CROSS HER HEART

by Leigh, Melinda

  Bree’s phone vibrated, and she glanced at the screen. Her heart dropped.

  The medical examiner’s office.

  She pasted a bland expression on her face. “Excuse me. I need to answer this.”

  Swiping “Answer,” Bree walked out the front door and closed it behind her. Thankfully, the morgue assistant didn’t expect her to hold a conversation but simply told her the autopsy was complete and she could view her sister’s body.

  Bree hung up the phone. Nerves rattled inside her. Did she go solo or take Matt up on his offer? Nausea turned her stomach at the thought of going alone. It wasn’t weakness. She wasn’t a robot. Seeing her sister’s body should disturb her. Her hands trembled as she texted him.

  He texted back in a few seconds. Pick u up in 10.

  As cold as she was outside without her coat, the last thing she wanted to do was go inside. Should she tell the kids? She wanted to be honest with them, but there were details they did not need to know.

  She schooled her face and went inside. “I need to run a few errands.”

  “But you just got here,” Kayla protested, her lip quivering.

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” She hugged her niece.

  “I want to go home.” Luke frowned at the studio. Adam had not emerged.

  “Me too,” Kayla said.

  “Let me take care of some business, then I’ll see about getting you home. I need you to hang here with Uncle Adam for a little while longer, OK?”

  The kids nodded, but they looked disappointed.

  “Luke, do you remember Justin’s friend Matt Flynn?” Bree asked.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I need to talk to Uncle Adam for a few minutes. If Matt comes to the door, would you let him in?”

  “Sure.” Luke nodded and bowed over his phone.

  A news report interrupted Kayla’s TV show. Bree saw her sister’s photo and Justin’s on the screen. Under the images, a headline read ESTRANGED HUSBAND WANTED IN WIFE’S DEATH. Kayla stared, her eyes wide open with horror.

  “The Taggert family has a long history of violence and tragedy,” the journalist began.

  Rushing to grab the remote from the table, Bree pressed “Guide.” A grid of channels replaced the news report. She tossed the remote to Luke. “Can you put a kids’-only channel on, please?”

  “Sure,” he said, but the pain in his eyes told her that the damage had been done.

  Bree went into her brother’s studio to let him know she’d be leaving for a while. Adam stared at his painting.

  “Adam,” Bree said.

  “Yeah,” he answered without looking at her.

  “Look at me.”

  “What?” He blinked away from his work.

  Bree sighed. “I have to go out. Keep the TV on channels that won’t play the news and try to distract the kids.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Interact with them.” Bree stopped, realizing her voice had sharpened. “Look, I know how you get when you’re painting, but they need you. Not just to be in the same house, but to be there.”

  “OK. I get it.” His eyes drifted back to the canvas. “I’ll be finished with this section in a few minutes.”

  No, you won’t.

  Someone cleared his throat, and Bree turned to see Matt standing in the doorway.

  “I’ll be back as fast as I can,” she said to her brother’s back. She returned to the kids and put on her coat. “Lock the door after I leave.”

  She followed Matt outside and waited until she heard the deadbolt slide into place before she climbed into his SUV.

  She could barely juggle the kids and their grief for a few hours. How would she help them get through Erin’s funeral? And what would happen afterward? Bree put the future out of her mind. This afternoon was going to be hard enough. She was going to have to deal with one task at a time. Unable to converse, she stared out the passenger window as he drove.

  The medical examiner’s office was in the municipal complex, not far from the sheriff’s station. The ride was short, and she was nowhere near ready when they arrived.

  But she doubted it was possible to prepare to view her sister’s body.

  After climbing out of the SUV, she stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes, letting the chill sink into her bones.

  Matt stepped out of his vehicle and stood next to her. “There’s no rush. Take all the time you need.”

  Bree doubted an additional ten minutes would make any difference. “Let’s go.”

  They went inside. Matt walked up to the reception counter and spoke to the woman behind it. Before Bree could blink, they were ushered into an office. It felt like time was speeding up, moving too quickly, out of her control.

