Emily padded from the grave, head lowered to the ground. When she stepped onto the pavement and looked up, Nick was just feet away from her with an outstretched hand.
57
December seventeenth. Today was the day Emily was supposed to have married Brandon Taylor at the Palmer House in Chicago among four hundred or more of his family’s guests. She woke up with it on her mind and then realized there was no longer a single bit of bitterness or resentment attached to her memory of him, of them, of anything they had shared. In her heart, she wished Brandon well, then jumped out of bed with a huge sigh of relief.
Choice. Change. Potential. Possibility. They were all hers now. And last night, before drifting to sleep, she had confidently decided on her next steps. She just hadn’t broken the news to Nick yet.
As she drew back the curtains and looked outside, a fresh snow was falling again from the ominous gray sky. It was perfect Christmas weather.
She dressed and rushed to the kitchen for coffee, running over a list of things she could do today. Should do today. At the top of the list was decorating the house for Christmas and baking cookies. She had offered to host Anna and her family this year. Her first hosted Christmas. And Nick, the host-with-the-most, was not just making the ham but roasting a whole pig. Emily had gasped when he’d suggested it. We’d better see about inviting some more people. And so the list had grown. Delia Andrews. Jo and Paul and kids, who had decided to spend a quiet Christmas together, rekindling their flame. And a few odds and ends from the sheriff’s office—folks who didn’t have family nearby or had to be on duty later that day.
Yes, there was much to do. But instead, Emily found herself swaying to Caribbean holiday music coming from a radio app on her phone as she bustled about her father’s office packing the last box of his files. The walls of her father’s old medical office were now bare and in need of a fresh coat of paint. The shelves were empty, exposing little scratches and indents in the wood. It required some touching up. But not now. Unless the renter insisted.
As she scanned the bookshelves for any remaining objects, her gaze caught the corner of a picture frame shoved to the back of a top bookshelf above her reach. She slid over a chair, climbed up, and retrieved it. It immediately tore at her heart. It was her favorite family photo, taken at the beach at Lake Michigan the Labor Day before she had started her sophomore year of high school. She, her mom, and her dad were standing on the shore with the dark-blue water and clear sky on the horizon. Dad was in the middle with his arms around both of them. The wind was blowing her mother’s hair out from under her sun hat. She looked so pretty and carefree. Emily remembered, and could tell from the shape of her mouth, that she had been laughing. She was always laughing. Next to Dad, Emily was in her one-piece suit, squinting into the sun with a broad smile as she leaned onto her dad’s shoulder.
She pushed the regret of a dozen years out of her mind as she touched the faces in the photograph. She would take this one with her.
Just then, the office door swung open with the force of a frigid gust. Nick entered quickly and sealed them in against the next blast.
“I think it’s getting worse out there,” he said, stamping off his boots on the snow mat. In one hand he held a shopping bag, in the other a potted something-or-other wrapped in brown packaging paper. “It makes me wonder why we live in this arctic tundra.” He peeled away his scarf, draped it over a chair, and shook snow out of his hair. “I love this music.”
“Helps you forget what’s going on outside,” said Emily.
“And it’s a perfect segue for this,” said Nick, tearing at a corner of the packing paper. “I thought you could use a little early Christmas gift for your new office.”
“I thought we weren’t doing gifts.”
Emily watched as he unwrapped the potted plant, which was at least a foot taller than he was. As the paper peeled off, the branches of a baby palm splayed out.
“Wow. It’s … big.”
“Really brings the room to life,” Nick said. “And there’s more.”
“This is already too much already.”
“What? No. It’s perfect in here. And … just wait!” He ran to the light switch and turned off all the lights. The dimmed room reflected the stormy sky outside. It felt more like evening than midday. Then he reached into the pot of the plant and extracted a plug. He inserted it into the socket, and the tree lit up in twinkle lights.
Emily’s lips parted to let out “Oooh!” but the expression was silenced by the uneasy anticipation of news she had yet to break.
“Nick, it’s lovely,” Emily said. “But … I can’t keep it. Here.”
Nick looked around the office. “Sure you can. There’s plenty of natural light.”
She gave him a playful punch as the music shifted to a calypso rendition of “O Holy Night.” He grabbed her by the waist and tucked her into his chest. “I love you, Dr. Emily Hartford. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to say that?”
As the melody reached the chorus, Nick took Emily’s face in his palms and drew his lips to hers.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “And I’m … returning to Chicago after the new year.”
His forehead touched her shoulder, and he took a long inhale. He tried to respond, but couldn’t get a full syllable out.
“I love being back in Freeport. But I need to finish my residency strong—in Chicago.”
“And then?”
“Then, I’ll see. But whatever the next steps, they will be uniquely my own. Not decided by Brandon. Not by my father’s death. Not by you begging me to step in as coroner,” she grinned.
Emily pulled Nick in for a hug, but he stiffened.
“I thought we …”
“Of course we are. You do realize you don’t need a visa to visit Chicago.” She smiled.
“No, but I’ll need a plane ticket.”
“What? Why?”
He buried his head in her long blonde hair and whispered into her ear, “I’m heading to Virginia. Quantico.”
She tilted her head back and looked at him with wide eyes. She mouthed the letters FBI.
“Delia convinced me. And put in a good word.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered back.
Emily nestled in Nick’s warm embrace, and they held each other and swayed as the steel pan drum plinked out the beat of “The Little Drummer Boy.” Outside the storm quickened and raged. Close to an inch of snow had already accumulated in front of the office door since Nick’s arrival. It was Christmas Eve, and they needed to savor this holiday spirit, because Emily knew it would only be a matter of time before the phone would ring, requesting the services of this coroner.
ALSO AVAILABLE BY JENNIFER GRAESER DORNBUSH
The Coroner
God Bless the Broken Road
Forensic Speak: How To Write Realistic Crime Dramas
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Jennifer Graeser Dornbush is herself the daughter of a medical examiner, whose office was in her home. She investigated her first fatality, an airplane crash, when she was 10 years old. Since that first case she has had decades of on-site experience in death investigation and 360 hours of forensic training through the Forensic Science Academy. Jennifer now uses these experiences to pen crime fiction for film and TV, with a feature film God Bless the Broken Road slated for release in 2018. She has consulted on shows such as Deception, Hawaii Five-O, Prison Break, Leverage, and more. Jennifer is also member of Sisters in Crime and hosts webinars on crime writing through Writer’s Digest.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of Th
e Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-64385-122-8
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-64385-123-5
Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt
Printed in the United States.
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First Edition: January 2020
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