by Patti Larsen
This was a total waste of time. “And where were you last night at 6:30PM?”
He tilted his head to one side, frowning over my shoulder before shrugging. “I don’t keep track of every minute. Maybe eating?” He pursed his lips. “No, I’m fasting today. Wait, you said today? Is it that late already?”
Argh. “Thanks,” I said. “Never mind.”
His silky smile of grossness returned while he gestured to his open door. “Care for a drink?”
I desperately needed one. And a shower. Instead, I tossed my hands and left, grumbling to myself about why I even bothered.
***
Chapter Twenty One
I almost immediately ran into Jill when I veered off toward the ballroom, and not just metaphorically. She was heading one way and I the other, sneaking (yes, I admit I was sneaking) into the staging area set up in the ballroom while she was doing what I could only guess were her rounds. Our matching squeaks of surprise made me giggle and, for a moment, she matched my humor, though hers quickly faded when she settled into a more judging persona.
“I can’t let you in here, Fee.” Since when? I didn’t like the frown now pulling at her lips or the scowl making her eyes look small under heavy brows, the bully expression nothing like the woman I’d befriended over the last few years. The Jill I’d come to know and admire was open-minded, smart as a whip and ready to do what it took to solve a crime. I felt instead like I was staring into the face of a brick wall, immovable and inflexible under that dark suit she wore.
“Vivian asked me to help.” I knew that wasn’t a good reason to be backstage, though since Vivian was one of the sponsors… never mind this was a crime scene at the moment and not a fashion show any more. Sophistry.
Jill’s expression softened nonetheless and I wondered at her shift in attitude. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” She seemed suddenly torn and I had to admit she must have been between a rock and a very hard place.
“Tough being a deputy and the hired help for the show,” I said, going for commiseration instead of aggression. After all, Jill was my friend. Heck, I’d been the one to encourage Matt to finally ask her out. We’d been through numerous murder investigations together and she’d always had my back and me hers. I hated feeling like we were at odds all of a sudden. Especially when she clearly thought she needed to express her friendship for me before this particular mess turned into one.
Jill hesitated, arms falling to her sides, face twisting from scowl to anxiety and I realized I’d hit the nail directly on the head. “I don’t know what to do, Fee,” she whispered, leaning toward me, glancing right and left as if we’d be overheard. “I never expected this to happen. It was supposed to be an easy gig, a bit of extra money. Not a full-blown murder investigation and I’m on the other side.”
“You don’t have to be.” I reached out and squeezed her arm, then let her go when she flinched and pulled away. “Jill, you work for Reading, not Grace or Henry. Crew needs you.”
That didn’t go over well, her face shifting once more to a scowl. “So you say,” she snapped, leaning away again. “Don’t even try it, Fee. I’ll put you in cuffs and toss you in a cell if you try to break in.”
Wow, where did my friend go? “You can talk to me,” I said, hoping she could hear the distress in my voice, see it on my face. I did nothing to try to hide it and though it might have been a ploy with anyone else, this was Jill. I wasn’t faking.
She uncoiled yet again, this time her anxiety so deep it seemed painful. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Fee, I’m just doing my job. Please don’t make me choose between my friendship and my duty.”
But which duty was she upholding? Because Crew had already given me permission to dig, right? I almost commented, thought about arguing, debated internally, then sighed and tossed my hands.
“Whatever,” I said. “You think I want to be here?” She shrugged, looked away. “Honestly, I’ve had my fill of dead bodies, thanks.” That got a bit of a smile, faint but there. “Nightmares for years.” She was one of the only people I’d told about my recurring panicked dreams filled with hanging next to corpses while swinging from trees and being crushed under the weight of moaning zombies and drowning as I sank under dark water. I knew she understood and the compassionate flash of emotion that touched her eyes told me she still considered me a friend. “I’m tired of death,” I said. “And I wouldn’t be here if Vivian hadn’t asked me.” Come to think of it, why was I here? I hesitated myself, feeling my shoulders slump. “The last thing I want is to damage our friendship over this, Jill.” I let that sink in before adding the second load of guilt. “Or to make things worse between you and Crew.”
