Dead Calm

by Annelise Ryan

  The reason Arnie has better luck with computers is because of his relationship with Joey Dewhurst, the slightly slow hulk of a man I tried to fix up with Cinder, the woman who runs the Grizzly Motel.

  Hurley nods at Jonas and says, “Do what you can. And have Laura dig into the finances for both couples. I want to know who spent what, where they spent it, and when.”

  Laura returns from moving the evidence van, and with her comes the second tow truck hauling Meredith Lansing’s car.

  Hurley and I leave Laura and Jonas to their work, and make our escape before Laura can launch into another diatribe. As we’re heading upstairs to the main part of the station, my cell phone rings. I see it’s Emily, and a little worry worm squiggles in my heart.

  “Hey, Em,” I answer. “Is everything okay?”

  “It is,” she says in a chipper tone. “But I forgot I have a volleyball game this afternoon and a date tonight with Johnny. Sorry. I was so sleepy this morning when you woke me that I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “That’s okay.” I do some quick mental calculations. “What time do you need to be at your game?”

  “By one.”

  “Okay. Either your dad or I will come and get Matthew and take him to Dom’s before then.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you for stepping in at the last minute.” Emily has been a lifesaver when it comes to the crazy hours Hurley and I work. While my sister and Dom are both available on short notice to provide childcare, the ability to leave in the middle of the night the way we did today without having to wake Matthew and drag him along somewhere is invaluable. It’s been particularly helpful recently, as I’ve had to resume full-time—and then some—hours at work following Hal’s death.

  “What are you two going to do on your date?” I ask her.

  “We’re going bowling and then to his place, to watch some movies on Netflix.”

  This sounds safe enough to me given that I know Johnny’s mother has other kids and is almost always home. I thank Emily again, disconnect the call, and follow Hurley into the police department breakroom.

  “I should head over to the office so I can help Izzy with the autopsies,” I tell him. “But someone needs to go pick Matthew up and take him to Dom’s before one. Emily has a game this afternoon and plans this evening with Johnny.”

  Hurley frowns at the mention of Johnny, who has been Emily’s boyfriend for going on two years now. While I quite like the boy, Hurley has his doubts. This stems in part from Johnny’s family tree, which has branched into correctional facilities on multiple occasions for each generation preceding Johnny’s. So far, Johnny and his mother seem determined to seed new plantings and leave behind the crime-ridden mighty oak, but Hurley remains skeptical.

  “I can pick Matthew up and take him to Dom’s,” Hurley offers. “Can you pick him up from there later?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Where are Johnny and Emily going tonight?”

  “They’re going bowling, and then they plan to watch some movies at his place,” I say. “Emily knows she has to be home by eleven.” This reassurance does little to relax Hurley’s scowl. “Come on, Hurley,” I say. “Give Johnny a break. He’s been walking the straight and narrow for nearly two years now, and the only thing he’s likely to knock over or up tonight are some bowling pins.”

  Hurley shoots me an exasperated look.

  “What?” I say, irritated by his persistent suspicions.

  “I think you’re being a bit naïve,” he grumbles. “Johnny already has Emily smoking. I know because I’ve smelled it on her before.”

  “Yeah, she tried it a few times. But she told me she hasn’t smoked in several months. She doesn’t like the habit, and she’s nagging Johnny to try to get him to quit. Kids that age are going to experiment.”

  “That’s what worries me,” he says, his frown deepening. “What else are they going to experiment with?”

  “Well, Emily has already tried pot a couple of times, but that was before she came here. Johnny is adamantly against any kind of drugs.”

  Hurley shoots me an incredulous look. “How do you know that?”

  “Because Emily told me. We’ve had quite a few frank discussions in the past year or so. We also discussed her sexual activities. Would you like to know the details of that, too?”

  Hurley gapes at me, managing to look both frightened and angry. “She’s having sex?” he says, his mouth curling in distaste.

  “She is. But she’s on the pill, and they also use condoms.”

