Final Words

by Teri Thackston

  “She was giving me my medication but she gave me something extra too. Rat poison. In my dinner every night.” The spirit slapped one fist into his other palm. “She bragged about it after she gave me that last dose. Then the bitch left me alone. She just left me in that motel room to die!”

  Sighing, Emma looked closer at the corpse’s face. “Why was he in that motel?” she wondered aloud.

  “My wife said we needed to fumigate the house for termites and that I should move out so it wouldn’t make me sicker. Ha!”

  “The police aren’t sure.” Edgar continued to read the man’s file. “His wife said he’d been despondent over his illness, that he was drinking and taking drugs.”

  “She’s a liar! She planned this!”

  “Convenient story.” Emma checked the inside of the corpse’s left arm. “Did you notice this flaky rash?” She stepped near the head of the body. “And the hair loss.” Leaning over, she inhaled through her nose. “And a mild garlic scent from the skin.”

  “That sounds like arsenic poisoning.” Putting the file aside, Edgar leaned over the body. His nose wrinkled. “You think he was poisoned?”

  “Check the beer bottle she threw in the dumpster at the motel,” the apparition said, speaking slower, finally running out of steam. “She told me that’s how she got the last dose in me.”

  “I’ve seen arsenic cases before,” Emma said. “The police should secure that motel. And you should suggest they question his wife.”

  “Why his wife?” Edgar asked. “Maybe he poisoned himself.”

  “She wanted to get me for months. And she had the nerve to kiss the top of my head before she left me to die.”

  “Look here.” With a scalpel, Emma gently parted the dead man’s thinning hair. “See this pink smudge on his head? It looks like lipstick. I’ll bet his wife gave him the poison, probably in something to drink to disguise the taste. She probably hoped the police would think it was a suicide.”

  Edgar leaned over again, stared at the tiny smudge and then turned to Emma with wide eyes. “I’m not sure how lipstick proves anything but how did you see that?”

  “Good eyesight,” she answered as the spirit faded. “But my eyes are getting pretty tired, so I—”

  “Got one more, Dr. St. Clair.” Clarence Talbot, one of the morgue attendants, pushed another gurney in from the cooler. “The family is waiting.”

  Emma’s bones ached but she simply gave up a silent sigh and followed Talbot and the gurney to the empty station.

  * * * * *

  Sitting alone in her office a week later, Emma wondered how much more she could handle. Before her hit-and-run, life after death had simply been a concept. She had dealt with the dead but never with death itself. Now it spoke to her every day. Clues to their deaths, confessions of crimes or sins…each spirit insisted that it be heard. One had even followed her to her office when she’d been called away from the autopsy suite, popping up through the floor so suddenly that she’d actually squealed out loud. When Skitch had come running, she’d blamed her fright on a fictitious cockroach. The entire building was immediately treated to the services of an exterminator.

  The lies bothered her most. Her coworkers, her friends, the police. The guilt of all the lies ate at her own mortal spirit, overwhelming her with the possibility that this could go on for the rest of her life.

  She needed to talk it out. But Marta would call her crazy and Paul Sanders would blame her stress on—stress.

  Finally, feeling as if she might explode, she picked up the telephone and called her parents.

  “This is a treat,” her father said with a smile in his deep voice. “You aren’t getting lonely, are you?”

  “A little.” Sitting back in her chair, she turned to look out the window at the bay. “I just wanted to check in.”

  “You’re not working too hard now, are you, Punkin?”

  “No, Dad. Well, maybe a bit.”

  “Is something wrong? You haven’t hurt yourself again, have you? Do I need to call your mother? She’s just leaving for—”

  “No, Dad.” Emma took a deep breath and focused on a small white sailboat skidding across the bay. “Do you remember that dream I had in the emergency room after my accident?”

  Her father didn’t answer immediately. Then, he quietly replied, “You’re still calling that a dream?”

  Emma clamped a hand over her mouth to squelch a sudden sob.

