She lifted a brow. “You’re getting pretty good at that mind reading stuff.”
He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “It’s called spending a lot of time with someone and getting to know her.”
“Hmm. I suppose.”
“Ready for me yet?”
Paul jumped and Serena gasped, startled at the sudden question that came from behind her. She whirled to see Dorie standing in the doorway.
Dorie laughed, then sobered. “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on y’all.”
Heart still thumping with the adrenaline surge, Serena placed a hand on her chest and gulped. “It’s all right. We’re just about finished here.”
Dorie King, the morgue janitor, was about fifty pounds overweight, but she moved her pear-shaped body easily, never seeming to tire while she worked. The woman could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty with straight auburn, chin-length hair, and dark brown eyes.
Even though Dorie was a recent hire, Serena had come to appreciate her unique sense of humor and cheery outlook on life. Working a swing shift wasn’t easy, but Serena had never heard the woman complain.
Which was a miracle in itself considering what she had to clean up sometimes.
“Can you tell me about her?” Dorie asked, pointing to Leslie.
And Dorie had an insatiable curiosity about all of Serena’s patients, as she hoped one day to have Serena’s job. A fact Dorie had told her with gleeful satisfaction. Then laughed. “Well, not your job, but I do want to be a medical examiner one day. What better way to get there than from the ground up?”
So Serena did her best to teach Dorie every chance she got.
Looking at the clock, she gasped. There would be no time for teaching today. “Oh Dorie, excuse me, I’m sorry, but I have something I have to do today. Paul can fill you in if he has time.” No names would be mentioned and nothing about the crime. When she taught, she kept to the facts of the autopsy. And Dorie knew better than to ask for anything more.
Paul clicked his tongue with regret. “Sorry, Dorie, I’m off to a dentist appointment.”
Dorie shrugged. “Oh well, maybe next time.”
“You bet.” Paul smiled as he shrugged out of his lab coat.
A knock sounded on the door and Serena turned to see a man in a blue business suit, matching tie, and black loafers.
She asked, “Can I help you?” Then she frowned. “How did you get in?”
He shuffled his feet a bit, then looked at Leslie still stretched out on the table. Serena felt unease slide up her spine. Glad she’d covered Leslie to her shoulders, she looked at Paul and Dorie, who stared at the intruder.
“Sir?” Serena questioned.
“Um, yes, I’m sorry.” He blinked his gaze away from Leslie, then focused on Dorie and Paul. His eyes narrowed as he seemed to shake off whatever had distracted him and said, “I saw it on the news. About Leslie. I wanted to come see her. Come see if it was true.”
Compassion stirred. Had this been Leslie’s boyfriend? “I’m sorry. We usually use the viewing room. I just finished up her autopsy.”
“How did she die?”
Serena’s uneasiness returned. “Again, I’m sorry, but unless you’re family, I really can’t reveal anything about her death or medical information.”
“It’s all right.” He shook his head. “She was shot, wasn’t she?”
“I believe that information was on the news.”
He nodded. “Along with the picture of her laid out on the park bench holding a gift.”
Serena winced. “Yes. I didn’t realize that made it on the news.” She remembered the media trucks that had pulled up and her anger at their intrusion. She was still mad about that.
Again, his gaze bounced between Serena and Leslie, then back to Dorie and Paul. Serena said, “I think it’s best if you contact Leslie’s family about anything you’d like to know about her.”
He backed toward the door. “Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.”
“Sir? I didn’t catch your name.”
But he was gone.
She looked at Paul and Dorie. “That was weird.”
Dorie shuddered and blinked. “Definitely. We really need to talk to security about this. He shouldn’t have been allowed down here.”
“He probably said he was family or something and got one of the orderlies to let him in.” Serena pursed her lips and then glanced at the clock again. She nearly shrieked as she snatched her cell phone to dial Dominic’s number. It rang once.