I know if I’d had more time alone with her we could have worked things out. Jill looked like she was ready to spill her guts, to empty out everything she’d been holding onto, stuff I had no idea she’d been struggling with. I could see it now, though, clear as glass, and my heart went out to her even as I secretly wondered if Crew was right about the source of her sudden shift in attitude toward him.
Problem was, time was something I didn’t have. As she opened her mouth to speak, hand rising to touch mine, a new voice interrupted and ruined everything.
“I hope you’re not planning on letting a civilian make a mess of this crime scene.” Robert strutted toward us in his puffy deputy’s coat and bristling mustache, cowboy hat perched over his thinning hair, his jowls more pronounced than ever. He looked ten years older than me, these days, rather than the actual chronological six months between us, and I wasn’t above smirking to myself love hadn’t seemed to have treated him as well as it had me. Regardless, he seemed to think he had the upper hand, emerging from behind a curtain and I wondered how long he’d stood there, eavesdropping. Had he heard my nightmares admission? Who cared? Let him try to use anything I’d said against me, the snake. Still, his words and his appearance had the apparent desired effect on Jill because she instantly shifted from empathy to sullen frustration, snapping to attention and pointed at the big doors leading out into the main lobby.
“Time for you to go.” She moved toward me, slow but actually threatening. I considered briefly testing her to see just how far she’d take things until I remembered her extremely physical proficiency from the self-defense class.
Instead, I chose cowardice and retreated, with a glare for Robert. He followed me, how delightful, leaving Jill behind in her solo guard of the ballroom turned fashion show catwalk, the smell of his revolting cologne making me gag.
“Just try and poke your nose in this time, Fanny.” I spun toward him, ready to snap back, only to see that same darkness I’d witnessed in August, that flash of utter cruelty and desperate anger, rise in his gaze and thought better of it. He didn’t seem to have the same reticence as he went on, leaning into me, the disgusting bristle of his heavy black mustache creeping me out. “You think you’re having nightmares now? You don’t know what a real nightmare is, missy. Trust me. You don’t want to find out.” He grinned, a tight and malicious expression, all yellowing teeth and chapped lips. “Push me, Fiona. Do it. I promise, you’ll regret it.”
He did not just threaten me. I spluttered as he turned and reentered the ballroom, closing the door behind him, leaving me to fume ineffectually like a child chastised for misbehaving and left out in the cold.
We’d just see about that.
I should have went home, gone back to Petunia’s, gotten to work, excised my aggression in scrubbing toilets (about all Robert was worth to me at the moment). Instead, I found myself standing in Crew’s office less than fifteen minutes later, the door only a second ago slammed behind me, my startled boyfriend leaping to his feet as I opened my mouth and began to rant.
I barely got two sentences out and I honestly don’t recall what I said. I know Robert’s name was in there, Jill’s, and likely a threat back at that piece of trash who had an unfortunate bloodline tie to me I wished I could burn to the ground and never admit to again. Likely there was a death threat in it
somewhere, too, though as red closed in around my vision and my blood boiled, my anger finally allowed out after a harried and breakneck drive down the mountain to be delivered to the man I loved, he broke his own rule to shut me down.
The moment his mouth met mine I melted, arms around his neck, though the raging fire of my anger didn’t depart. If anything, it converted over from fury to passion and, as Crew stumbled backward in what was likely regret he’d locked lips with the she devil he claimed to love in the first place, I pinned him against his desk and kissed him within an inch of his life.
I wasn’t sure if he realized what he was getting himself into, breaking his no kissing at work rule like that, though I could understand on a rational level that he might have thought doing so would calm me down. Unfortunately, he miscalculated the scale of my utter frustration.
Thing was, instead of ending the kiss as I expected him to (and really, really hoped he wouldn’t), he shocked me utterly by lifting me into his arms and carrying me to his chair. And though I was sure we’d be interrupted at any moment, we remained blissfully and passionately alone long enough for the kiss to run its course.
