by S. E. Babin
"Okay," the operator said. "Hang tight. Help will be there soon." The operator left the line open, and I punched the speaker button on my cell so I could put the phone down.
I dug out a small vial of hand sanitizer I kept in the bottom of my purse and squirted a large amount on my hands. I'd never touched a dead body before, but I knew I never wanted to again. The book in my satchel sat like a dead weight against my shoulder, so I shrugged the bag off and set it on the ground next to me. I couldn't return it.
I sighed at the thought but immediately felt guilty at the reason why I couldn't return it. The poor woman. I wondered what kind of health problems she had. I hadn't seen any blood, so it looked like whatever it was might have taken her out. Heart attack, maybe?
I scrubbed a hand over my face. I had no idea. All I wanted to do was get out of here and let the police do their job.
Less than a minute later, an ambulance with the lights on pulled up, followed by two patrol cars. I stood up, sliding my purse over my shoulder, and waited for the police to come up the porch. Two EMT's jumped out of the ambulance and pulled a stretcher from the back. I didn't recognize them, but that wasn't surprising. I'd only visited the Silverwood Hollow hospital a couple times, and I'd been much younger then.
The EMT's wheeled the stretcher up to the home and gave me a quick nod as they walked past me. One of them was tall with chestnut hair. He looked maybe late twenties; his handsome face flushed with the cold. The other was shorter, a little rounder, and had a head full of curly dark hair. His blue eyes flashed as they took me in and he offered me a nod as well, though he didn't seem as friendly.
I watched them walk into the house and saw the curly-haired guy's nose crinkle as the weird odor got to him, too. My lips quirked once before I sobered my expression. This didn't seem like the time to be amused by anything.
The sound of car doors closing brought my attention to the officers. The first, a taller, older gentleman walked up the stairs with a practiced swagger and stood in front of me.
"Miss Adair?" he questioned, his light brown eyes flicking over my face.
I nodded. "I was the one who called in." Obviously. Duh. He already knew that.
The other officer right behind him, pressed his lips together but not before I saw the upward tilt of them. He thought I was funny? Great.
"I'm aware," the first officer said. He was a few inches taller than me, but that wasn't saying much because I barely topped five foot three. His hair was hidden mostly by the hat he wore, but it looked to be dark. The man's skin was olive, and his face was classically handsome. "Can you tell me what happened?"
My gaze went to the other officer who hadn't introduced himself. "Who's this?" I asked before I started my story again.
The officer frowned. "This is newly minted Detective Cavanaugh," he said, his lips curled in distaste. Either Detective Cavanaugh was not well-liked, or this officer had something personal against him.
"Why is he wearing a police uniform?" I asked. I knew enough about the police force to know detectives usually showed up in regular clothes.
"It's his last day," the officer said shortly. "He starts tomorrow."
Detective Cavanaugh pushed forward and extended his hand. "Pleasure, Miss Adair. I'll be working here and in the surrounding counties when the need comes up, but today I'm all yours."
My cheeks reddened at his possibly unintentional innuendo. The detective's devilish blue eyes sparkled as he saw me register his words. I put my gloved hand in his and shook. "It's nice to meet you."
Cavanaugh made a motion toward the officer. "That's Officer Clarke. He's always cranky so don't mind him."
"Watch yourself, Cavanaugh," Clarke warned. His eyes snapped with annoyance.
"I'm here to observe, but until tomorrow Clarke here is in the lead. I'll stay here to listen to your statement and then head inside. Whenever you're ready." Cavanaugh reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small notepad and a pencil.
I stared between the two men and frowned before I began to speak. There really wasn't much to tell. When I finished, Cavanaugh shoved the notepad back into his pocket. Clarke was the one who asked the questions.
"Did you see anyone else around here before you came?" He clicked his pen a couple of times.
I shook my head. "Just me."
"Did you hear anything inside?" Clarke's voice was firm and no-nonsense.
"Only when I called her phone." My lips twitched.
He stiffened when he realized I was being sarcastic. "Anything else?" he practically barked.
