My stomach did another long, slow somersault. “So ... where did we land on the mental health thing again?”
Fish’s chuckle was low and hearty. “I think he’s relatively sane. Taking you on full time seems to be something only a crazy person would attempt, but he’s managed to tip toe through the minefield that is your brain longer than I thought he would. He’s a good match for you.”
I wasn’t expecting the heartfelt words or his earnestness. Somehow, that made it worse. “Okay, I don’t want ... whatever this is.” I hopped to my feet and gestured toward the empty space between Fish and MacDonald. “I’m pretty sure Eliot changed his mind. It’s not going to happen. He was just feeling schmaltzy in the moment because he’d convinced himself that my life was in terrible danger.”
Fish exchanged a knowing look with MacDonald. “I guess this is why he gave you a heads-up weeks before he pulled the trigger. It only further proves that he understands you on a level nobody else can. He knew exactly what to do.”
“How is this a good thing?” I was beside myself. “I think he’s trying to see if he can drive me insane. Then, when I completely lose it, he’ll have me committed and move some other woman into my house and throw away all my Star Wars stuff.”
Fish’s grin widened. “Yes, he definitely knows you.”
I was over this conversation. “And, on that note ....” I started to move toward the hallway. Sitting at my desk and researching proposal-induced aneurysms was preferable to this.
“I actually came back here for a reason,” Fish called to my back, causing me to slow my pace.
I cast a look over my shoulder. “Something other than driving me insane?”
“I’m pretty sure you’re acting as your own chauffeur on that front.” His smirk never diminished. “I have a story for you.”
“What story?” I would take practically anything at this point. Well, within reason. I had no interest in anything popping up out of the senior center or some school fundraiser fluff piece. Human interest stories were out of the question, too.
“They found a body at the train tracks on Groesbeck. We don’t have much information now — it’s most likely a homeless person. Somebody needs to check it out. You’ve already finished your morning piece, so … ”
Normally, this wouldn’t be the sort of story to pique my interest. I was more than happy to embrace it today, though. “I’m your woman.”
“You’re Eliot Kane’s woman,” Fish countered. “I’m looking forward to seeing what sort of ring he puts on that finger to mark his territory.”
That did it. I was at the end of my freaking rope. “I’m heading out on my story now.”
“Have fun.”
“And congratulations,” MacDonald called out as I hit the adjacent hallway. “You’re going to make a lovely bride.”
Seriously, could my life get any worse?
2 Two
The brisk wind made me pull my coat tight when I exited my car. I had parked behind the empty factory next to the lot where the sheriff’s department had taken up position because I worried they would try to block me from leaving should I tick somebody off.
The sky was a flat gray, a color that would be the norm for the next few months. Winters in southeast Michigan are a mixed bag. Snow was still a reality, but climate change had brought fewer snow dumps in recent years and replaced them with ice storms. That was both a blessing and a curse, depending on if you had to be out on the roads immediately following a storm. The sun would be a limited commodity until March.
I cut along a path that separated the back of the property from the train tracks, wrinkling my nose as I passed a dumpster that should’ve been empty. The factory had closed the year before and moved operations to countries with less expensive labor. Whatever was rotting in the dumpster hadn’t come from the factory.
I lifted the lid on a whim. I had to stand on my tiptoes to look over the rim to see if there was a body inside. The rancid stench wasn’t from human decomposition. It looked as if nearby neighbors — if I had to guess, the people living in the ramshackle apartments across the road — were using the dumpster as free trash removal. Garbage bags, rotting food and what looked to be a few needles were clearly visible.
“Looking for a new place to live?” an amused voice asked from behind me, causing me to jump.
I shot a dirty look toward my cousin Derrick, one of the highest-ranking deputies with the Macomb County Sheriff’s Department, as I lowered the lid. “Ha, ha.”
His grin didn’t falter as he folded his arms across his chest. “What are you doing?”
“It smelled.”
He waited, and when I didn’t offer further explanation, he cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a dumpster. They all smell.”
“Yes, but this smelled potentially evil,” I replied. “I thought there might be a body in it ... or maybe a door to an alternate world.”
“So ... Trashtopia instead of Narnia?”
“Something like that.” I fished in my pocket for my mittens — they were shaped like shark heads and I did perform puppet shows for my boss when he gave me assignments I wasn’t keen to embrace. “What do you have?”
Derrick looked me up and down. We’d grown up together. He was essentially my best friend — along with the sheriff, Jake Farrell, of course — when I was navigating those tempestuous teen years. He knew me better than most, which made him dangerous to be around right now. Given the way my