By the time I pulled away, heart pounding, sighing over his open mouth as that last breath of his filled my lungs, it was far too warm in the room. From the pink in his cheeks he was thinking the same thing, pupils dilated so far there was barely any blue showing. I rested the tip of my nose against his, fingers wound through his hair, wishing we were at my place and only then feeling guilty we were in his office doing what I promised him we’d never do.
“No kissing at work,” I whispered over his mouth.
“Exceptions at the sheriff’s discretion,” he growled back.
That made me laugh, and triggered one of his own, dispelling the last of my anger and setting my passion to simmer where it seemed to hover these days. I hated getting up but forced myself to do so, delighted his arms tightened around me a moment when I tried to rise the first time. But, he sighed when I did and let me go, running his hands through his hair then over his face, the sound of skin rasping on stubble reminding me my mouth was still hot from his lips.
Fee. Down girl.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Crew winked slowly as I took a seat across from him, at a safer distance. He had to say it like that, right? Naughty thoughts had utterly replaced angry ones. Definitely an improvement but wasn’t getting me any closer to doing what I’d promised Vivian I’d do. Something I was absolutely regretting as I let passion go and returned to the real world.
“What are we going to do about Jill?” Yes, we, damn it.
Crew leaned toward me and spoke, but he clearly ignored the question. “You were right to wonder about Libby Kim,” he said. Not obvious about avoiding the elephant in the room or anything. I eye rolled and let him. “She has no history as of eighteen months ago.” He sat back again, frowning faintly at the file in front of him, a file he’d pushed toward me. I flipped it open and took a peek, but it only confirmed what he just said. “It’s pretty clear she’s not who she says she is.”
“She might have had a grudge against Faith?” Possible, though why would she wait so long if she had murder in mind? “A hired killer?” Okay, that was a stretch. Still, she wasn’t the bone-thin model type, looked pretty strong to me, in fact. She might have had the physical strength to hoist Faith’s body via the ladder. But why make such a spectacle of the body? There had to be more to the story.
Crew didn’t tell me I was nuts or give me any indication his agile mind hadn’t gone down the same road. Instead, he stood, reaching for his jacket, blue eyes locked on me.
“I was just on my way to see the doc and find out what he knows,” Crew said, gesturing at his door. “Feel like a trip to the morgue?”
I almost quipped I was more interested in a visit to his place, but squashed that before it could emerge. There would be time to explore this rule-breaking version of the man I was in love with when murder wasn’t hanging (literally) between us.
***
Chapter Twenty Two
I stuck close to Crew despite the fact I’d been around enough dead bodies they really didn’t bother me all that much anymore. At least, that was what I told myself as I shivered in the chill of the excessive air conditioning of the cheerily bright morgue where Dr. Aberstock grinned at us over the body of a dead guy I couldn’t bring myself to identify by looking him in the face.
My mental chatter ran on and on as I tucked in to my boyfriend’s hip and did my best not to show the anxiety that grasped hold of me and shook me every so often. I wasn’t expecting the place to be quite so white and chrome filled, so accustomed to the Hollywood look of such a space the reality of it seemed oddly worse. Surely it shouldn’t have been this glaringly light, right? So scrubbed clean and shiny? A few shadows, a musty taint to the air, some kind of indication outside the repugnant tang of chemicals and cleaning agents that indicated dead people were in residence behind those shining silver drawer doors?
Mind you, I was actually more fascinated that grossed out, so you can make that mean what you want about me, because you can bet I was judging, uh-huh.
“Definitely murder,” Dr. Aberstock was saying while he hefted what looked like a liver onto a scale and checked the number on the digital display before calling out, “Three pounds, seven-point-eight ounces.”
Barry logged the digits on a clipboard, the redundancy of the microphone recording everything despite his careful notes. He kept his head down, didn’t comment on my presence, and I liked it that way.
“Kind of figured,” Crew said, sounding so casual, so self-assured I relaxed somewhat and found myself staring into the wide-open cavity of the dead man’s chest. Funny how seeing it on TV and in real life could be so incredibly different.