  An African American woman in clean black scrubs moved out from behind the desk. “I’m Dr. Serena Jones. I took care of your sister.”

  Matt did the introductions, but Bree’s hearing sounded muffled.

  Dr. Jones turned to face her. “You can see your sister on a monitor—”

  “No.” Bree cut her off.

  “I didn’t think you’d take that option, so I had your sister moved to a private room,” Dr. Jones said as if Erin were her patient instead of a corpse. “This way.”

  The sense of impending doom grew heavier with each footstep down the tiled hallway. Bree kept her eyes on the back of Dr. Jones’s shirt. They went into a small room. In the center of the space, a sheet-covered body occupied a gurney. Dr. Jones walked around to the opposite side of the gurney and faced Bree over her sister’s body. Matt stayed at Bree’s side.

  The doctor waited until Bree lifted her eyes to hers and nodded. Then Dr. Jones folded back the sheet to reveal only Erin’s face. She carefully smoothed the sheet above Erin’s collarbones, covering the wound that had killed her and the autopsy incision. Either Dr. Jones or her assistant had taken care to arrange Erin’s hair to cover the scalp incision.

  Bree tried to block all the autopsies she’d witnessed. It served no purpose to imagine the insult that had been inflicted on her sister’s body. Erin wasn’t in there anymore. What lay on the table was just a shell. Organs had been removed and examined, then stuffed back into the body in a plastic bag. But as Bree stared down at her sister’s face, it didn’t feel as if that mattered. Erin’s eyes were closed, her face waxen and gray. Her cheekbones were sunken and stood out in sharp relief, as if her body had deflated when her soul left it. Until that moment, her death had felt abstract. Now reality and grief struck Bree like a full-body blow.

  Once, when Bree had been a patrol officer, she’d been shot in the ribs. Her body armor had absorbed the bullet, but the impact had knocked the air from her lungs. Her legs had folded like an accordion ruler. The sight of her sister’s face felt like a similar punch.

  Matt’s hand under her elbow saved her from hitting the floor. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and breathed through her mouth. She appreciated that neither Matt nor the ME said a word until she’d regained her balance.

  “I know that you’re a homicide detective,” Dr. Jones said in a soft, low voice. “I’ll answer questions about your sister’s death. But I want you to let yourself be a human being first.”

  As if Bree could have formed a coherent question.

  She’d delivered death notifications. She’d escorted family members to the morgue. She’d held their hands during this exact instant. But the shock and power and overwhelming nature of the moment had been lost on her.

  Until now.

  Waves of grief, helplessness, and anger threatened to upend her balance again. Dr. Jones moved a chair from the corner and set it next to Bree.

  Three breaths later, Bree recovered her voice, though it rasped as if she smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. “Tell me the truth. Did she go quickly?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Jones said without hesitation. “She was unconscious within seconds and gone within a minute or so.”

  She didn’t specify how many seconds, but if she had suffered, it hadn’
t been for long. Bree thought of Erin lying on the floor, bleeding out, thinking of the children she’d never see again.

  The kids would want to see her, and Bree would have to let them. As a child, she’d been denied the chance to say goodbye, and she still resented being shuttled to the side, being told to hush when she’d asked questions, being treated as if she were an afterthought rather than the focus of adult attention. She would not do that to Luke and Kayla. They could choose to see her or not.

  “Could I have a moment alone with her?” she asked, glancing at the doctor, then Matt.

  “Yes. Her body is ready to be released to the funeral home of your choice.” Dr. Jones walked toward the door. “We’ll be in the hall when you’re finished.”

  “Take whatever time you need.” Matt followed the doctor from the room.

  Alone, Bree cupped her sister’s cheek. The skin was cold, lifeless under her palm. Bree did not lift the sheet. She did not examine the wound. She gave her sister the respect she deserved.

