by Tara Meyers
“Dr. Burns?”
Jerked from her memories, Ember saw that Rebecca was back and holding the door open.
“Dr. German is happy to see you. He’s in the exam room at the end of the hall.”
“Is he, um, still doing the exam?”
“Oh, no, he finished that this morning. He’s just doing some paperwork.”
Relieved, Ember smiled in response and made her way down the dimly lit hallway. It could have been taken straight from a morgue scene in a horror movie. Dark wood trim, old cracked plaster walls, and widely spaced lights casting small orange circles at her feet. “Why?” she muttered while quickening her step.
To her surprise, when she pushed through the heavy door at the end, she was greeted by brightness. It was a large room that took up the whole width of the building. Its two opposing walls were lined with large windows, in addition to long rows of fluorescent lighting. The back area was sectioned off to accommodate what Ember figured was an office and cold storage.
There were two exam tables, both empty, though there was a heavy musty smell that reminded Ember of the inside of the tent. She tried not to think about it.
Dr. Tim German was positioned in a far corner, sitting on a tall stool at a stainless-steel counter. Several manila folders were spread out around him, and he looked up from them as if surprised to see her. He really hadn’t changed much. Other than having filled out more through his chest and arms, he still had a small stature. His brown hair was a bit overgrown, and his generic features made him one of those men who could fit various descriptions. He wasn’t unattractive, just … plain. Dark wire-rimmed glassed filled half of his face, and what had to be a two-day growth of hair covered his jaw.
“Ember!” he called out. Hopping down from the stool, he tossed his pen behind him before crossing the room. “Or should I say Dr. Burns?”
Not expecting such an enthusiastic greeting, Ember was taken by surprise when Tim gave her a brief hug. “Only if I have to call you Dr. German,” she said after breaking away from the embrace. Although she was barely above average height at 5’7”, Tim was a good two inches shorter. But he carried himself with a confidence that certainly hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him.
“I would ask what you’ve been up to, but I’m not going to pretend I haven’t heard all about your dramatic return to Sanctuary.”
Ember found herself blushing for the second time in less than five minutes. “I think the story has grown over the past few months,” she replied, doing her best to downplay it. “I’m just trying to build my own practice. Mom passed away last summer—” Her voice catching, Ember swallowed hard before continuing. “I couldn’t sell the house. I was a little surprised to discover I didn’t want to. Once I got back there, Tim, I couldn’t leave. Dr. Bernie had just retired and offered the old vet building to me at an amazing price, so I took the plunge.”
Nodding, Tim put one arm across his midsection and then rubbed thoughtfully at his chin with the other hand. “I didn’t know about your mom. I’m sorry. That’s rough. But you seem to have succeeded at what so many of us swore we would do but so very few achieve.”
Confused, Ember raised an eyebrow. “What would that be?”
“Escape, conquer, return, and prosper,” Tim said. Heading back toward his abandoned papers, he continued to talk as he walked. “Many disillusioned teens manage to escape Sanctuary, only to fail at overtaking the world and return with their tail between their legs. A handful of us make it out and then go on to achieve our academic or career goals. But it’s the rare breed who returns to Sanctuary and successfully integrates that success back into the close-knit society.”
Amused, Ember trailed behind Tim. She was reminded of why she’d enjoyed his company during all those lunch hours. If asked what she thought he would eventually end up doing for a career, she would have guessed a lawyer or politician. He loved to talk, debate, and always have the last word. That he now spent most of his time with cadavers was an odd twist.
“Mayor Gomez told me you’re married now and have a couple of kids?” While Ember was entertained by his musings, she really wanted to change the subject.
“Happily married. I have one son with another due to arrive any day now.”
“Congrats!” Ember replied with sincerity. It was good to see him content.
“But I don’t suppose you’re here to reminisce about our school days or to compare certifications.” Sitting back on the stool, Tim picked up his discarded pen and tapped it against one of the file folders. “I understand that you ended up with Kurt Donaldson’s dog. Did you really drive all the way up here just to talk to me about that, or was Mayor Gomez successful in strong-arming you into running for the coroner position? Because I figure you either have an interest in the procedural aspect of my job or you’re just being nosey. I appreciate the fact that you assisted in the last death in Sanctuary, Ember, but I can assure you that I know how to do my job.”
Taken aback by his change in attitude, Ember found herself wishing she’d gone ahead and called him from her truck. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel like she was challenging his authority. And if he called Sheriff Walker to complain about her, she’d never hear the end of it.
When she didn’t answer right away, Tim persisted. “I thought you turned down the coroner position.”
“I did.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Because the dead man was my dog’s owner, Tim. Because his hand was dropped on my front porch! I just want to know what happened, and I’m horribly impatient. And I’ll admit that while I did say no to Mayor Gomez, the more involved I get in these investigations, the more curious I am. I haven’t completely ruled out running for the position. Maybe I’m hoping that seeing what it’s like will help solidify my decision not to do it.” Throwing her hands up in the air, Ember huffed in frustration. “I really just want to know if I get to keep Daenerys, okay? I wanted to talk to you in person in case there was any question or doubt from Kurt Donaldson’s parents. I don’t know. I guess I thought I could help persuade them to let me keep her if I need to. I couldn’t just wait around and not do anything.”