“I wondered if you’d forgotten me.” Dominic’s deep voice rumbled in her ear.
“Um . . . well . . .”
His laughter followed. “I get it. I lose track of time too when I’m involved in work.”
“Sorry.” She knew she sounded sheepish. And she was. She hadn’t meant to forget him. Normally, she set her phone alarm to remind her when she had an appointment. “I can meet you now. You have someplace in mind?”
“The Java Stop?”
“That’s around the corner from here. I can walk over there in just a few minutes.” The hospital morgue was in the basement of Palmetto Hospital in downtown Columbia.
She hung up. Slipping off her lab coat, she made a mental note to call Rick Shelton on her way to meet Dominic. She really wanted to know what was in that package. She grabbed her purse, then opened a desk drawer and pulled out an envelope that held a special gift for the girls’ home she volunteered for. She smiled as she thought of the surprise and joy the check would bring to those who needed it.
“Want me to mail that for you?” Paul asked.
“No, that’s okay. I need stamps anyway. But thanks.” She would stop at the post office on her way back from lunch. “See you later, Dorie,” she called. She waved to Paul, who was gathering his stuff to leave.
He waved back. “Bye.”
Slipping her phone from her pocket, she dialed Rick’s direct number as she walked down the hall.
Voice mail picked up and Serena left a message for Rick to call her.
Pushing through the heavy glass doors, she exited the hospital and made her way to the sidewalk, busy with the lunchtime crowd. People passed her, walking shoulder to shoulder, jostling, nudging. “Excuse me’s” and “sorry’s” abounded. She moved toward the outer edge of the crowd and stuffed the envelope into her purse.
Horns honked, cars roared past. The smell of exhaust burned her nose.
The café was just ahead.
A tug on her purse, then a hard hit to her right shoulder made her cry out as she stumbled on the edge of the curb, twisting her right ankle.
Her purse slid from her shoulder and she felt herself falling, falling.
As though in slow motion.
Right into the path of an oncoming city bus.
Brakes screamed, voices cried out.
Serena felt panic choke her as she did the only thing she could think to do.
Keep moving.
Scrambling on all fours, the asphalt scraped her palms, tore at her knees through the fabric of her pants.
Wind rushed past her as the bus missed her by a mere inch.
Horns blared, tires squealed. And Serena came to a trembling halt in front of another car that managed to stop centimeters from her.
“Are you all right?”
“Ma’am?”
“Can you stand?”
The voices echoed in her ears. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, couldn’t stop shaking.
In the back of her mind, she registered the symptoms.
Shock.
A hand slid under her arm and gently helped her to her feet. She winced at the stinging pain lancing through her hands and knees and right ankle, but miraculously enough, she decided she was otherwise unhurt.
Grateful for the helping hand, she limped her way back to the sidewalk.
Her rescuer turned concerned eyes on her. “I think someone tried to steal your purse but dropped it when you didn’t let go right away. Are you all right?”
“I think
so. Thanks.” She took the purse from him and winced at the sting in her hands.
He left and people continued on their way.
Serena stood still, leaning against the building until the worst of the trembling ceased. People once again hurried past, anxious to get to wherever they needed to be.
“Serena?”
Her head snapped up to see Dominic pushing his way through the crowd, heading toward her, the frown on his face communicating his concern.
Reaching her, he stopped and looked down. At her hands. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding them palms up. Gently, he grasped her wrists for a closer look. “What happened? I saw all the commotion out here and thought I’d find out what was going on.”
Offering a slight shrug and a shaky grimace that she hoped passed for a smile, Serena said, “You might say someone just tried to throw me under a bus.”
Dominic had the crazy urge to offer comfort. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head, but the fear remained in those blue eyes.
He pulled her into his arms, wishing he could always be close enough to help.
Mild shock ran through him when she didn’t protest.