  “I’ll do my best by the kids.” Bree started with the thing that was most important to her sister, then added, “And I will find out who did this to you.” She drew an X in the center of her own chest like they’d done when they were children. “Cross my heart.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Matt had never met the new medical examiner. She was a recent hire to replace the former pathologist, who’d moved to Wyoming.

  He leaned on the wall next to the door.

  “Can I get you some water?” Dr. Jones offered.

  “No, thanks.” Matt didn’t think he could swallow anything without it coming right back up. He’d seen dead bodies as a sheriff’s investigator, but he could still picture Erin alive and smiling.

  And that made all the difference.

  As an investigator, he’d tried his best to keep his personal life separate from his job. When you’d attended the victim’s wedding, that wasn’t possible.

  The door opened, and Bree emerged. Her eyes were dry, devastated, and determined.

  “Can I ask you some questions?” she asked the ME.

  “Yes.” Dr. Jones led them back to her office. Matt and Bree sat in chairs facing the desk. An autopsy was treated as confidentially as other medical records. As next of kin, Bree was entitled to the results, but the official report wouldn’t be available for months.

  “Are you sure you want to do this now?” Dr. Jones asked.

  Bree nodded.

  “All right.” The doctor leaned forward, resting on her forearms and giving Bree her full attention.

  “She was killed by a single gunshot?” Bree asked.

  “Yes. She sustained a penetrating cardiac injury,” Dr. Jones said. “Many gunshot wounds to the chest are survivable these days. Your sister was very unlucky. A 9mm bullet lacerated her coronary artery, causing massive hemorrhage. Blood loss would have been rapid.”

  Matt pictured the lake of blood under Erin. She had lived long enough for a large volume of it to pump out of her body.

  “Is there anything else of note in the preliminary report?” Bree asked, her voice strained.

  “No. Other than the bullet wound, she was in overall good health.” The doctor frowned. “She had sex shortly before she died, but I found no evidence intercourse was not consensual. There were no significant bruises on the body. Her last meal was pizza, eaten an hour or two before her death.”

  Bree’s face was as white and still as marble as she digested the information.

  The ME set her clasped hands on her desk. “Why don’t you go home and process today? Call me if you have more questions, and I’ll call you if I get more information.”

  Results of some reports, like toxicology screens, wouldn’t come back for weeks or months.

  Bree nodded. “Thank you.”

  Her voice was flat, seemingly emotionless, but Matt could see her struggling. Her hazel eyes were misty, the green deepening as sorrow flooded them. She swiped a single tear from her cheek with a trembling finger, then shoved her shaking hands into her coat pockets. Matt couldn’t imagine the shock, horror, and grief building in her. He felt like he was intruding on a moment that should be private. Her sister had been murdered, her life ended in a violent act. Bree should be allowed the space to cry in peace. In similar circumstances, Matt would be bawling.

  The doctor ushered them to the door of her office. Matt followed Bree through the corridors until they emerged from the building. Outside, she stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds, her face turned to the cold wind. The open edges of her coat flapped, but she didn’t seem to notice the freezing temperature.

  Matt opened the passenger door of his SUV. Bree climbed into the seat. He rounded the front of the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. He started the engine.

  She turned toward the passenger window. “Why was my sister at Justin’s place?”

  “I think your sister was there regularly.” Matt adjusted the heat vents to give Bree maximum airflow and turned on the passenger seat heater as he pulled out of the lot. “I noticed a few things in Justin’s bathroom while I was waiting for the deputies.”

  “Like?”

  “There was an extra toothbrush, a woman’s hairbrush, makeup, feminine hygiene products.” Matt turned onto the main road.

  Bree’s brows knitted together. “Those could belong to any woman.”

  “This is true. You don’t know which brands she used?”

  Bree shook her head.

  “Are you going to take the kids back to their house?” he asked, stopping at a traffic light.

  “Yes. That’s where they want to go.”

  “Then we can compare the brands in her bathroom to the ones in Justin’s.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” But Bree sounded distracted and exhausted. Maybe she’d had enough for the day. She’d exhibited unbelievable strength that day, but how much could one person handle?

