The Reluctant Coroner, Paul Austin Ardoin [comprehension books TXT] 📗

Piper figure out where it was coming from?”

“No.” McVie shook his head. “But not for lack of trying. If we can find Bradley, though, we might be able to find who paid him.”

“I’ve got some information, too.”

“Great. I could use good news.”

“So, it turns out the stolen files might have been taken by Dylan after all. Or at least, he might have had a motive for taking them. The internal investigation at Ferris Energy uncovered that Lana was having an affair with a guy who drove a black pickup.”

“Dylan does go for the older women,” he replied, his voice flat.

“Yeah.” Making McVie think about his wife’s affair with Dylan probably wasn’t the good news he was hoping for, she thought. Fenway plowed past it. “Anyway—Walker wasn’t releasing the files for some reason. It might be that the files have Dylan identified as Lana’s boyfriend, and that’s why he didn’t want the files given to the insurance investigators.”

McVie rubbed his chin. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It might not. In fact, the other guy who died also drove a black pickup. But don’t you think we can check Dylan and Lana’s phone records for the last year or so? If they were having an affair, don’t you think there’d be a record of phone calls, either to each other, or some unknown burner phone if they thought they were playing it smart?”

“Sure.” McVie nodded. “Sure, we can do that. We might be able to check those phone calls between Dylan and Lana as early as tomorrow. And at least it’s a reason to justify keeping Dylan locked up for one more night.”

Fenway thought her idea that McVie was above pettiness might in fact be misplaced.

“Plus,” McVie said, “I think copies of those stolen files might also be on Walker’s laptop.”

“Really? Don’t those get backed up to a shared server or something?”

“Please don’t start on our antiquated data retention policies. That will depress me more.”

“More?”

McVie leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I talked to Amy tonight when I got home. Told her I knew about her and Dylan. She accused me of locking him up out of spite.” He heaved a sigh. “Megan came in and screamed that she hated both of us. It wasn’t pretty. I grabbed a suitcase with a few changes of clothes. Gotta figure out where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“Oh. Oh, Sheriff, I’m so sorry.” Fenway sat down on the concrete next to him with her back against the wall. “That really sucks. Can I do anything?”

“Honestly? I could use a drink.”

“I think I’ve got a couple of beers left. Would that work?”

“Sure.”

He stood up first, and then he helped her up, the biceps in his arms flexing as he pulled her to her feet. She saw his eyes linger on her thighs as her dress rode up her legs slightly.

Oh, Fenway thought, he might be kind of into me too.

Her dress was still riding up, showing a good part of her thighs, and she pulled it down, but not as much as she could have.

She unlocked the door and let them inside. McVie went to the sofa and sat down. She got two beers out of the fridge and walked over to join him. She was aware he was making an effort not to look at her body, but he was only partially succeeding. And, purposefully or not—she wasn’t sure herself—when she gave him his beer, she touched his hand. “Here you go, Craig.” Not Sheriff, and not McVie.

Fenway’s mind was racing. She was running on adrenaline and still buzzing a little bit from the wine at dinner. Well, she thought, it has been two years since I’ve been with anyone. Her mind presented the facts: she had invited a married man in for a drink at almost eleven o’clock on a work night, right after his cheating wife had kicked him out; she just realized he was attracted to her; she had a couple of drinks already in her system; and, by her estimate, Craig was at least fifteen years older than she was. To top it all off, he was the closest thing she had to a supervisor.

But Fenway realized she didn’t really care. Tonight, she might get to feel his body, his muscular arms, and she might get to look in those kind, sorrowful eyes. And tomorrow, Fenway thought, he’ll go to couples’ counseling with his wife, and he’ll think, ‘yeah, you screwed a twentysomething guy, and I found out, but I screwed a twentysomething girl, and you’ll never find out.’ Part of her liked the idea.

She didn’t like the idea of straining their working relationship, however, but they were only going to work together until election day, and then she would get a regular nursing job, wouldn’t she? It might not even be in Estancia. Life is short. At least that’s what she told herself.