  “We didn’t say anything while you were here,” her father said. “But your mother and I both thought that what you experienced was more than a dream.”

  Loosening her hand, Emma inhaled raggedly. “I think you’re right,” she said. Staring out the window, she tried to focus on the sailboat as she told her father of her recent experiences. Tears choked her several times but she got the stories out.

  “Sounds to me like you’ve been given a rare gift,” he quietly said when she’d finished.

  “A pretty frightening gift.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “I didn’t want to worry you and Mom.” She watched the glistening wake that followed the sailboat. “But I needed to talk to someone.”

  “If you can’t confide in your parents, who can you confide in?” His voice shook a little and he paused to clear his throat. “But I’m not sure what advice to give in this situation.”

  “Just having you listen to me without thinking I’m crazy helps a lot.” She hesitated. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you, Dad? Like Aunt Victoria?”

  “No, Punkin. I don’t think you’re crazy. And I’m beginning to realize I might have misjudged Aunt Victoria.” He paused. “Do you want your mother and me to come to Clear Harbor?”

  “No, I have to learn to deal with this on my own.” She smiled. “And I do feel better now so I should get back to work.”

  “Call us if you need anything. I love you, Punkin.”

  “I love you, Dad. ’Bye.” She hung up the phone and then jumped when Skitch poked his head around the frame of her door.

  “Sorry.” He frowned, his eyes gleaming strangely. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s okay.” Wondering if he’d heard her conversation, she tried to diagnose the expression she saw in his eyes. It looked almost like fear. “What do you need?”

  “I wanted to tell you the latest on that guy with the lipstick on his head,” he slowly explained. “When the cops told her about his lab results, his wife confessed that she’d put rat poison in his beer every night for a month. She studied up on how much time it would take for the poison to reach a lethal amount in his body.”

  “I’m glad to know I was right,” Emma replied.

  “You’re right a lot lately.” The gleam in his eyes brightened. “It’s almost as if you’ve gone psychic on us, Doc.”

  “I’m not psychic.” Emma dropped her gaze to the report on her desk. “The clues are all there, Skitch. You just have to look for them.”

  A long moment passed before he quietly said, “I guess I have to look a little harder.” He backed away from the door. “Well, gotta run.”

  Emma listened to his footsteps striding down the hall.

  Psychic. If only that was all it was.

  * * * * *

  “And what about Ty’s case?” Jason ran his index finger up and down the warming bottle of beer he hadn’t wanted. He’d only joined Charlie at the Diamond Bar after work because he’d grown tired of sitting at home alone with his thoughts. When he was by himself, he spent way too much time thinking about Emma. “Hosken hasn’t done a damn thing since he took over the investigation.”

  “He’s hitting the same blank walls we hit. Give him time. Uh-oh.” Leaning over from his barstool, Charlie tugged on Jason’s sleeve. “Trouble coming in the door.”

  Jason glanced up as Layne Simmons entered the bar. As the door swung shut behind her, she pulled off her sunglasses as slowly as if they were the straps of a lacy bra. Her gaze roamed the room and Jason groaned inwardly when she
spotted him. The terms under which they’d parted a few nights earlier should have earned him a cold shoulder. Instead she smiled as if their argument had never happened.

  “Hi, guys.” Reaching them, she leaned one elbow on the scarred surface of the bar. “How’s it hangin’?”

  Charlie nodded. “Detective Simmons.”

  Jason watched her warily. “Layne,” he said quietly.

  Layne signaled the bartender. “Bourbon and Coke.”

  Charlie clapped Jason on the shoulder. “I’m going home,” he said.

  Before Jason could stop him, Charlie gave another nod to Layne and then headed out the door.

  “You’ve been a hard man to track down.”

  Touching her tongue to her lips, Layne leaned toward Jason. Even inside a place that reeked with it, he could smell the liquor on her breath and she hadn’t even gotten her drink yet.

  “How about I take you to dinner tonight?” she suggested.