  Hurley rakes a hand through his hair and blows his cheeks out. “How long has this been going on?” he asks. “And why didn’t you tell me about it before now?”

  “I had a talk with Emily a year and a half ago when she was recovering from her broken leg,” I tell him. “She and Johnny hadn’t had sex yet at that time, but she said she didn’t know how much longer that would last.”

  “He was pressuring her into it?” Hurley growls.

  “No, not at all. In fact, Emily admitted that she was the one doing most of the, um, provocation, and Johnny kept stopping things before they went too far.”

  “So you just condoned their promiscuous behavior?”

  “No,” I say, trying to be patient. “But they’re teenagers, Hurley. Their hormones are raging, they genuinely care for one another, and their attraction is a strong one.” I pause and shrug. “It would have been foolish to risk trusting them to not take things further and then end up with a pregnancy or an STD. And your daughter has been very responsible about the whole thing.”

  “I should have been consulted on the matter,” he says, his face red with anger.

  “You weren’t exactly open to such discussions,” I remind him. “I suspect you still aren’t,” I add pointedly. “And Emily felt more comfortable discussing some of the more intimate details with another woman.”

  “Another woman?” Hurley says, askance. “Emily is a girl, not a woman.” I’m about to argue this point with him, but he goes on before I can get a word in. “And what kind of an example did you set, having an unplanned child out of wedlock?”

  I stare back at him, not believing he has just said this. The words are like an ice pick jabbed into my chest, snaking between my ribs, and piercing my heart. “You can be such an ass at times, Hurley!” I snap. Then I spin around, make for the exit, and storm out.

  CHAPTER 10

  I mutter to myself as I walk the two blocks to my office. I can’t believe Hurley said what he did, but in spite of my anger, I also feel a twinge of guilt. He’s right, to a degree. And while I hadn’t planned my pregnancy with Matthew, I was slack in my vigil when it came to taking my own birth control pills. I missed a couple, and I didn’t take them at the same time every day. For months, I felt guilty, and worried that Hurley would think I was trying to trap him, or would feel obligated to marry me because of the pregnancy. He convinced me otherwise, or I wouldn’t have married him. But here we are, less than a month into our married life, already dredging up this bit of our past. So far, our road to marital bliss has been as smooth and painless as petting a porcupine.

  I shove my thoughts aside as I enter the office. Our receptionist /secretary/file clerk, Cass, is seated at the front desk.

  “Hey, Mattie,” she says. She isn’t wearing any sort of costume today, a definite departure from her usual practice. Cass belongs to a local thespian group that puts on plays several times a year, and she has a habit of dressing, acting, and speaking like whatever character she is scheduled to play. Her most recent one was Sigmund Freud.

  “No costume today?” I say, curious.

  Cass shakes her head, looking glum. “We’re taking a break for a while,” she says. “We’ve lost some of our key members, like Dom, and right now we don’t have enough people to put on a decent show. So we decided to wait until the fall before we start up again.”

  Though I hadn’t realized Dom had given up his acting interests—understandab
le since he and Izzy adopted a baby girl four months ago—it makes sense. Now seven months old, Juliana takes up a lot of Dom’s time and energy. Plus, he takes care of Matthew for me on most of my workdays, though my sister occasionally fills in.

  “I’m sorry, Cass,” I say. “I know how much you enjoy your acting.”

  She wags her head from side to side, a grudging look of acceptance on her face. “Hopefully, it’s only temporary. In the meantime, we’re trying to recruit some new members.” She pauses and gives me a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you—”

  “Sorry, no,” I say before she can finish her sentence. “It’s not something I’d be good at, and besides, since Hal’s death I’ve been putting in so much time at work that I wouldn’t be able to do much anyway.”

  “Yeah,” she says glumly. “Of course. And speaking of work, Izzy and Arnie just finished checking in those bodies from the Grizzly Motel. In fact, Izzy told me to call you if you didn’t show up or call on your own by ten.”