  Matt drove to her brother’s converted barn and parked.

  She reached for the door handle. “Thank you for your help today.”

  “Anytime.” Matt covered her hand and gave it a single, quick squeeze before releasing it. “I mean it. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

  Nor did he want to. He’d rather run into a hail of bullets than experience the kind of soul-deep loss Bree was handling.

  Nodding, she opened her mouth to respond but seemed unable to get the words out. She swallowed, the motion taking time, as if she were eating a dry sandwich with no drink.

  Her phone buzzed. She read the screen, then cleared her throat. “It’s the sheriff’s office.” She answered the call. “Bree Taggert. Yes. Thank you.” She lowered the phone, exhaling hard. “The sheriff’s department has released Erin’s house. I can take the kids home now. I’ll be busy with them tonight. Can we touch base tomorrow?”

  Does that mean she wants to work together?

  “Sure.” Matt didn’t press. “Call me if you need anything.”

  With a quick nod, she slipped out of his vehicle and walked to the door. Matt watched her disappear inside. He ran a few errands, then drove home on autopilot, unable to get Bree’s troubled eyes and quiet courage out of his head.

  His sister’s minivan was parked in front of his house. He left his SUV and went around to the kennel. His younger sister, Cady, was walking an overweight black-and-white pointer mix around the backyard. At the sight of Matt, the dog lunged and nearly dragged Cady off her feet, which was quite a feat. Cady had rowed crew in college. She was strong and nearly six feet tall in her winter boots.

  Matt ignored the pulling dog. “She needs leash manners, but otherwise she is a real sweetheart.”

  Cady stepped on the leash, tethering the big dog to the ground so she couldn’t jump on Matt. “Sit, Ladybug.”

  The dog planted her butt on the ground, but her entire body was still wagging.

  Matt rewarded her with some ear rubs, and he could have sworn she smiled. “I thought that name was ridiculous for a sixty-poun
d dog, but she’s so goofy, it suits her.”

  “She should be a fifty-pound dog.” Cady tugged her hat over long hair that was more strawberry than blonde. “I really want to place her soon. How’d she do at the park yesterday?”

  “Great. She’s good with other dogs. Loves kids. Not touchy about anything. No reaction to running, screaming, or sledding except for a wagging tail stump.” Some idiot had docked the mutt’s tail, and they’d done a poor job of it.

  Cady smiled. “How does she do with Brody?”

  “Fine, but her housebreaking needs work. She peed in the house twice.”

  “I’ll take her home with me and work on it.”

  “Good idea. Once she’s away from the kennel environment, she’s super chill.” Matt rubbed behind the dog’s too-small ears. Kennels were loud and stressful.

  “Ladybug, heel.” Cady turned and walked toward her minivan. The dog waddled at her side. Cady opened the rear hatch. The dog tried to jump into the van but missed the step and fell flat on her face.

  “Oh, no. Are you OK?” Cady checked Ladybug’s face, then scooped up the ungainly dog’s butt and helped her scramble inside.

  Matt tried not to laugh. He followed his sister to the van and gave her a hug. “Thanks for the entertainment. I needed it.”

  She opened a plastic dog crate, guided Ladybug inside, and secured the door. “I saw the news report this afternoon. They showed Justin’s mug shot.”

  Matt wasn’t surprised with the media’s choice of photo. A mug shot implied guilt.

  “I can’t believe he shot his wife.” Cady closed the hatch and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “I don’t think he did.”

  “The reporter used the words person of interest, but they presented him as the only suspect.” Cady opened the door and climbed into her van. “I know you’re going to get involved. Don’t do anything stupid. Love you.”

  Matt stepped back. “Love you too.”

  She closed the door and drove off.

  Matt walked through the kennel and made sure the heater was working. Cady had fed and watered the dogs, and the kennel was clean. Some dogs rushed to him for attention. Others cowered in the back of their space. He spent time with each dog. Full dark had fallen by the time he left the kennels and strode toward the house.