“Whoever strung that girl up used a stun gun on her first, to subdue her, I’m guessing.” Dr. Aberstock winked at me over the rim of his reading glasses as he hefted the liver out of the tray and replaced it with what had to be the man’s lungs. Yuck. “One pound, eight ounces.”
Barry grunted something but didn’t say it loud enough for me to make out so I chose to continue to pointedly ignore him.
“I can confirm TOD as 6:30PM,” the doc went on, gloves caked in gore as he cheerily removed the lungs and finally set the gray brain on the scale. “Whoever killed her took a great risk, doing so in the early evening like that.”
I’d been thinking the same thing, but Crew just grunted.
“Everyone was on dinner break,” he said. “At least, according to Deputy Wagner. Including the crew. No one was supposed to be back on the stage until 8PM. It was just Alicia’s bad luck she decided to do a check-in without Jill or Matt noticing.” He talked about Jill in a calm, clear voice so maybe things weren’t irreparable on his end. Still, he was professional enough not to show it to the doc, not to mention had to be wondering—like I was—how the victim and the murderer made it past the two security guards. Not to mention the murderer escaping followed by Alicia’s entry.
Okay, phew, I was starting to wonder about Jill’s skills myself. Except that there were two of them and four entrances to the ballroom. Way to defend my friend after the fact.
Dr. Aberstock shrugged at Crew’s comment then peered at the scale. “Two pounds, seven ounces. Huh, nice sized noodle, there.”
Someone loved his work just a bit too much.
Crew’s phone rang and he turned away from me, answering it, going to the far side of the room and leaning against a second exam table. He kept his voice down so I couldn’t make out what he was saying and, uncomfortable with the silence, I chose to change the subject.
“Doc,” I said, “what do you know about Vivian French’s family?” The man had been my doctor when I was little, after all. He was a Reading resident through and through as far as I knew.
That’s why I was a bit shocked when he responded, face turning down into a sorrowful frown while he paused, the brain heavy in one solid hand. “He was my first youn
g loss after I moved here,” he said, sounding like he’d taken the loss personally. “Poor boy, should never have happened.” Dr. Aberstock tsked and set the brain aside, sighing while he peeled off his gloves. “Examination paused at 11:37AM.” He turned off the microphone and leaned one substantial hip against the exam table, his Santa Claus face tilted to one side, rosy cheeks paling as he watched me. “Why do you want to know, Fee?”
“Just wondering,” I said. “I thought I knew her, that’s all.” And him. I had no idea the doc wasn’t a Reading native.
He nodded heavily, voice dropping to deep and kind as he spoke again, gesturing for Barry to join him at the body. The intern did, though he kept his head down and refused to look at me while the doc went on. “A tragedy, that family. What with Victor’s loss at such a young age, then Ranier’s in that terrible car accident. And with Martha suffering from dementia the way she does, Vivian has her hands full, that’s for certain.”
“How did Victor die?” I knew he’d drowned, something to do with a bee sting, at least according to the fake psychic, Sadie Hatch. But the circumstances evaded me. I was there, according to Mom. Why couldn’t I remember?
Dr. Aberstock seemed to find that an odd question, reinforcing what Mom told me. “It was a tragic accident,” he said, a strange tone to his voice. “He was stung by a bee, was highly allergic. Vivian said he slipped off the pier and couldn’t swim. Fee, can’t you remember?”
I shook my head, uncomfortable with the conversation, rubbing at the goosebumps on my arms as I backed away mentally, if not physically, though the temptation to do both was powerful. Instead, I hurried past that discomfort and into an epiphany that made me gasp. “Tell me about Siobhan Doyle.”
Dr. Aberstock’s bushy eyebrows shot up, blue eyes wide, pupils dilating a moment before he cleared his throat and exhaled like I’d shocked him with such a question. “You have a thing about ancient history today, my dear. That’s a name I haven’t heard in over thirty years.” He recovered quickly, eyes narrowing. “You’re full of hard questions, aren’t you?”