Chuckling, Tim flipped open the top folder. “You always were impulsive, Ember. But maybe that’s part of the reason you’ve succeeded where others have failed. You take risks, but they’re calculated and tend to pay off.”
“So, do you have a psych degree up on your office wall, too?” Getting a little irritated now at his slightly pompous attitude, Ember fought to control her temper.
Tim paused in his paper shuffling and turned a crooked grin toward Ember. “Relax, Ember. I’m just giving you a hard time. I talked to Mr. Donaldson’s parents two hours ago. They didn’t even ask about the dog. When I told them she’d been in a good home for the past three months, they were relieved. They’re happy to let you keep Shappa.”
The relief that flooded through Ember was so strong it made her chest hurt. Leaning against the counter, she fought to control the tears threatening to turn her into a blubbering mess. But then the name Tim used slammed through her mountain of emotions, and she straightened, gasping. “What did you say?”
Unsure how to respond to her shocked appearance, Tim hesitated. “That you get to keep the dog?”
“No!” Ember retorted, trying not to stumble over her words. “The name. What did you call her?” When Nathan had offered to show her the dog tag at the abandoned campsite, she’d declined. He’d left the collar and leash inside the tent, and she hadn’t thought about it since. A part of her was afraid to know about the dog’s other life, that acknowledging it could allow it to somehow overtake her current reality.
“Shappa. That’s what the ranger put in his report, and the parents confirmed it.”
The word took Ember back to a time when she was a small child. Every summer, her mom would take her to North Dakota to visit her grandma and grandpa on the Lakota reservation. Her grandfather was a full-blooded Sioux Lakota Nati
ve American, while her grandmother was about as white as you could get. Both families had to fight to overcome their prejudices, and, fortunately, it was all worked out by the time Ember was born. She had nothing but fond memories of the visits, which became less frequent after her grandfather passed away. Shappa had been a nickname only he used for Ember. It was a Lakota word meaning “Red Thunder.”
“Red Thunder,” Ember said aloud.
“What?”
Looking at Tim, Ember did her best to collect her thoughts. “Shappa. It’s Lakota and means Red Thunder.” When Tim stared at her blankly, she realized he’d never seen Daenerys. “The dog is a labradoodle with red hair.”
“Ahhh,” Tim breathed. “That makes sense. I guess. Anyway,” he continued, unaware of Ember’s inner emotional storm, “the death is most likely going to be ruled a suicide. His parents want him cremated, which we do every Tuesday. They’ll be picking up his remains next weekend, so if you have any need to talk with them, that’s when they’ll be around.”
“You were able to confirm he shot himself?” Ember asked casually.
“Given the rate of decomposition, there’s no proving anything,” Tim admitted. “And since one of the few ways to accomplish that is by finding trace amounts of gunpowder residue on the glove, your dog carrying said gloved hand ten miles in its mouth didn’t make that possible. And contrary to what’s portrayed on television, this isn’t an exact science. Shooting yourself in the head is often a very tricky maneuver, so we can’t go entirely by angle, either. However, all things taken into consideration, the scenario, based on what I could extrapolate, is plausible.”
Ember recalled the conversation she had with the sheriff that morning and knew what his response would be. It was all plausible, so therefore likely. “But it isn’t conclusive?”
Hesitating, Tim crossed his arms in a defensive gesture. “What are you getting at?”
Cautious, Ember chose her words carefully. “Just that there are a few things that don’t add up. Time-wise, and stuff that was left at the camp.”
“It’s not my job to investigate the scene or timeline of his disappearance,” Tim replied evenly. “I examine the body and give an unbiased report, Ember. Law enforcement then takes my findings and comes to the most likely conclusion. My understanding is that everyone, including his family, friends, and local law enforcement in Idaho and Sanctuary, all seem to think it’s a suicide. I can appreciate your emotional involvement, but you should take a step back on this one for that reason. Let his family have their closure and be happy you get to keep your dog.”
“Thanks, Tim. I know you’re right,” Ember was quick to reply. Still trying to wrap her head around Daenerys’s real name, she was now eager to leave. “I appreciate you talking with me. It’s a huge relief.”
Seemingly placated, Tim smiled again. “Sure. It’s my pleasure. It was good to see you again. Good luck with your practice, and I might bring my lab to see you when it’s time for his next wellness exam. I wasn’t too impressed with the local vet we took him to.”
After digging out a business card, Ember said her goodbyes and almost ran down the hallway. She could have sworn it was twice as long as before. She plowed through the front door, barely waving in acknowledgment to Rebecca. As she squinted in the bright afternoon sunshine, she was chilled in spite of the unseasonably warm weather.
No, she thought as she wrapped her arms around herself. I could never be a coroner.
She was relieved to get into her truck and sat for a moment, deep in thought. Ember didn’t believe in coincidences. If she’d had any doubt that her and Daenerys’s paths were meant to cross, she was certain now.
