The Reluctant Coroner, Paul Austin Ardoin [comprehension books TXT] 📗
- Author: Paul Austin Ardoin
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Fenway could feel her blood pressure rise but breathed evenly, in for the count of ten, out for the count of ten, then looked up at Dr. Klein.
He stared back at her.
The seconds ticked by.
Klein leaned forward, fuming. “Are you going to answer the question?”
“You’ve asked no question,” Fenway said. “It sounds like you’re making a campaign speech, but you haven’t asked me a single question since you inquired whether Seattle University was in Seattle.”
“Watch yourself,” Klein said. “Disrespect to the board won’t be—”
“Ask a damn question, Barry,” Mayor Jenkins said. “And watch your tone.”
Barry Klein glared at the mayor, then cleared his throat.
“How can you assure us that you won’t be prioritizing your father’s corporate interests over the needs of the county?”
Fenway sat up straight. “Nathaniel Ferris and I have barely spoken more than a couple of times a year for the last two decades,” she said.
“I don’t believe that,” Klein interrupted.
“Check phone records, email records, whatever you want. In fact, if you have so many concerns, Dr. Klein, I’m surprised you haven’t done so already. I’ve had less exposure to the ‘Nathaniel Ferris agenda’ than any other person in Dominguez County.”
Klein turned to the other supervisors. “This is ridiculous. We cannot allow Nathaniel Ferris to make a laughingstock of our county government. I don’t care what she says. She moved into one of his apartment buildings. She probably still gets an allowance.”
Fenway crossed her arms. I didn’t see a dime.
“You should take the job instead, Dr. Klein,” Fenway said.
Klein’s head whipped around. “We’re not talking to you.”
“You obviously want it,” Fenway continued. “I heard they offered it to you first. Take it. The only reason I’m being offered this appointment is because you said no.”
Could Barry Klein have anything to do with Walker’s murder? Maybe he wanted Walker out of the way but didn’t think things through? No, that didn’t make sense. Now, if it were Nathaniel Ferris dead, Klein would be the prime suspect.
“Some of us have obligations to our patients and shareholders,” Klein hissed.
“I bet you could work it out,” Fenway said. “You plan to run for coroner in November anyway. Just work two full-time jobs until you can get out of your practice. Hell, I worked two full-time jobs and got my associate’s degree.”
Fenway turned her head to McVie. His eyes were wide.
“Well, Barry?” Mayor Jenkins asked.
“You know I can’t take the position now, Alice.”
“Got anyone else in mind who’d accept? Or are you just trying to embarrass Miss Stevenson?”
Klein was silent.
“Thank you, Dr. Klein,” Mayor Jenkins said firmly. “Miss Stevenson, thank you for your time and your candor.” She hesitated. “I apologize for misspelling your name. We should have caught that mistake. It wasn’t professional.”
Fenway tapped the nameplate in front of her. “You got my last name correct. That’s more than most people around here.”
“Oh, please,” Dr. Klein muttered under his breath.
“You’re excused, Miss Stevenson,” Mayor Jenkins said. “Sheriff, let’s chat for a bit before we adjourn.”
“I appreciate the opportunity.” Fenway bent her head, halfway between a nod and a bow. She stood up and turned to McVie.
McVie sat back in his seat, shoulders slumped, eyes wide. He looked up at Fenway. “That wasn’t what I expected.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare.”
She walked out of the chamber. Part of her was terrified at what she’d just said, but part of her was glad she’d claimed her space.
And then it hit her.
Her mother’s cypress tree painting.
It was clear in her mind now. A four-foot-wide by two-foot-high canvas her mother had hung in her bedroom above the dresser.
She’d never had a favorite painting of her mother’s because most of the ones Fenway got attached to had been sold. This painting was striking, sure, but Fenway had assumed it was of a location on the Olympic Peninsula, or maybe down farther, where the Columbia empties into the Pacific. It never crossed her mind that the landscape would be in California. In Estancia.
Her mother hadn’t sold it. A few buyers had been interested, but they always bought another painting instead. Maybe her mother had liked that painting. Maybe no matter how bad it had been for her mother in California, inspiration and hope were never far away. Her mother had found a beautiful spot overlooking the ocean, near a butterfly grove, around the corner from a coffee shop, and she had made it hers, even from a thousand miles away.
After buying a mediocre latte at the coffee cart in the lobby, Fenway walked around the ground floor of City Hall, killing time until the sheriff came out of the supervisors’ meeting. She’d pushed against Barry Klein hard, and maybe her father would have to introduce her to hospital HR teams after all.
She meandered past the City Attorney’s office, the County Clerk and Recorder’s office, and then saw McVie waving to her as he exited the chambers and walked toward her.
“I’ve never seen Barry Klein that speechless in a meeting before,” McVie chortled. “Congratulations, Coroner Stevenson,” he said warmly. “It’s official.”
Fenway grinned and pulled him into an excited hug. She wondered if she held on for a beat too long before they broke apart. “I thought I pushed back a little too hard.”
“Honestly, that had me worried. But they loved it. Klein’s been a thorn in their side for years. When do you want to start?”
“How about now?”
“Done. Let’s go over to the coroner’s suite.”
“Oh—actually, Sheriff, do you think I could see the murder scene?”
McVie’s eyes widened. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. There’s some paperwork for you to fill out. I-9 forms, insurance beneficiary information, that kind of thing.”
“That’s all going to be here when we get back, isn’t it? I mean, no one’s expecting us right now.”
“I did tell HR we’d be done this morning.”
Fenway tapped her foot. “It’s not even eight thirty yet. I bet we can be back here by nine thirty.”
“It’s a good half-hour drive.”
“Eleven o’clock, then.”
“I think HR wanted to do paperwork first thing.”
Fenway tilted her head. “Is this or is this not my investigation, Sheriff?”
“No, you’re right.” He shook his head. “But I don’t know what you’re going to find that the Park Police didn’t already bag up and ship to the lab in San Miguelito.”
Even after stopping for another latte—this time a decent one from Java Jim’s at the Highway 326 exit—they made it to the crime scene by nine. The cruiser pulled onto the shoulder, and Fenway got out of the car.
“His body was found about fifty feet past that ironwood up there,” McVie said, pointing. “We’ve taken down the tape, so anyone could have walked on it by now.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Except for the body? No casings or anything. Killer might have picked them up. Or they might be lost in the grass or down the ravine.”
Fenway nodded. She walked slowly toward the ironwood, scanning the ground.
“Body was found face down?”
“Yeah.”
“Which way was his head?”
McVie paused. “What do you mean?”
“Which way was he facing when he fell? Toward traffic or away from it?”
“Oh. I don’t know. You’ll have to get Dr. Yasuda to give you the report.”
Fenway nodded. Past the ironwood, fifty feet.
She scanned the ground. No one would ever be able to tell there’d been a dead body here.
Tire tracks came off the road onto the shoulder, were heavier in a spot about twenty feet in front of where the body was found, and then went back
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