For a good minute, they stood huddled up against the side of the building, her face buried against the crook between his neck and shoulder. The scent of her shampoo wafted up and he inhaled. Then he got himself together and wrapped a hand around her upper arm. Clearing his throat, he said, “Come on, let’s go to the café and you can get cleaned up a little bit.” He paused. “Or would you rather I take you home?”
“No.” Her voice sounded husky. “I’ll be okay. Let’s go to the café. You’re right, I can clean up there. I want to hear what you have to say about Jillian.”
A few minutes later, Serena came out of the restroom, limping slightly, favoring her right ankle. She had wet paper towels pressed to her hands. “I think the bleeding is stopped.” She bit her lip and frowned in disgust. “And I tore a hole in my best pair of pants.”
He looked. “Ouch. Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”
“And do what?” Another slight lift of her shoulders and she said, “I took some ibuprofen—that should kick in soon.” She slid into the seat opposite him.
The waitress came over and they placed their order. Then Dominic asked, “So what did you mean, someone tried to throw you under a bus?”
“I’m not sure exactly what happened. One minute, I was going with the flow of the crowd, the next, I felt someone tug on my purse, then a hard shove against my shoulder. I fell into traffic and looked up to see a bus heading my way. I rolled and—” she swallowed—“somehow made it out of the way in one piece.”
A shudder racked her and Dominic felt his protective instincts kick in. “You could have been killed.”
“Believe me, the thought had crossed my mind,” she said softly.
He frowned. “And you don’t think it was an accident.”
Their coffee and food arrived. She sighed. “I don’t know what to think.”
Dominic picked up his cup and took a sip. “Well, if it’s not an accident, then that means you have someone who wants to hurt you.”
She fiddled with her fork, then her napkin, then picked up her water and took a gulp. “It’s possible, I suppose.”
“You have some enemies?”
“Maybe.”
He lifted a brow. “You want to tell me about it?”
“Someone broke into my house last week while I was asleep.”
Dominic frowned. “What? How?”
“Good question.” She took a bite of her salad. “I had the alarm armed and it never went off. My dog was drugged before she could warn me.” She shrugged. “Then again, she’s not really a good watchdog so I don’t count on her for that.”
“What was the intruder looking for?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I shot him before I had a chance to ask him.”
Dominic choked on his tea and grabbed a napkin before he could spew the liquid everywhere. Finally, he asked, “Excuse me?”
Her eyes flicked to his, then back to her food. “I had my dad’s gun in a closet. I managed to get to it, and now my intruder’s in a coma on the fourth floor of the hospital. The bullet entered his skull and did some damage, but he’s still alive.” She took another bite. She sounded blasé about the incident, but he could tell she was deeply disturbed by the fact that she’d shot a man. Before he could try to think of something to say that didn’t sound patronizing or just plain stupid, Serena said, “Tell me about Jillian, please.”
Dominic hesitated. Serena looked worn out, tired, and stressed. He wanted to protect her, comfort her, and tell her everything would be fine. But his gut said she wasn’t the type to believe it if it wasn’t true. He reached over and gripped her free hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Tears formed for a brief moment before she blinked them away. “Tell me about Jillian. Please.”
Dominic hesitated again, trying to get a read on the woman across the table. The beautiful woman with the shadowed eyes. She was hiding something and didn’t want to confide in him. Yet.
He could understand that. He had a few secrets of his own. But he still made a mental note to look into the shooting. He gave her fingers a light squeeze and reluctantly withdrew his hand. “We know she left town on the night of graduation. She must have used the cash you and Alexia gave her.”
Serena poked at her salad. She winced at the movement, her hand obviously in some pain, but continued with the details of that night. “I gave her several hundred dollars.” A slight smile crossed her lips. “I had all my graduation money in my wallet. I’d planned to go to the bank that day, but there wasn’t any time. Between us, we gave her almost a thousand dollars.”
She didn’t say it, but Dominic knew Serena had given the bulk of the money to Jillian. Alexia hadn’t had much, and what she had, she’d needed for her own plans. “What was her emotional state?”