She had a sudden desire to retrieve the dog tag. Where just an hour ago, she didn’t even want to know the name, now she felt it was important to acknowledge it. It was a significant part of the dog’s past, and it was wrong to pretend like it didn’t exist. While she would always be Daenerys to her, and it would confuse her too much to change her name, Ember knew that Shappa would become a special nickname. Her Red Thunder.
Starting the truck, Ember thought how fitting the name was, and a strong sense of loss overcame her. Poor Daenerys. She’d been loved by Kurt Donaldson. Ember had no doubt about that. And the dog had shown a loyalty that stretched beyond death. Ember knew she’d brought the hand all the way back so they’d find him and put him to rest. It’s just too bad that it had, in a way, made it more difficult to determine beyond a doubt that it was a suicide.
Wait a minute!
Ember had begun to pull out of the space, but she slammed on the brakes. The hand. The gloved hand. She’d shot revolvers plenty of times, and she’d also had lots of opportunities to wear leather work gloves. Enough to know that the two didn’t go well together.
“If Kurt Donaldson was planning to shoot himself,” she said out loud, “the last thing he’d do is put on a pair of thick gloves.”
EIGHT
“I think you’re right, Ember.”
Ember had expected several different reactions from Nathan, but that wasn’t one of them. She paused with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth and slowly set it back down on the patio table. “Really?”
The sky over Crystal Lake had begun to take on a predawn glow only moments before, and already the first glorious rays of sunlight were piercing the darkness. Ember wasn’t much of a morning person. But during the winter months, sunrise didn’t happen until 7:30 a.m., and she had to get up early for work anyway. Sitting on the front porch to meet the new day was becoming one of her favorite pastimes, even if it meant bundling up and braving the bitter temperatures.
Nathan was seated comfortably beside her, warming his hands around his own steaming cup of coffee. He’d stopped by on his way to a SAR mission. Apparently, a couple of hikers took a tumble, and the only way to them was to hike in. He turned now to look at her, his dark eyes cast into a mysterious twinkle by the faint light.
“Why would that surprise you? I don’t think anyone would deny that the timeline of events surrounding Kurt Donaldson’s death is sketchy.”
Unable to look away, Ember had to force herself to form coherent words. Why, after being in Nathan’s presence for more than three months, did she still feel like a schoolgirl when he stared at her? “I guess because of what Walker told me yesterday. And Tim seemed pretty sure it was going to be deemed a suicide.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Confusion stifled the enchantment, and Ember leaned back, blinking. “But you just said—”
“I agreed that there are more questions than answers, but it doesn’t change the facts,” Nathan explained, his tone light. “Last night, I turned in our reports and the autopsy to my superiors in Seattle. On paper, it paints a fainter picture, so I also called and spoke with him directly. But I’m pretty sure it isn’t going any further. There simply isn’t enough there to warrant the time and manpower to investigate. I even pulled all the old paperwork from when we hired him a couple of years ago. I thought there might be something…I don’t know, maybe another employee or mention of a coworker we could contact. Nothing. Other than our local hermit, Ernest Tucker, he didn’t appear to have any interactions outside our office.”
“Ernest Tucker?” Ember faintly recalled the name from when she was little.
“Lives in the woods right on the national forest border at the farthest northern edge of town,” Nathan explained. “He acts as a guide during the summer for the more adventurous hikers, and I think he makes furniture or something. I’ve only spoken with him twice, and he’s a man of few words. Kurt hired him initially to show him the lay of the land.
“But I think Donaldson’s work for us is a dead end. It was a positive exchange over the course of just a few days. Nah,” Nathan continued after taking another sip of coffee. “It sounds like his trouble started earlier this year. For all the unanswered questions, this is likely a sad and often repeated story of a man’s life being destroyed by drugs.”
Ember took a mom
ent to mull over the information while appreciating the beauty of the tapestry being painted across the water by the rising sun. “You know,” she began, tilting her head back toward Nathan. “I’m actually relieved. It’ll be good to put this all behind us. Contrary to what some people might think, I don’t thrive on drama. I really am rather boring.”
Snorting, Nathan set his cup down and then stood up. “When describing you, boring isn’t a word that would come up.”
Cocking an eyebrow playfully, Ember threw one of her mittens at him. “Oh yeah? Well, tell me, then, Ranger Sparks, what words would you use?”
Catching the glove, Nathan stuffed it in a pocket of his uniform before leaning back against one of the cedar logs supporting the roof of the porch. “I’m afraid that information is top secret,” he said mischievously. “But, if you go to dinner with me this Sunday, I might be coerced into revealing something.”
Smiling broadly now, Ember threw the other glove and missed him completely. Daenerys leapt from where she was lying next to the table and snatched it up before Nathan could retrieve it. The dog brought it back to Ember and sat before her proudly with it. As she patted Daenerys on the head, a moment of deja vu hit Ember, and she was thankful there wasn’t anything in the glove this time. However, it reminded her of the question that had been weighing on her mind.
“What about the glove?”
“What?” It clearly wasn’t the response Nathan was expecting.
“Sorry. I’d love to go to dinner with you on Sunday,” Ember stammered. “But not the Rusty Wagon Wheel. I’m having lunch with Becky and the mayor there this afternoon, and I can only handle their rib special once a week.”