"Nothing." I told him about our standing appointment and how I hadn't realized anything was wrong until I looked in the windows.
"So, you just went inside?" he said, his tone disapproving.
A huff of breath escaped Cavanaugh. When our eyes met, he rolled his behind Clarke's back. Keeping my expression blank, I nodded. "I thought she might be in need of assistance. Since I could only see her feet, I couldn't tell what might be wrong."
Another car pulled up to the curb and a woman wearing a dark purple suit got out. Her heels clacked on the sidewalk as she came up to the porch in a hurry.
A frown creased his brow. "And what do you think might be wrong?"
I tilted my head to study him. "Well, I thought she might be dead, Officer Clarke."
A bark of laughter escaped Cavanaugh. Clarke turned to glare at him. "These are necessary questions, Miss Adair."
The woman in purple spoke. "I think they aren't, Officer Clarke. The manner of death is for me to decide." Her eyes flashed with annoyance. She was taller than me but shorter than Clarke even in heels. Her dark hair was styled perfectly in waves down past her shoulders and her makeup perfectly applied in the natural style, so it looked dewy and not overdone.
She stuck a hand out, and I shook it, feeling the warmth of her palm even through my gloves. "I'm Madeleine Corsair, the Medical Examiner for Silverwood Hollow." She rolled her eyes at Clarke. "I was on my way to a conference out of town but got this call and had to divert." An apologetic smile graced her mouth. "It's a small town and if I left now, we wouldn't have answers for days. Hopefully this is nothing more than natural causes."
Officer Clarke hissed in his breath. "Madeleine..." he warned.
"Oh hush. Nothing bad ever happens in this town." Madeleine gave me a small wave and opened her bag. She pulled out something plastic and opened them up. "Booties," she said as she bent down to slide them over her shoes.
"The EMT's already went in," I said unhelpfully.
"They needed to make sure there were no signs of life," she said. "The two that went in are smart, though." She looked at Clarke. "Good job on getting those two. If something happened in there other than natural causes, they'll be careful to preserve the evidence."
I blinked. "Good to know," I said. "I guess."
Madeleine winked and went inside the home.
"Can I go now?" I asked, impatient to get back to my store and let these people get on with their work.
"I have just a few more questions," Clarke said.
I sighed and nodded. "Okay." I turned back around and settled myself in the rocking chair. I wanted to help with Marcy but being here was making me edgy. Pulling my wallet out, I got two business cards out and handed them to Cavanaugh and Clarke. "I own Tattered Pages. If you ever need to get a hold of me, you can find me there."
The men took the cards, and I waited for Clarke to finish interrogating me. He wouldn't have called it that probably, but it's what it felt like.
Cavanaugh nodded at me and followed Madeleine inside the home.
* * *
I'd just gathered my things and was heading down the steps when a man stepped out from behind a car. I yelped and skittered away from him, holding my purse up like I was going to knock him over the head with it.
"Whoa," he said and held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. Sorry! I didn't want them to see me."
"Who?" I questioned.
"The cops," the man sai
d sheepishly.
I let go of my bag and stared at the man suspiciously. "Excuse me? Who are you?" He stood several inches taller than me. His frame was lean like he was a runner or a swimmer. Dressed casually in jeans and a gray long-sleeved polo, he looked out of place at the house now that it was overrun with the authorities. His hair was a sandy blond and ruffled by the cold breeze. Light green eyes were highlighted by a pair of black wire-framed glasses. He was cute in a geeky sort of way.
Men like him were my Kryptonite. If he had a big vocabulary, I might be toast. I'd never seen him before, but that didn't mean much considering this was my first potential crime scene. Certainly, the first time I'd ever been on scene during an investigation.
"Cole Gardener," he said. He didn't offer to shake my hand. His were stuck in his pockets. I just realized the guy wasn't wearing a jacket.
"Aren't you cold?" I frowned at his appearance.
"Freezing," he admitted sheepishly, “but I was in a hurry to get over here especially when I heard there was a witness.”
I took a step back. "Excuse me? How could you know that?”
"Police scanner," he admitted.