  Once more Jason found himself mentally comparing Layne to Emma. “Sorry,” he said, trying to keep the distaste out of his voice. “I’m tied up tonight.”

  “Undercover work?” She touched his thigh. “Or under-the-cover work?”

  Jason pushed aside his half-full beer glass. Standing up, he dug his wallet out of his hip pocket. “I have to go.”

  Layne’s bloodshot eyes glared as she poked an index finger into his breastbone. “Don’t think I don’t know who you’d rather be playing with. I’ve heard about your interest in that lady coroner and I think it’s sick!”

  Jason tossed several bills onto the bar and gestured toward the bartender. “I’ve got her drink too. But just the one.”

  Layne grabbed his arm. “Disgusting, that’s what it is!”

  Jason looked down at her. “Let go, Layne.”

  She tried to hold his gaze but was too drunk. Snatching her hand away, she whipped around and lurched toward the door. Jason followed and watched from the doorway as she stumbled outside and hailed a cab. It was a shame. She was a decent cop and he hoped the booze didn’t get in the way of her work the way it got in the way of her personality.

  He waited for her to get into the cab and then he stepped outside and started toward the parking lot down the street.

  Another cab pulled in as Layne’s sped away. Jason recognized the man stepping out of it as the man who’d escorted Emma at the Marquis Restaurant. Alan Winfeld. Her ex-husband. But the woman who exited the cab behind him wasn’t Emma.

  Turning, Jason ducked his head enough that he could watch the couple’s reflection in the bar window without being noticed. Arm around the woman, laughing loudly, Winfeld didn’t act like a man who wanted to reconcile with his ex-wife. Kissing his companion on the lips, he led her inside the bar.

  Turning his back to the window, Jason stared at the passing traffic and wondered if he should tell Emma what he’d seen. She deserved to know that her ex-husband was not sitting alone somewhere pining for her. Maybe if she saw the truth for herself, she would reconsider trying to make her marriage work again.

  His heart was at stake here. He knew that. But in spite of the questions surrounding her, he wanted Emma in his life. But did he have the right to meddle in her life?

  Setting his jaw again, he headed up the street to where he’d left his car.

  * * * * *

  Emma pushed the latest lab report away and glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. It was later than she’d realized and she still had a stack of reports to review. But her eyes ached and a yawn rolled through her every few minutes.

  “I need coffee,” she murmured.

  Knowing she might find a fresh pot in the second-floor break room, she grabbed her mug and headed for the elevator.

  Most evenings, the Medical Examiner’s office stayed busy well after dark. But on the occasional Friday, the place shut down early, with the understanding of all the staff that they could be called back once all the bars closed for the night. This looked like one of those early Fridays.

  “Quiet as a morgue,” Emma murmured as she passed one empty office after another. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

  That doesn’t mean there aren’t any souls around, she thought. At the end of the corridor, the door to the elevator stood open.

  As if it’s waiting for me, she thought. A shiver ran from the top of her spine to her tailbone.

  Clutching her mug to her chest, she entered the elevator and pushed the second-floor button. Machinery pinged and whirred to life and the car began to descend. Seconds later, it slid to a smooth halt, pinged again and the doors opened.

  As Emma stepped out, she saw that the labs along the main corridor were as dark as the offices on the third floor. Only security lights glowed here and there.

  Behind her, the elevator’s machinery went abruptly silent. Suddenly, the building felt empty. And yet…not.

  Gripping her mug tightly, she headed for the break room. Inside, she turned on the lights. Spying the coffee maker on a back counter, she crossed to it and picked up the pot. Empty.

  Annoyed, she yanked open an upper cabinet and then squealed as something flew at her. Dark, cold and slightly sticky, it struck her right cheek before falling to the floor with a splat.

  Emma took a deep breath and tried to laugh at herself. Her assailant was a foil coffee packet that had fallen off a shelf.

  Setting her mug on the counter, she knelt to pick up the packet. As she straightened, she glimpsed movement behind her. Whipping around, she gasped as a male figure loomed in the doorway.

