“I know his death was natural, but let’s face it,” she told the oversized man in the overpriced suit. “Franklin was a well-loved public figure. He appeared to be improving and then wasn’t. I don’t doubt that everything humanly possible was done, but by keeping the investigation ‘in-house,’ as you put it, questions could arise. For the sake of the hospital, don’t you want to avoid even the appearance of impropriety?”
After much thought, he’d agreed, making it sound like having the coroner’s office take over had been all his idea.
The hinges on the barn door creaked. A cold gust of wind sent dust and stray bits of hay scurrying down the aisle and brought Zoe back to the present. Pete slipped in, closing the door behind him. “You about done out here?”
She’d been “done” for at least a half hour. “Almost.” She fingered a tangled knot in Windstar’s mane.
Pete appeared outside the stall and leaned against one of the support posts he’d put in shortly after Kimberly had gifted Zoe with the abandoned farm. “How long will you be?”
Zoe didn’t answer.
“Should I go ahead and order the pizza? They usually have it ready for pickup in twenty minutes.”
She gave up on the knot. “I’m not hungry.”
“I know.”
The blissful illusion of isolation crumbled.
Franklin was dead.
Doc would do the autopsy in the morning. The last autopsy Franklin would be present for. Ever. But this time he wouldn’t be cracking jokes, making distasteful comments, all the things people surrounded by death on a daily basis did to keep from getting too drawn in. From risking the crushing sadness of a personal attachment.
Pete was suddenly inside the stall with her, enveloping her in his arms. The tears had started flowing unbidden, without her being aware of them. Safe in his embrace, she wept, body-racking sobs that rose from the base of her soul.
Franklin was dead.
She had no idea how long she cried. Pete half carried her from the stall, lowered her onto a bale of hay in the aisle, and sat beside her, continuing to hold her.
Memories steamrolled over her. Franklin’s offer to make her a deputy coroner. His insistence that she attend autopsies when all she wanted was to be like the crime scene investigators on TV. How he’d helped her investigate when “helping” meant turning a blind eye to her actions lest they both get in trouble. The joy he and Doc took in pushing her to do more than her stomach could tolerate. The pride she saw in his eyes when she overcame her aversion to the smells of the morgue.
He’d grown from a boss and good-natured tormentor to a mentor and a friend. And now…
Franklin was dead.
The sobs diminished to silent weeping and finally to slow, ragged breaths as she fought to regain her composure.
“So…” Pete said, dragging out the word. “Tell me what’s going on with Abby and Seth.”
Zoe sniffed and drew back from Pete’s shoulder. “You suck at trying to get my mind off the situation.”
He gave her his lopsided grin. “I’m working on it.” The grin faded. “Seriously. What’s going on with my officers?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. And finally said, “Seth’s cheating on Abby.”
“What?”
“I’m probably overstating the situation. Abby told me Seth needed more space. Nancy’s the one who told me Abby’d caught him cozying up with another woman.”
“Nancy,” Pete muttered. “She didn’t tell me any of this.”
“She’s mad as hell at him, but she’s also a mother hen at heart. She didn’t want you kicking Seth’s ass.”
“His ass needs a good kicking.”
“Beating the crap out of Seth isn’t gonna help Abby.”
“What do you suggest?”
Zoe let her head drop against the stall wall behind her and thought. “Talk to him. Man to man. I thought he and Abby had a good thing going. The real thing.” She glanced at Pete. “You know. Like us.” She shifted her gaze to the lame mare in the stall across from them. Lame but happy in her retirement, munching her hay. “They’re both young. Maybe Seth isn’t ready for a long-term relationship. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s better for Abby to find out now rather than after she’s paid for a wedding dress.”
Pete grunted. “This is why couples shouldn’t work together.”
Zoe turned her head toward him. “We work together.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.”
He was right. They didn’t spend entire shifts together and then try to eke out a romantic relationship on their off time. “They might be spending too much time together,” she said. “Maybe separate shifts will help their personal situation.”
“Either way, I have to split them up. Even if they make amends, I won’t have them working the same shift again.”
“And you’ll talk to Seth?”
“I’ll catch him tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Zoe echoed, immediately transported back to the grim reality of what was on her plate. She looked into Pete’s icy blues. “I’ll trade you.”
He pulled her closer again. “Not a chance.” After a long silence, he added, “Franklin needs you to be there. He trusted you above anyone else to take over his office.” Another pause. “He trusts you to make sure his death is handled professionally and with dignity.” Trusts. Present tense. “And if anything was mishandled in his treatment at the hospital, he trusts you to find the truth.”
Another hard dose of reality. She’d lied to the oversized man in the oversized suit about believing the hospital bore no responsibility for Franklin’s death. His second heart attack raised a flock of red flags in her mind. Especially since it
