by Brenda Novak
“I’ll ask her regular hairdresser to do her hair,” Maisey told him. “And I’ll try to manage her makeup myself.”
“If that’s what you prefer,” Dean said. “Just keep in mind that those services are available if you need them.”
Keith couldn’t imagine being asked to do something like that, but maybe all stylists knew that preparing a client’s hair for his or her funeral was a possibility. The last dead person he’d encountered had been his father, and even though they’d never been particularly close, that loss had hit him hard, since Malcolm was the only calm parent of the two...
Trying to shrug off the feelings any memory of his father—or his past, really—evoked, he studied his mother’s throat. He thought he could discern a faint tinge of blue, where a strong pair of hands might’ve cut off her airflow, but he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining things. Her whole body looked blue...
“Have you seen enough?” Maisey asked.
Keith didn’t answer. “She has no marks on her anywhere?” he asked Dean.
“Marks?”
“Injuries?”
Dean shook his head. “None that I’ve seen, but I haven’t examined her. They’ll do that during the autopsy. Record every bruise or blemish.”
But things could change from day to day, couldn’t they? Even if she was dead? Keith had learned that the signs of strangulation typically didn’t show up during the first twenty-four hours, so it was reasonable to assume that they also might disappear after a certain length of time. “Would you mind removing the sheet and taking a look now?” he asked. He didn’t feel he could do that. It would be the ultimate invasion of his mother’s privacy at a time when she couldn’t defend it. But he felt someone should check her corpse before the autopsy was performed. Having more than one person provide an opinion could prove useful later on—although he had no idea how or why. He was just trying to document everything he could before it was too late, trying to use simple logic.
“Um, sure,” Dean said. “But...can I ask why?”
“I’d like to know what you see.”
The coroner’s technician had been quite solicitous. At this, he hesitated, as if it was pretty far outside his expectations. But then he acquiesced. “Of course. If it’ll help.”
“You look, too,” Keith told Maisey and turned away while Dean peeled back the covering.
“Anything?” Keith asked when they indicated that it was safe to turn back.
“She’s had breast augmentation surgery,” Maisey said drily. “After pretending her figure was God-given, ever since I can remember, that should surprise me, but it doesn’t.”
That didn’t surprise Keith, either. But he wasn’t investigating her vanity. “Anything else? Anything suspicious?”
“Nothing,” Dean said.
Steeling himself for whatever he might find, he lifted his mother’s eyelids. “Do her eyes seem bloodshot to you?” he asked Dean.
Dean was startled by the question. “Um...I guess. Yeah, they’re bloodshot. But...I wouldn’t say that necessarily means anything.”
“According to what I’ve read, bloodshot eyes can indicate strangulation,” Keith said.
Dean smoothed the sheet over their mother. “A pathologist would be the one to answer that question. I’d suggest not jumping to any conclusions.”
“Because...”
“Because those conclusions could have far-reaching implications,” he said. “And they may not be correct.”
“Our mother didn’t kill herself.” Turning to Maisey, he said, “We need to make sure they test the level of carbon dioxide in her blood, too.”
Maisey stared at him. “What will that tell us?”
“It’s another sign of suffocation.”
His sister blanched. “And you know this how?”
“Everything’s on the internet.”
She looked torn. “Keith, I don’t want to be rude, but...a little internet research doesn’t make your opinion any more relevant than the coroner’s.”
“It might be relevant to whatever pathologist we choose,” he said. “And that’s who’ll be doing the autopsy.”
She reached out to touch their mother’s hand—then quickly withdrew. “It’s funny. This is the first time I’ve ever felt as if I’m in control while being in the same room with her.”
Keith understood what his sister meant. But before he could acknowledge her comment, she said, “Are you sure we aren’t in denial, unwilling to see our capable mother succumb to human emotions like depression? Desperation? Maybe she wasn’t impervious to all the things that get to the rest of us. You have to admit that financial stuff we learned from Chief Underwood would have to make an impact on her.”
Keith tried to entertain that thought but felt more resolve instead of less. “The mother I knew wouldn’t give up.”
“When you say stuff like that, I agree,” Maisey said. “But I keep coming back to one thing. Who could’ve killed her? Who would’ve wanted to?”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
“Whoa! You think she was murdered?” Dean broke in.
“You don’t?” Keith replied.
“No. I understand that what you’re going through is painful, but the coroner knows what he’s doing. You can trust whatever he tells you.”
The coroner was an elected official. He had a background in law enforcement; he wasn’t even a doctor. “Are you one hundred percent sure of that?” Keith asked.
Dean backed away from the challenge. “He’s the coroner,” he mumbled.
Keith could barely refrain from rolling his eyes. “Maybe so, but he’s as human as you or I.”
They thanked Gillespie. Then they went out and sat in the car while they pored over the list of pathologists Chief Underwood had given them. Keith used the internet on his phone to see what he could find out about each one—but they all seemed reputable. So they started going down the list to see who could do it relatively soon.