"Who are you? And I don't just mean your name." I pulled my purse closer to me. "If you don't tell me who you are, right now, I'm going to scream."
Alarm registered in his face. "No!" He waved his hands in a frantic gesture and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm a journalist for the Silverwood Hollow Gazette."
A frown twisted my mouth. He was just nosy, then. An annoyed sigh escaped me. He might be cute, but I wanted nothing to do with a news story. Silverwood Hollow was a small town and something like this was sensational. If he printed anything with my name on it, I'd never hear the end of it around here. I liked my life clean and drama-free, thank you very much. My mother would never let me live it down if she had to find out what I'd been involved in through the local newspaper.
"No comment," I breathed and sailed past him, brushing against his shirtsleeve. A whiff of his fresh cologne hit my nose, and I inhaled it. He smelled yummy. I snorted as that thought hit me. I wanted nothing to do with any journalists. Ever. That could only spell trouble for me later down the line.
"I didn't even ask you anything!" Cole protested.
"You were going to," I said primly as I hustled over to my car.
He rushed after me. "You don't know that!" he said.
I rolled my eyes, but he couldn't see me. "Uh huh." I spun around. "Then why are you here and why didn't you want the police to see you?"
A chagrined smile lit his generous lips. "Maybe I just saw a pretty lady and wanted to talk to her." He took a hand out of his pocket and pulled it through his hair, messing it up even more. Cole looked rakishly adorable, and I felt myself weakening.
I stood a little straighter and chastised myself mentally. I was better than this. He was just a cute guy being cute in an effort to gain information.
An amused huff came from me. I rolled my eyes and looked down to dig in my purse for my keys. "I'm sure that's exactly what happened." Hitting the unlock button on my car, I turned and rushed over to it. The old blue Toyota Rav 4 was perfect for hauling boxes of books around but not too big to be a gas guzzler. I loved everything about it.
Cole came up beside me. "If you just have a couple of minutes..."
"I don't," I said as I opened the driver's side door.
"How about a cup of coffee?" he asked, his green eyes lit with hope.
"I don't drink coffee," I lied. Sliding into the seat, I gave him a little wave.
"Dinner!" he barked desperately.
I started the engine. "I'm on a hunger strike," I declared just before I shut the door.
His surprised shout out of laughter made me grin as I hit the gas and left him standing in the road.
4
Thoughts of Marcy plagued me all the way back to the bookshop. That poor woman. I hoped that whatever happened came quickly and she didn't suffer. I shuddered as the image of her prone body kept running through my mind.
The bag with her book rested in the seat next to me, and a sigh escaped me when I glanced down at it as I sat at a red light. I would have to eat the cost of it for now. Considering the circumstances, it was a small thing. I'd lock it in the cabinet when I got back to the store.
Frowning, I wondered if the police were going to confiscate the book. I wouldn't think so, but if something came back weird, it might come up. I didn't know squat about police work, though I'd gotten an unwanted look at it today. Reaching over, I clicked the heater up a little higher. Just thinking of it was making me colder.
My life was free of drama or craziness. I liked to be surrounded by books, coffee, and the occasional family member. Even they got on my nerves sometimes. I had a few friends I really liked, and I spent time with them when I could.
People were surprised when they found out how much time it took to run a bookstore. I wouldn't change it for the world, though. I did not have any siblings, something my mom lamented when she thought I was being a brat.
For the record, it was usually a toss-up between me and Mom as to who was being the bigger brat. Thoughts of her made me smile. Dad passed away about seven years ago after a long battle with cancer. Mom had been a trooper through the entire thing, but even I couldn't miss the shadows that still haunted her after all these years. Those two were peas in a pod. Tears swam in my eyes. I tried not to think about my dad too much. When I did, all the emotion I'd been stifling down for years pooled in my heart and I'd cry for ages.
I wondered where Marcy's family was or if she just had Carrie. I hoped she had someone who loved her like my father loved me. I didn't think Carrie cared about her in a productive or meaningful way, but I hoped I was wrong.