  “Well, I’m here for the duration,” I say. “Is Izzy in his office?”

  “Not sure. But he’s here somewhere. Oh, and I have a message for you.” She hands me a pink slip of paper with the name Marvin Holmes written on it, along with a phone number. Marvin is the contractor in charge of building our new house. “Did Mr. Holmes say what he wanted?” I ask her.

  “Something about your house—the one they’re building, that is.”

  I stuff the note in my pocket, deciding it can wait, and then head into the back area of the office, taking out my cell phone along the way. I place a call to Dom, who answers with, “I was hoping you’d call soon. Juliana is feeling kind of lonely. Tell me you’re bringing Matthew by.”

  “I’m not, but Hurley will be later. I’ll be the one picking him up at the end of the day. It might be a late night, though. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it is,” Dom says cheerily. “And my offer to leave him here overnight anytime you need to still stands.”

  “Thanks, Dom,” I say, thinking this sounds mighty tempting about now, and then feeling an immediate twinge of guilt. “I might have to take you up on it at some point, but for now I want to spend as much time with him as I can. As it is, my mommy time is much too short.”

  “They grow up fast, don’t they?”

  Indeed, they do. Matthew is changing every day, right before my eyes, it seems. At just shy of two, he is achieving new physical and developmental strides every day, sometimes every hour. His vocabulary is rapidly increasing, his motor skills grow more adept each day, and his brain is rapidly absorbing and processing the world around him. This is not always a good thing, as in when he decides he can’t eat certain foods because they’re too soft, or gets artistic with his poop, or refuses to wear certain clothes because they’re too red, or blue, or green . . . pick a color. He is definitely a strong-minded kid who doesn’t like it when he doesn’t get his way, and he isn’t afraid to show it. Several people in town have been witness to his tantrums in the grocery store, one of his favorite places to stage a meltdown. I actually begged the store manager to create one checkout aisle that didn’t have gum and candy displays in it . . . just one. But the evil bastard just smiled at me and muttered something about impulse sales, which gave me an impulse to sail something up the side of his head. Clearly, the guy doesn’t understand that kids are the epitome of impulsiveness. Or he does understand and puts all these items within cart-riding reach on purpose.

  “Don’t worry about when you get here to pick him up,” Dom says. “Juliana and I will make sure he’s well taken care of.”

  “Thanks, Dom. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Speaking of which, I just spoke with Cass, and she says your thespian group is on hiatus for a while because so many people have dropped out. She misses you.”

  “Yeah, I know, but now that we have Juliana, I just don’t have the time or the interest anymore.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have the interest? Because I can get my sister to watch both Juliana and Matthew anytime if you want to get back into it.” He hesitates just long enough to let me know that I’ve hit on something. “You’d like to get back into it, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I did enjoy it.”

  “Well, think about it, okay? Desi is always willing, and hopefully, things with my work schedule will get more manageable once we find a replacement for Hal. You don’t have to shoulder the entire childcare burden yourself.”

  “It’s no burden,” he says, and once again I feel like a terrible mother. “I love these kids.”

  I know he does. It’s evident in the way he handles them, the way he smiles at them, and plays with them, and dotes on them. The man was born to be a parent.

  “Listen, Dom,” I say. “Why don’t you work up a schedule of days when my sister can take the kids for you so you can go back to the acting group? I know Desi loves taking care of the kids as much as you do.” Like Dom, my sister was born with a nurturing, mothering instinct that I think skipped my genetic roll of the dice. “We can talk more about it tonight when I see you. Right now I need to find Izzy and get to work.”

  “Okay. See you later. And don’t let Izzy overdo it, okay?”

  “I got it covered,” I assure him.

  I disconnect the call and head for Izzy’s office. He’s not there, so I make my way to the autopsy suite, where I find him standing on the step stool he needs to use in order to reach the autopsy table and whoever is on it. Izzy is the antithesis of me: dark hair to my blond, swarthy complexion to my paleness, barely passing five feet tall when I’m a smidge over six. Spread out on the table in front of him is Craig Knowlton, still dressed in the clothes he was wearing at the motel.