After three calls and a bit of negotiating—which included the offer of a bonus to get a Dr. Pendergast to rearrange his schedule—they had it booked for early Sunday morning. Maisey contacted the funeral home to arrange for transportation, since the coroner didn’t provide that, while Keith started to drive them back to Fairham. After Maisey was done, they called Rocki on his Bluetooth so they could update her.
“It’s all set,” Maisey told her. “The funeral home will pick up Mom’s body from the coroner and take it to the hospital here in Charleston first thing Sunday morning.”
“That’s soon,” Rocki said. “You must be happy about that, Keith.”
“I am,” he said.
“How much are they going to charge us?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about the cost,” Keith replied. “I got it.”
“Are you sure?” Rocki asked. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
“We should all split it,” Maisey suggested, but he shook his head.
“No, this will be on me.”
Maisey loosened her seat belt as if she was having trouble getting comfortable. “There’s just one thing.”
“What?” He was finally feeling encouraged that they were making progress. So why did she sound so concerned and reluctant?
“You’re a very passionate person,” she responded. “Once you grab hold of something, you don’t let go.”
She was right about that. Even when he’d been trying to destroy himself, he’d done a damn fine job of it. “So?” He stopped at a traffic light before taking the turn that would bring them to the ferry and then the island.
“Rocki, do you know where she’s going with this?”
“I’m pretty sure I can guess,” she said.
“As your sisters, we agree with what you’re doing,” Maisey explained. “But we�
��re also a little worried that Mom’s death will consume you, take over your life.”
Even though Rocki couldn’t see him, he waved their concerns away. “I’m going to catch the bastard who killed her, no matter what.”
“We don’t even know she was killed,” Rocki told him.
“I do,” he said.
8
NANCY SIGHED AS she clicked through the messages she’d received from potential “matches” via the online dating site where she’d put up her profile a couple of months ago. This was where she’d met Tom. Although their relationship hadn’t completely ended, it wasn’t very promising. There had to be someone else out there for her. But she felt no enthusiasm for flirting, didn’t even care to return the messages.
The uncertainty in her life was getting to her, she decided. She refused to believe her disinterest had anything to do with Keith’s presence on the island. She knew better than to let the sight of him change anything. She’d lost her employer and could be losing her job. That was why she’d lost her zest for dating.
Too bad she hadn’t also lost her zest for eating. Tempted to drown her anxiety and frustration in a fudge brownie sundae, she glanced at the kitchen. She didn’t have any brownies. She’d have to bake.
On the plus side, no one could bake more delicious brownies than she could...
She’d just gotten up from her desk when her phone rang. Her sister was calling; she could see Jade’s name and photograph on the screen.
Eager for the distraction, she snatched up her cell. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“I just saw him!” Jade exclaimed.
Nancy was on her way to the pantry so she could take stock of her supplies. Although she’d already gotten groceries, she hadn’t purchased any powdered cocoa, so she’d have to run over to Smitty’s, the island’s only grocery store, again. But at this, she forgot about the brownies. “Saw who?” She thought she had a good idea but hoped she was wrong...
“Keith Lazarow! He and his sister were on the same ferry I was. They were parked right next to me!”
Nancy felt her mood darken. “So?”
“So I thought you’d like to know. He looked good. Better than ever. If I were straight, I would’ve swooned when he waved at me.”
Jade, who’d recently turned twenty-six, was Nancy’s only sibling, although they weren’t related by blood. Jade’s mother had been a free-flowing hippie type who’d floated on to greener pastures before Nancy’s mother met Jade’s father. But, for the most part, they’d been raised together, since he had custody. She and Jade had grown especially close after Nancy’s mother died of bladder cancer. Jade managed the Drift Inn but still lived with her father; she wasn’t able to move out. He’d retired from the marina, where he’d worked for more than thirty years, was getting old and needed a little help. Nancy saw them both often, since she went over almost every Saturday to make dinner.
“I have no interest in Keith,” she said, purposely using a bored voice.
“Really?” Jade responded. “Then I’ll go after him. I could be bi—maybe.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen you go after a guy. You’re definitely a lesbian. And even if you could change your sexual preference, he’d chew you up and spit you out.” And Nancy knew just how painful that could be.
“Maybe he could turn me, show me what I’ve been missing.”
Nancy wasn’t going to acknowledge his talent between the sheets any more than his good looks. “Remember how much you hated his mother?”
“What’s the Queen of Fairham got to do with anything?” Jade asked. “She’s gone now. And didn’t everyone hate her?”
Everyone except the people Josephine had actually tried to win over. She could be irresistible, if she wanted to be. But Nancy wasn’t going in to any of that, either. “He’s a lot like her.”
“How?”
“He’s beautiful, but he’s also single-minded and determined. When he gets something in his head, there’s no getting it out. And I don’t believe he knows how to love anyone.” Nancy could remember moments when he’d been gentle, tender, even vulnerable, but she didn’t mention that because she needed to focus on the reasons he wouldn’t be good for her or her gay sister.