  “It’s okay.” Jason raised his hands. “It’s just me.”

  Leaning back against the counter, Emma tried to catch her breath. Again.

  “Sorry.” Smiling tentatively, Jason closed the distance between them. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  As Emma’s heartbeat steadied, anger surged through her fright. She was mad at herself for her skittishness but took it out on him. “How did you get up here without a card key?”

  “The security guard and I are old buddies. When I told him I was looking for you, he gave me a temporary card.”

  Emma crumpled the coffee packet. “How did you know I was on this floor?”

  “You weren’t in your office but your computer was on, your purse was under your desk and your coffee mug was missing. I am a detective, you know.” When she didn’t laugh, worry darkened his eyes. “I really scared you, didn’t I?”

  “I thought I was alone.” Exasperated, Emma turned her back on him. Gripping the packet in both hands, she tore it open. The fragile foil ripped and coffee granules flew everywhere.

  For a long moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Emma stared at the mess she’d made, feeling Jason’s attention focused on her, knowing that he had to think that she was as unstable as she felt.

  “I really needed that coffee,” she murmured.

  Gripping her right arm, Jason eased her away from the mess. “Tell me where a broom is and I’ll clean this up. Then I’ll buy you that cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do.”

  Emma pointed toward a tall, narrow cabinet nearby. Walking over to it, Jason opened the door, got the broom and dustpan and set to work. She stood still, watching the broom move as he swept the dark grains into a tidy mound. Bending over, he scooped the debris into a dustpan with two more easy strokes. In spite of her fright, anger and frustration, Emma’s gaze shifted. Instinctively. She blushed when she realized her gaze had focused on his trim backside. The man filled out a pair of jeans awfully well. She looked away quickly when he straightened and glanced around.

  “I don’t see a garbage can,” he said.

  Embarrassment surged through her, heating her skin and she wondered why he always caught her at moments of weakness. Why did he always show up at her most vulnerable times? Above all why couldn’t she control her growing attraction to him?

  “Emma? The garbage can?”

  “Under the counter.” With difficulty, she got a grip on her emotions. “I have to sterili
ze the area. The labs are just down the hall and we don’t want any cross-contamination.” But her legs didn’t want to move and her arms weighed like lead. Her pulse seemed to skip every few beats, leaving her breathless and lightheaded. Still, she managed to turn and walk to the cabinet that housed the cleaning supplies.

  “Anything else I can do?” he asked, returning the broom and dust pan to their own storage cabinet.

  “No. Thanks.” She picked out what she needed, taking her time, hoping to recover more of her composure before facing him again. But the silence between them grew thicker. Taking a deep breath as she disinfected the counter, she asked over her shoulder, “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

  For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Feeling his gaze on her, she didn’t dare meet it for fear she’d see concerned pity in his warm brown eyes. Concerned pity or something else that might make her forget he wasn’t the kind of man for her. Something else that might make her forget her determination to resist him.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he finally said. “For being so rough on you down at the station last week. I was a real jerk.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  Rising, she disposed of the soiled towels and then washed her hands before facing him. As she’d feared, something more than pity darkened his face. She saw a longing there that made her pulse race with something very different from fear.

  This can’t go on, she decided. I need to tell him there’s no room for him in my life. But not while we’re alone and he can muddle my thoughts with his warm eyes and his lips that would probably melt chocolate…or steel.

  “Why don’t we go out for that coffee?” she suggested quickly. “I’ve had enough of this place for tonight.”

  He hesitated a moment before saying, “Sounds good. I know a place nearby.”

  “Great. Just let me lock up and get my purse.”

  * * * * *

  Emma noticed Jason hesitate several times on their way to and from his car. He seemed edgy too, stuffing his hands in his pockets and then pulling them out again. He tugged at the collar of his denim jacket and then pulled at one of his cuffs.

  “This isn’t a fancy place,” he said, footsteps dragging as they approached the bar on Silverbay Lane. “We can go somewhere else if you’d rather.”