The sexy siren she’d seen in the garden just now was a far cry from the demure, steadfast woman who’d served her tea and cookies on the front porch, who’d cooked and cleaned and tended to Dr. Nance’s every need for nearly thirty years without ever once complaining.
Nikki tried to cut her some slack. Everyone grieved in his or her own way. Dr. Nance would probably be the first to applaud Dessie for getting on with her life.
But what about this Clete person’s claim that the house was now Dessie’s to do with as she pleased? How did either of them know the provisions of Dr. Nance’s will?
This is none of your business, Nikki.
It was and it wasn’t. Dessie’s love life might be off-limits, but as the Nance County coroner, she had an obligation to gather as much information as she could before reaching a conclusion as to the cause of death. Dr. Nance’s journal might be invaluable in determining his frame of mind, but there was a proper way to go about obtaining it. For all she knew, the journal might already be in police custody.
Nikki told herself to turn around and head back home. Dessie had done nothing wrong. She was entitled to her privacy. Entitled to mourn Dr. Nance’s death or celebrate his life in any way she saw fit.
Instead of retreating, Nikki turned to sweep her gaze over the street and the neighboring houses before cutting across the grass to the end of the porch. The blinds in Dr. Nance’s study hadn’t been drawn all the way, giving her a glimpse inside. It was just as she remembered. So nostalgically familiar, she almost expected to see Dr. Nance seated behind his desk, surrounded by his books and keepsakes.
Nikki glanced away as a fresh wave of grief washed over her. She had no right to be here, but she needed to be here.
She tried the latches on the French doors, not surprised to find one of them unlocked. Despite his affluence and position, Dr. Nance had never been a stickler for security. He’d always seen the best in people.
Slipping inside, Nikki stood with eyes closed as she drew in the familiar scents of leather, furniture polish and the ubiquitous undercurrent of peppermint.
From inside the study, she could barely hear the music outside. She couldn’t hear voices at all, or the subtle lap of water against the pool steps. She was grateful for the silence. She didn’t need that image in her head.
Moving silently across the room, she scanned the bookshelves, appreciative as always of the variety of her mentor’s reading material. A few of his favorites had been grouped separately from the others. Perusing those titles was bittersweet. They were some of Nikki’s favorites, too. She and Dr. Nance had shared a love of reading, particularly the classics. She’d always admired his insatiable curiosity. No matter his age or success, he’d never tired of learning.
She left the books and moved to the rear window to glance out. She could glimpse the garden and part of the pool from that vantage, but she didn’t see Dessie or her companion. She could no longer hear the music, either. Her gaze lifted to the darkened garage apartment. Maybe they’d gone upstairs.
Turning away from the window, she hurried to the desk, checking the drawers and then the credenza, but the journal was nowhere to be found. Maybe it was in Dr. Nance’s bedroom or his office at the clinic. She’d check with Dr. Wingate first thing Monday morning.
Heading for the French doors, she stopped in her tracks and slowly turned back to the bookshelves. One of the titles in Dr. Nance’s favorites pile suddenly leaped out at her: The Old Man and the Sea.
He’d lent her a paperback edition not long after her mother had left town. Nikki had finished the book in two nights and then they’d sat out on the front porch discussing the themes and motifs. Truth be told, she’d been a little bored by the story and had paid scant attention then to the life lesson Dr. Nance had intended to instill. Later, especially in med school, she’d understood only too well the importance of never giving up in the face of defeat.
As the memories flooded over her, she retraced her steps across the room and plucked the thin novel from the shelf, glancing through the pages and then reading a passage here and there until something else came back to her. Something that had been nipping at the fringes of her memory. Now she flashed back to their final conversation when she’d run into Dr. Nance unexpectedly in town. What was it he’d said to her about his upcoming fishing trip?
Sure you won’t humor an old man and come with me? This time next week we can be out to sea, not a care between us. Might even go out deep enough to catch a big blue.
A big blue. A marlin. The fish from Hemingway’s tale.
Nikki’s heart thudded as she thumbed back through the pages. Had Dr. Nance left a clue for her?
She took the book over to the lamplight and sat down behind the desk, examining the worn binding carefully. A tiny piece of paper had been stuffed up in the spine.
Voices sounded nearby and she rose to check out the window before realizing someone was coming down the hallway toward the study. She only had time to grab the book and dive underneath the desk before the door opened and someone came inside.
“I told you, Clete. I’ve been all through this room. It’s not here.”
“I know what you said, babe, and I believe you. But another set of eyes can’t hurt.”
“I just feel bad, pawing through