  “Ah, perfect timing,” Izzy says as I approach. “I’m just getting started. I already X-rayed both victims. I’ll get all the basic measurements and start undressing him while you change.”

  “Okay, be right back.”

  I head for the locker room, where I grab a pair of scrubs and change out of my street clothes. My cell phone rings, and when I look at the caller ID, I see it’s Hurley. I’m too angry to talk to him yet, so I let it go to voice mail.

  By the time I return to the autopsy suite, Izzy has Craig’s shirt unbuttoned, though it is still on him, and he has cut the undershirt Craig was wearing up the middle front. He has also removed Craig’s shoes and socks.

  “How are you doing on your third day back to work?” I ask as I step up next to the table. “I was hoping you could ease into things a little slower than this.”

  “I’m fine,” he says dismissively.

  I scan him closely with my nurse’s eye, trying to determine the truth of his statement. His color looks normal, but there are dark circles under his eyes that didn’t used to be there. “You look a little tired,” I say, bagging the socks and shoes he has removed.

  He shakes his head as if he’s about to deny this, but then he pauses and stops what he’s doing, looking at me from across the table. “I am a little tired,” he admits. “That heart attack took something out of me.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to be back at work?” I ask, worried. “Doc Morton said he’d be happy to fill in for as long as we want.”

  “My cardiologist said I’m fine to return to work, though he did say I should start out part-time for now. And I agreed with him. In fact, I’ve decided to stay part-time.”

  I stare at him, parsing this last statement. “You mean forever?” I ask, feeling a mix of satisfaction, relief, and sadness. While I’m happy to hear him say he’s going to cut back a little, I know that I will miss him. Over the nearly three years we’ve been working together, Izzy and I have achieved a comfortable rhythm.

  “Yes, forever,” he says with a little smile. “I’ve given this a lot of thought over the past few weeks, Mattie. That heart attack was a wake-up call for me. I’m not getting any younger. And I’ve got Juliana to consider now. These past few weeks at home have been such a delight with her, watch
ing her grow and change. I want to be there for her as much as I can.”

  His face lights up as he talks about his daughter, and I wince inwardly, once again feeling conflicted about my own state of motherhood. “I think that’s a great idea,” I tell him, and I truly do, though the news is making my heart ache. “I won’t lie to you. I’m going to miss working with you all the time, but Otto Morton is easy enough to work with.”

  “Good,” Izzy says with a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you’d be okay with it. Otto can stay on for a while, but eventually we’ll probably start rotating MEs through on my days off. Unless I can find someone to job share.”

  The idea of rotating MEs makes me groan. We’ve done this a couple of times in the past when Izzy took time off, and some of the docs who filled in were quite an adjustment. There was a guy from the Milwaukee area who insisted we zip-tie the ankles together on all of our bodies, just in case there’s ever a zombie apocalypse. And there was a woman from up north somewhere who told me how she spent a year back in the seventies living with some cannibal tribe, and then proceeded to tell me what every organ we removed tasted like.

  But the awkwardness of these two paled in comparison to Dr. Nick Roman, who I later learned was better known by his regular colleagues as Dr. Necromancer, thanks to his habit of casting spells over any bodies he worked on before touching them, and a macabre collection of mummified objects he had acquired over the years.

  “How much are you going to cut back?” I ask Izzy.

  “I’ve talked to Otto, and for now we’ve agreed to split our weeks. I’ll work two days one week, and three the next. We’ll each take calls on our working-day nights, and we’ll alternate weekends.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I comment. I help Izzy lift Craig Knowlton’s upper body so we can take off his shirt. “Any progress on finding a replacement for Hal?”

  Izzy nods. “As a matter of fact, we have a couple of candidates coming in for interviews tomorrow morning, one at eight and one at eight-thirty. Are you doing okay with the extra hours in the meantime?”