insects for Ethan, who collects creepy-crawlies and has recently been asking me about forensic entomology; cookbooks for both my sister, Desi, and Izzy’s partner, Dom, since they are both killer cooks; and a HEPA-rated air filter for my mother.
Feeling pretty proud of the fact that I survived several hours of shopping without having a mental breakdown and came out of it with actual gifts rather than gift cards, I drive home feeling rather chipper.
As soon as I’m back in Sorenson, I head straight to my mother’s house. I half expect her to greet me at the door in an apoplectic state from her efforts to keep things clean while doggie sitting, but it’s William who answers my knock, and when I come inside Mother is nowhere in sight.
“What did you tell your mother about dogs and cancer?” William asks me.
“That some dogs have the ability to sniff it out,” I say warily, wondering where this is going.
“Ah, that explains it then,” William says. “She has taken to her deathbed, convinced she has cervical cancer because Hoover stuck his nose in her crotch.”
I look down at Hoover, who appears to be grinning. “Sorry, William,” I say, grimacing. “I thought telling her that would help convince her to watch him for me. I should have realized she’d overreact.”
“She wants me to ask you to join us for Thanksgiving dinner,” William says. “Given that it will be her last one and all.”
“I see.” I can’t help but smile. Mother has had several final holidays over the years and I long ago figured out it was her way of ensuring that her family would be there.
“She’s upset that Desi won’t be able to come but you should probably know that she’s also invited David.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh,” William says. “She wants to talk with him about her terminal condition.”
“Of course she does. Did David accept?”
“He did.”
“I don’t know, William. It promises to be a pretty awkward meal if I’m here, too.”
“It will be awkward whether you’re here or not. So please come. I’m going to need someone to help me run interference. And I’ll never hear the end of it if you’re not there.”
“What is she planning on making?” I ask. “The last time Mom made Thanksgiving dinner she served tofurkey that was microwaved into a brick to make sure it was germ free. I’m not a picky eater by any means, but that was disgusting.”
“I promise I’ll make a real turkey,” William says. “And I’m actually a pretty good cook.” He bends down to give Hoover a pat on the head, and his comb-over flops down over his face. “You can bring this little guy,” he adds. He tries to smooth his hair back with his free hand, but instead of lying flat, it sticks up along the middle of his head like a turkey comb. “Please?”
William looks so pathetically adorable that I can’t bring myself to deny him. Besides, I feel kind of guilty given that the whole cancer snafu is my fault. “Fine,” I say with resignation. “What do you want me to bring? Make it something I don’t have to cook because I’m not much better in the kitchen than Mom is.”
“Then why don’t you bring some ice cream?”
“Ice cream I can definitely do,” I tell him.
After agreeing on a time for the upcoming dinner, I grab a handful of baggies and clean up Hoover’s yard deposits. I try to be very thorough but despite my efforts, I suspect that my mother will slash and burn her entire lawn the first chance she gets.
Once I’m done and I’ve washed and alcohol-rubbed my hands into sterility, I reluctantly poke my head into Mother’s bedroom to say hi, but to my relief she is asleep. So after giving William another apology, I bid him good- bye, load Hoover into the car, and head for home.
I’m glad I made the effort to do some actual shopping while I was gone because Izzy is outside when I arrive home and the packages I have to cart inside provide proof of my cover story.
“Did you drum up any business while I was gone?” I ask him, hoping to forestall any questions he might ask about my day. I still feel guilty about lying to him.
“Nope, it was a good day for the living,” he says, petting Hoover, who has jumped out of the car and is now groveling at Izzy’s feet. “Want to join us for dinner? Dom has whipped up some eggplant Parmesan with creme brulee for dessert. And I have some news to share with you.”
Dom’s cooking is exceptional and I rarely pass up an opportunity to indulge. Even Hoover seems to understand the importance of the invite because he has started whining and wagging his tail with great enthusiasm. Though I’m wary of spending too much time around Izzy until all this business with Hurley is resolved, I can’t resist the lure of Dom’s cooking and I’m curious about the news Izzy wants to share.
“You can bring this little guy along,” Izzy adds, giving Hoover a scratch behind his ear.
Hoover looks at me with big, begging eyes, as if he understands.
Realizing I’m outnumbered, I relent. “Okay, just let me take these packages in and we’ll be right over.”
Fifteen minutes later, Hoover and I enter good-smell heaven, lured in by the enticing scents of warm bread, garlic, and butter. I find Izzy at the dining room table, which is already set for the meal.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing toward an empty chair. “Dom said it will be another five minutes or so. Want some wine?”
I nod and let him pour me a glass of chardonnay from the open bottle on the table. I can hear Dom clanging and clinking out in the kitchen and my drool factor increases with anticipation.
“So what’s the news?” I ask.
Izzy chews his lower lip for a second and I sense that his answer is going to be something touchy. “I sent Arnie to a meeting in Madison yesterday,” he starts, “one of several they’ve had recently to discuss the state budget, which is looking rather grim. The primary purpose for yesterday’s meeting was to announce some cuts that will be coming down the line.”
My heart lurches as I realize this news may be far more serious than I thought. “Is my job at risk?”
“Not exactly,” Izzy says cryptically. “You still have your job, but I had to make some compromises in order to assure that.”
“Such as?”
“Your job description has been expanded. Basically it’s been combined with another one in order to make your position more efficient.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, taking a bracing drink of wine. “What’s the second job?”
“It’s a newly created position, one that will incorporate the investigative duties our office already handles with more extensive evidence collection and processing, stuff that the police department mostly handled until now. That’s why I sent Arnie. It seems there have been some recent problems, mostly in the Milwaukee area, with evidence disappearing, or not being labeled correctly, or not getting stored properly, as well as some hints of police misconduct.”
Mention of police misconduct makes me flash on Callie’s diary entry and my current situation with Hurley. I try hard not to look as guilty as I feel.
“As a result,” Izzy continues, “several recent homicide cases had to be dismissed, which is not only a huge miscarriage of justice but more important, at least in the eyes of the government, a huge waste of money.
“So the Department of Justice and the governor got together and came up with a way to address both issues. They’ve decided to create a joint oversight arrangement between the coroners’ offices and the police departments whenever a suspicious death occurs. Instead of being called a deputy coroner, you will now be known as a medicolegal death investigator. Along with the title are some education requirements—several of which you don’t have, but they are willing to train existing personnel who can meet the requirements within a specified time frame.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking it doesn’t sound too terrible. “So how will this impact our day-to-day functions?”
“Well, for one thing it will mean a change in the way we do things. We will be collecting, processing, and storing more of our own evidence, which turns out to be a good thing for us. I managed to convince the number crunchers that it will be timelier and less expensive in the long run to add a few key analyzers to our lab and train our personnel on how to use them than it will be to continue packaging and sending so much of our evidence to the Madison crime lab.”
