you taking any herbal supplements or blood thinners. Have you avoided aspirin products like I asked you to when we made the appointment for the ultrasound?”

  “I haven’t taken a thing,” Gloria said. “But I did have a glass of wine at Lake Crescent this weekend with my daughter.”

  “That sounds lovely. I envy you. My daughter’s still too young for wine, but the two times we’ve been there we had a wonderful time. I spoke with the radiologist first thing this morning and he can fit you in for the procedure tomorrow morning at seven. How does that work for you?”

  “Fine,” Jolene answered for her mother. “I’ll go with her.”

  “Good.” She turned back toward Gloria. “You’ll be locally anesthetized beforehand. Like the deadening a dentist injects before filling a cavity.”

  “Another one of my not-favorite things,” Gloria muttered.

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that case,” the doctor said.

  “Do you put me to sleep?” Gloria asked, with a swipe of her hand through her hair. “Like for surgery?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. It’s a percutaneous procedure, medically meaning through the skin and, as I said, shouldn’t be painful.

  “The procedure itself usually only takes a few seconds, but you should count on being in the room from fifteen minutes to twenty minutes. If the fluid extracted is clear, the lump is most likely merely a cyst and not cancer and should deflate. Bloody or cloudy fluid can mean either a cyst that’s not cancer or, very rarely, cancer. If the lump is solid, the radiologist will pull out a small pieces of tissue, as well.

  “Once the biopsy is done, the area will be covered with a sterile dressing. The main advantages of FNA are that the skin doesn’t have to be cut, so no stitches are needed and there’s usually no scar. Also, we get a faster turnaround on the diagnosis.”

  “How long do we have to wait for results?” Jolene asked.

  “For FNA, we should have it back in two to three days. Probably, in this case, since we’re dealing with the Thanksgiving long weekend, a bit longer.”

  “And if it’s benign, that’s it?” Gloria asked hopefully.

  “It’s not that cut-and-dried, unfortunately. Even if the biopsy reveals normal results or if the lump is benign, the radiologist who took the sample and the pathologist who also will study them have to agree on the findings.

  “While an FNA biopsy is the easiest type of biopsy to have, it can miss a cancer if the finer needle misses the cancer cells. Even if an FNA does find tissue that suggests cancer, there may not be enough cancer cells to do some of the other lab tests that are needed. So, the short answer is that if the results of the FNA biopsy don’t give a clear diagnosis, or if your medical team still has concerns, you might need to have a second biopsy.”

  The doctor folded her hands, nails neatly manicured and tipped with a clear polish, on top of the medical file. “In the unlikely event your pathology report finds cancer is present, it’ll include what type you might have, and a great deal of other information, including whether it’s hormone receptor positive or negative. We’ve learned a lot in the past years. Together you and I, and your team, and it would include a team, would develop a treatment plan that best suits your needs.”

  “This is my busy time of year,” Gloria complained. “What I need is to put the biopsy off until after the New Year.”

  “There’s no way either of us are going to be able to enjoy the holidays with this hanging over us,” Jolene said. “If necessary, I can take those clients. I kept my licenses active in both states. If you need that second biopsy and you’re worried that I won’t do their hair up to your standards, you could
come downstairs for short times and observe.”

  Gloria shook her head. “I don’t remember you being so strong willed.”

  “Yes, you do. You just never minded because we almost always agreed on everything.”

  The doctor laughed at that. “I’m going to remember this conversation when my daughter grows up,” she said.

  “Are there any questions you might have that I didn’t cover?”

  It was hard to know what to ask with so much still in the air. Jolene and Gloria exchanged a look.

  “I don’t think so,” Gloria said finally.

  With instructions to wear a bra to the radiology clinic in order to place a cold pack inside afterward to help reduce swelling, they were on their way back to Lighthouse Lane, stopping at Luca’s for some takeout fettuccini Alfredo and garlic bread Jolene ordered from her phone.

  “It’s a heart attack on a plate,” Gloria said. “But at this point, I’m not going to worry about that.”

  “We’re not going to worry, period,” Jolene said.

  “Liar,” her mother returned. But with a resigned half smile.

  “We’ve been through a lot, Mom,” Jolene said. “We’ll get through this, too. With flying colors.”

  She hoped.

  * * *

  AIDEN EASILY SPOTTED Jolene sitting in the waiting room outside the day surgery unit in the radiology department. Her hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with an elastic band and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. Not that she needed it, but it did make those freckles across the bridge of her nose and the bones of her too-pale cheeks stand out. He’d loved her freckles. She’d hated them. Today, he figured, she probably didn’t give a damn about them.

  She glanced up as he entered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping you company. Mom was going to come, but the school had a surprise lockdown drill.”

  “I know. She called, but how did you know?” He watched her process that. “Never mind. You would’ve known about the drill ahead of time. Somehow, even wearing that patch on your jacket, I have a hard time remembering you’re chief of police.”