“She was frantic, scared, desperate to get away. So . . . we helped her.”
“And you don’t have any idea where she is now?”
Serena met his eyes. “None.”
He believed her. “I’ve talked to her father. She hasn’t contacted them one time since she left. Even missed her mother’s funeral six years ago.”
“She wasn’t particularly close to her parents.” Serena took another small bite of her salad and chewed. She swallowed and said, “But I’m sure she didn’t know about her mother or she would have found a way to come to the funeral.”
Dominic leaned back and tried to assess her. She was cool and composed even after almost being run over, possibly killed. And then he had caught the slight tremor in her fingers and figured she wasn’t quite as together as she portrayed. “What did you find out about Leslie?”
“The autopsy showed mostly what I thought it would. The gunshot to her forehead killed her. Without the bullet, however, I can’t tell you exactly what kind of gun it came from, but the small hole suggests a small caliber. Probably something like a .22 or a .32, but that’s just a guess. There’s no way to determine the caliber without the bullet. I can rule out some of the larger caliber bullets, of course, but . . .” She shrugged and Dominic understood. Simply put, without the bullet, they wouldn’t know what kind of weapon they were looking for. Serena continued, “Marks on her wrists suggest she was tied up. Bruise around her left ankle looks like some kind of restraint was used there. No sign of sexual assault. The scraped knees could have happened before her attacker grabbed her. Or while she was trying to get away from him. They’re pretty recent scrapes, though.” She set down her fork and frowned. “But there’s no way to really tell.”
“But why her?”
Serena lifted a brow at him. “That’s your area of expertise, not mine.” Her phone rang and she pulled it off the clip at her side. “Hello?”
She listened, frowned, and nodded. He sat up straight and studied her as she said, “Okay. Thanks for l
etting me know.” She hung up and slowly put the phone back on the clip.
“What is it?”
“That was Rick. He said when he couldn’t reach you, he tried me. He has something he needs us to see right away.”
6
MONDAY, 12:40 P.M.
In Rick Shelton’s office, Serena stood next to the man and listened as he said, “I was in a meeting all morning and didn’t get to this until just now.”
With gloved hands, Rick lifted the top of the box. Serena felt dizzy and realized she was holding her breath. Letting it out slowly, she focused on deep, even breaths while Rick drew out a miniature doll.
Dominic shifted beside her and the musky scent of his cologne drifted to her. For some reason it comforted her.
“It’s beautiful—blue eyes, black hair, distinct features. Almost more like a sculpture,” she said.
“But that’s not all,” Rick said. “There’s a note to go with the gift.” He reached behind him and pulled a plastic baggie from the shelf. Inside, a 4 × 6 index card stared back at them.
“What does it say?” Dominic asked.
Rick glanced at Serena, then read in singsong fashion: “Eenie meenie miney moe, a killin’ I will go. But it’s my game, it’s my fun, the next to die, someone you know.”
“Someone who knows?” Dominic asked.
Rick shrugged.
“And look at the outfit . . .” Serena leaned closer.
“Dressed in a pink jogging suit just like our victim,” Dominic said.
“Right,” Rick said. “Of course I’ll go over all of this with a fine-tooth comb looking for prints, hairs, fibers, whatever I can find.” He paused. “Actually, for fingerprints, I’ll use an EDAX Eagle II XPL MXRF instrument with a 40 W rhodium anode—” He broke off at Dominic’s yawn.
Crestfallen, Rick whined, “You too? Hunter influenced you, didn’t he?” Suspicion darkened his gaze and Serena grew confused.
“What does Hunter have to do with anything?” she asked.
Rick pursed his lips. “Because Hunter is an old fogey at the ripe old age of thirtysomething. I try my best to explain how this new technology works and he tunes me totally out.” He turned his attention back to the man at her side. “He got to you, didn’t he?”
When a Heart Stops Page 3