I blew out a slow breath and turned into the parking lot of the store. Dashing the wetness out my eyes, I sat in the car for another moment trying to calm my thoughts.
I was going to call my mom tonight, maybe take her to dinner or invite her over. I hadn't seen her in a few days. In a town as small as this, that was practically forever.
* * *
Harper greeted me as soon as the bell over the door sounded, but her face fell as soon as she saw me. Concern lit her eyes as she rushed over, her cool hands lightly gripping me by the upper arms.
"Dakota? What's wrong?" Her gaze raked over me as if she was looking for an injury.
I gave her a wan smile. "Marcy." I said as I dropped my bag behind the counter. I sank into the seat we kept back there for the days when we stood so long our feet ached.
"She didn't like the book?" Harper asked. Her face was so innocent that I hesitated to break the news. She'd find out soon enough, though.
"No," I said, my voice thick with tears. "She passed away. I found her."
A shocked gasp came from my friend. She swayed and reached out to grip the edge of the counter. "My goodness," she breathed. "That's terrible." Her eyes searched mine. "Are you okay?"
I nodded. "I'm okay. Just surprised. And sad." I hugged myself and rubbed my arms, trying to shake off the feeling of death.
"I wonder what happened to her?" she mused aloud. "She didn't seem well when she came in here the other day, but she also didn't seem like she was on her deathbed either."
"I know," I agreed. "I couldn't tell what happened to her. She was just lying there so still." I waved a hand. "I don't want to talk about it, if that's okay." I pulled the bag up. "I brought the book back. We'll have to try to recoup our money on it. Maybe we can list it on our Facebook page."
Harper took it from me. "Of course. I'll pop it in the safe for now." She shook her head. "That's a shame. I'm so sorry you had to see that. And that it even happened." An unhappy look crossed her face.
I nodded my thanks as Harper turned to walk to the back. Nothing was suspicious about Marcy's death, but I couldn't quite shake the feeling I was missing something.
Something important.
* * *
I kicked off my shoes and groaned as
my feet sank into the plush carpet of my living room. I'd just installed it a few weeks ago after I'd gone back and forth with myself trying to decide between wood look ceramic or carpet. In the end, I'd chosen both. I went with carpet in the living room and ceramic tile in the kitchen, foyer, utility room, bathrooms, and hallways. All the bedrooms had new carpet. There was nothing worse than waking up on a cold morning here and touching bare toes to freezing tile.
I shrugged off my jacket and settled it on the back of the old brown leather recliner that used to belong to my dad. Every time I sat in it, I caught a whiff of the Old Spice he used to use and it made me melancholy. I tried not to sit in it as much anymore for fear the smell of his would fade.
I let out a sigh and sat down on the couch. Swinging my feet up, I laid back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. What a day today had been. Surprisingly enough, word about what happened to Marcy had not yet connected back to me. I knew this was only a reprieve. Silverwood Hollow was a smaller town and soon enough someone was going to get wind that I'd been the one to discover her. Then I wouldn't be able to beat the gossips off of me.
I fumbled for my back pocket and pulled my cell out to call Mom. She answered on the second ring in her high, breathy voice.
"Dakota!" she said. "How nice to hear from you!"
This was Mom speak for why haven't you called me sooner? I stifled a grin. "Hi Mom. What's going on?"
"Well," she breathed, "I went to a yoga class at that new studio in the town square. The woman who owns it is insufferably rude!"
I blinked. Mom rarely said anyone was rude so the woman must have been a tyrant. "Really?"
"Yes! She told me and Irma that we couldn't talk in class!"
I chewed on my lip to keep from laughing.
"I've never been in a class where I couldn't chat to the person next to me. I'm never going back." She huffed an annoyed breath.
"Mom, yoga is different from other workouts. It's all about Zen and inner peace. The physical benefits are secondary." I eyed the stack of yoga DVD’s I kept procrastinating doing because of how late I sometimes got home. I loved it, though. They looked lonely sitting on top of my white TV pedestal, unused and a little dusty. I'd need to clean this weekend before tumbleweeds started rolling across my carpet.