“So, what’s going to happen to Lana?” Fenway sat down right next to Craig on the couch and put her hand on his knee. “Doesn’t it depend on if I want to press charges?”

He cleared his throat. “No. It’s pretty cut-and-dried. We have the evidence of Lana’s gun, a bullet fired in the office, and witness testimony. I’m not sure we’d be able to prove intent for attempted murder, so we’ll probably charge her with assault with a deadly weapon.”

Fenway’s brows knitted. “Out in six months? A misdemeanor?”

“Nope.” He shook his head, taking a swig of beer. “One, she assaulted a peace officer, and two, she used a firearm. That’s a felony, and it’s a four-year minimum.”

“I’m not a peace officer.” Fenway scooted back, turning herself sideways until her back was against the arm of the sofa, and folded her legs in front of her. Her calves were touching his leg. She pulled the hem of her dress down a little, but not enough to stop him from looking.

He smiled. “Coroners might not be peace officers in Washington state, but in California they are.”

“So, you’re saying I should send my direct deposit forms to someone else besides Lana?” Fenway smiled, one of her flirty, disarming smiles.

“I’m glad you can laugh about it.”

The conversation changed to music, then his experiences in the sheriff’s academy. Fenway moved forward and sat a little too close to him. Halfway through one of his academy stories, she stretched her bare leg out over his lap. She could feel him tense a little.

“Okay, Fenway.” He set the empty beer down on the coffee table after a few more minutes. “The investigation is going to be going into overdrive tomorrow, so I better head out to a motel.”

She reached out and took his hand. “You don’t have to go, Craig.”

He paused, looking at her hand holding his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t squeeze her hand either. Fenway could feel the seconds ticking away and she could hear her heart beating in her ears.

“Fenway,” he said, “you are smart and beautiful, and you’re also funny and feisty, and I really like the way your mind works. If I were twenty years younger—and single—and if we didn’t work together, I’d definitely take you up on your, um, offer.” He paused for a beat. “But this is such a bad idea for so many reasons.”

“We’ll only be working together until November,” she said, trying to sound casual. “And you might be married, but, you know, turnabout is fair play.”

He flinched a little.

“Sorry,” she said, putting her other hand on his shoulder. “I just meant you don’t need to feel guilty about anything that happens between us tonight.”

“I think if I stayed over, you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

He swallowed. “Tell you what. Let’s put this conversation on pause. When we’re done with this investigation, when I figure out a little better where Amy and I stand, and if you still look at me the way you’ve been looking at me tonight—and not the way you look at me during the day—then we’ll see.”

Fenway squeezed his hand gently. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

“You don’t need to feel sorry. Part of me—a big part of me—feels pretty great you’re hitting on me. But I can’t right now.”

“I understand.”

She sat there a minute, leg still draped on his lap, feeling his resolve crumble. Willing it to.

He shifted in his spot. “We don’t have to make this weird, Fenway,” he said lightly. “Want me to pick you up tomorrow morning?”

“I actually got a car. It’s the silver Accord parked down there.”

He smiled and put his hand on her calf. “Oh. Nice. Good, you needed a car.”

Fenway pulled herself closer to him. “Last chance,” she whispered in his ear. She pressed her body against his. She felt him take a really deep breath, and as he exhaled, the rest of his defenses left his body.

He turned his head and Fenway kissed him. It was slow at first, until he kissed her back. His mouth tasted like beer, and she knew hers did too, but it was a good kiss.

“This is a bad idea,” he murmured.

“I want to do it anyway.” She bit his ear softly, and she pulled him on top of her.

A nagging voice in Fenway’s head kept repeating this is a bad idea, but after being awakened at three o’clock that morning, seeing a truck-sized hole in the wall of her office, getting shot at, viewing the trajectory of a bullet into a dead rapist, and having an awkward dinner with her father—after all of that, Fenway thought spending the night with a man who liked that she was smart and feisty probably