“From what I hear, he’s not on drugs anymore. And he owns a multimillion-dollar company. Considering all of that, I could probably put up with a little straight sex, even if he is single-minded and determined.”
“Jade, trust me—keep your distance.” Veering away from the kitchen, Nancy went into her bedroom instead, where she began looking through her dresses. Did she own anything she could wear to the funeral? She had a simple black dress, but since she’d lost weight it was two sizes too big.
“I’d never make a play for him, even if I was straight,” Jade said. “I know you still have feelings for him. I was just trying to make you admit it.”
“I don’t have feelings for him,” Nancy argued. “It’s been five years since we were together. I’d have to be a glutton for punishment to hang on that long.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tough talk.”
“I’m over him,” she insisted, but she had no doubt her sister could see through her denials. Nancy hadn’t been able to sleep with Tom because she couldn’t help comparing him with Keith—and finding him lacking. No one she’d met could measure up to the one man she’d truly loved, which was why she hadn’t been intimate with anyone since. “What were you doing on the ferry, anyway?”
“I went to Charleston. Had some shopping to do before work tonight.”
Her sister worked three days and two nights a week, and Wednesday was one of her late shifts. “For...”
“I was out of blush. I also needed some specialty items I can’t get here—those pretzels Dad likes and that one brand of hummus.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It got rid of my island fever. How was work?”
Nancy pulled out a sheath dress covered in sequins. It was black but too dated—and too fancy—for a funeral. She needed something classy and subdued, something Josephine herself would have approved of. “I was off today.”
“This is Wednesday. Aren’t you normally off on Thursday?”
“Marlene had a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so we traded.”
“Why didn’t you call? I would’ve asked you to go with me.”
“I wish I had. I need a new dress for the funeral.” Badly. Until this very moment, she hadn’t realized just how inadequate her wardrobe was.
“When’s the funeral?”
Nancy thought of Maisey and Keith’s suspicions. “They haven’t announced it yet.”
“Good. That means we’ve got time. We’ll find you a dress that’ll make Keith eat his heart out.”
“Hello! I doubt he’ll be looking at anyone that way at his mother’s funeral.”
“Isn’t he a playboy?”
“I wouldn’t call him a playboy exactly. He was messed up and looking for a safe harbor, which meant he wasn’t particularly discriminating. That made him dangerous enough. Anyway, I don’t care to talk about Keith.”
“Why not? If you’re over him, it shouldn’t matter.”
She shoved more of her clothes to one side and pulled out another dress, one that was even more dated and inappropriate than the last one. “He’s ancient history, that’s why.”
“He doesn’t have to be. Maybe he isn’t someone you can expect to marry, but...”
Nancy doubted this conversation was going anywhere good, but she couldn’t resist taking the bait. “But?”
“You told me he was great in bed.”
She nearly dropped the dress. “I did?”
“Yes, you did,” her sister said. “It was your birthday, and you were drunk—laughing and crying at the same time, remember? It was only las
t year.”
“Obviously, I had no clue what I was saying,” Nancy mumbled.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not true. Lie to yourself if that makes it easier. But consider this. You might as well take a ride—or two or three. Have some fun while he’s here. You’ve been through one hell of a long drought.”
“Take a ride?” Nancy said. “My God, you’re crude! Anyway, I’m not going near him. And I’m done talking to you. So...go get ready for work. Goodbye.” She disconnected. She had no interest in falling back into bed with Keith Lazarow.
But ten minutes later, she started digging through her lingerie drawer. Although she had some pretty things, just like her more fancy dresses, none of them fit.
She hadn’t even opened that drawer in the past five years.
* * *
Keith liked Maisey’s husband. Rafe was a man’s man—and yet he knew how to love Maisey and keep her happy. Keith had never been more relieved to have him as part of the family than he was that night when they came for dinner. Without his mother at the table, the fact that Josephine would no longer be the backbone of their family sank in a little deeper. Losing someone like her left a huge hole, and Keith wasn’t sure who would fill it. He felt the job naturally fell to him. His grandfather would expect him to carry on the Coldiron legacy. But Keith had a life—for the first time—and it was on the opposite coast.
Besides, as a recovering addict, he wasn’t sure he was capable of doing everything his grandfather would expect. How could he follow in such a great man’s footsteps? Do him proud?
At least, thanks to Rafe, he could rest assured that Maisey was loved and content, and so were her two children. Laney’s real mother had bugged out just after she was born, hadn’t been able to face the prospect of raising a blind child. But that woman, whoever she was, didn’t know what she was missing. Keith had never met a sweeter, brighter or more endearing child. He wanted to scoop her into his arms the second they arrived, but she’d grown so much since Maisey had brought her to California a year ago. She wasn’t a little girl anymore; she was on the verge of puberty. And because Keith didn’t see her often, he was afraid she might not remember him.
