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

on the hike. She pulled off her headband and shook her hair out, hoping it wasn’t too frizzy. “I’m Fenway Stevenson. Is anything wrong?”

He smiled easily, showing white teeth, a slightly crooked right front incisor, just enough to be cute. He laughed, and it sounded surprisingly genuine. “Oh, sorry.”

Had he noticed her apprehension? Or had he, like Stotsky the night before, expected the daughter of Nathaniel Ferris to be white?

He cleared his throat. “Did Rob Stotsky mention I came by last night?”

“He did.”

“You’re not in any trouble or anything.” His face grew serious. “I just have some, uh, matters to discuss. Can we go inside?”

Fenway hesitated. “I literally got here last night. I haven’t brought anything in—there’s nowhere to sit. My father said he’d send a couple people to help, but I don’t know when they’ll be here.”

The sheriff shifted from one foot to the other. “How about this—have you had breakfast?”

“Just coffee.”

“You been to Jack and Jill’s?”

“No.”

“I’ll buy you breakfast, and you call your dad to get his people to start unpacking. I bet most of it will be done when we get back.”

She hesitated. “I don’t even know your name.”

“McVie.” He gestured to the name badge on his chest. “Sheriff Craig McVie, at your service.”

Fenway pulled out her phone.

Her father answered on the first ring. “Nathaniel Ferris,” he said gruffly.

“Hi Dad, it’s me.”

His tone brightened. “Fenway! You made it! Did you meet Rob? Did he treat you all right? Listen, I’ve got a few of my guys coming to—”

“Hang on, Dad.” Fenway cut him off. “The sheriff is here. Sheriff McVie.”

“Oh, Craig’s there already?”

“You know him?”

“Sure I do.” His tone grew concerned. “Listen, he’s got to talk to you about something serious. I know you just got in last night, but it’s important.”

“Weren’t we going to talk about setting up some job interviews?”

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

Fenway paused, trying to decipher her father’s words. “What does that mean?”

“Just talk to Craig.”

Fenway glanced up at Sheriff McVie, who was watching her closely. “Really?”

“Craig’s on the up-and-up. Listen, my guys will have your stuff all set up in the apartment by the time you get back. It’s the least I can do.”

“I’d really rather—” Fenway began. She pictured her father rummaging through her stuff. But no, he’d never come in person. Especially to do manual labor. She clicked her tongue. “Sorry. I’d love the help. Getting the place set up sounds great. Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He paused. “Fenway, I know this is awkward. Can we—”

“The sheriff is waiting for me. We can talk later.” Fenway closed her eyes for a moment. She hoped the two of them would never have the conversation about how uncomfortable it was for her to be back in Estancia.

“Sure, sure. Yes, I understand. Hey—Craig’s taking you to Mimosa’s, right?”

“No, Jack and Jill’s.”

“Oh, for the love of—tell him I say to take you to Mimosa’s. They have a fried egg with hazelnuts, chanterelles, green garlic, and blackberries. It’s phenomenal. Jack and Jill’s is just a glorified Denny’s.”

“Sure, Dad.” Fenway’s stomach rumbled; a glorified Denny’s sounded excellent. “Thanks for the help.”

She hung up.

“Everything cool?” asked the sheriff.

“Your choice of breakfast places doesn’t meet with his approval.”

“Aw, crap, did he say Mimosa’s? I hate Mimosa’s. It’s too hoity-toity.”

“He wanted me to get eggs with hazelnuts and blackberries. Oh—and green garlic.” She made a face. “I don’t even know what green garlic is.”

“Garlic that’s jealous it doesn’t get to be in real food.”

Fenway felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “Jack and Jill’s it is, then. I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

Sheriff McVie led the way to the parking lot, where he opened the passenger door of the green-and-white police cruiser for Fenway before hurrying around to the driver’s side.

She ran her hand over the dash. “It’s nice to ride in the front seat of one of these.”

He started the car and glanced over at her. “You’ve ridden in the back?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like a good story.” He reversed out of the parking space, then turned onto the main road, heading the opposite direction from the Coffee Bean.

“It was a long time ago. Maybe not that long ago. I was in college.”

McVie pressed his lips together. “You don’t have an arrest record.”

Fenway looked sideways at McVie. “Oh, my father had you check up on me?”

“Maybe.”

“What I think you’d call a domestic dispute, but it was just my ex-boyfriend showing up at my apartment drunk and yelling at me at three in the morning. And I’m the one who got taken down to the station.”

“But no arrest record.”

“The cop at the station believed me. Said I reminded him of his daughter.”

“So you made up a sob story?”

“Oh, Sheriff, I would never lie to the police.” She smiled as coquettishly as she could.

The sheriff smiled but shook his head ruefully. “I wish my daughter wouldn’t lie to the police. She’s sixteen, and I’ve already caught her lying about her boyfriend. Tell you what—don’t tell me any more details about you and your ex.”

Fenway glanced over. McVie had a band of gold around his left ring finger. She felt a pang of disappointment.

They rode in silence until they arrived at Jack and Jill’s. The restaurant was on a frontage road next to the main highway. It looked like it had started its life out as an IHOP, complete with the telltale A-frame roof. The two of them walked in. The interiors were heavy on maple paneling, like a seventies-era Alpine ski lodge, more appropriate for Hansel and Gretel than Jack and Jill. Fenway looked at the walls and other decorations—not a pail of water or broken crown to be seen.

The smells of bacon and coffee were strong by the front register where they waited. She was glad to be here instead of the green garlic place.

The rosy-cheeked hostess approached. “Two?” she asked, holding up fingers, and the sheriff nodded. She grabbed two menus and seated them by the window.

“Your server will be right with you,” she said, turning away.

Fenway opened the menu and placed her coffee cup right-side up. “So, Sheriff, what did you want to talk about?”

McVie turned his cup over too, but he kept his menu closed. “It’s kind of a delicate matter. And it’s not really breakfast conversation.”

Fenway gave a tight smile. “You’re the one who wanted to discuss this over breakfast. Besides, I have a pretty strong stomach.”

“That’s what your dad told me. You’re a nurse, right?”

The server came up, an ochre-skinned woman of about thirty, her black hair pulled into a severe bun. She took their coffee order and stepped away, nearly bumping into a young white man dressed like McVie.

“Hey, Sheriff,” the man said.

McVie looked up. “Hey, Callahan.”

“The men Mr. Ferris sent need the keys to Miss Ferris’s truck and apartment.”

“Stevenson,” she corrected before fishing the keys out of the pocket of her sweats.

“What?”

“Stevenson,” she repeated. “My mom’s last name. I’m Miss Stevenson, not Miss Ferris.”

“Sorry, Miss Stevenson. I didn’t know.”

“No problem, officer. Tell them thanks. It’s a big help.”

Callahan tipped his imaginary hat in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

“Brian,” the sheriff said, putting an arm up, “I know Mr. Ferris is an important man, but get back on scene as soon as possible, all right?”

Callahan nodded.

The sheriff watched him walk out, then turned back to Fenway. “Where were we?”

“A nurse practitioner,” she said.

McVie tilted his head. “What?”

“You asked if I was a nurse. I’m a nurse practitioner.” She raised her chin slightly. “What was all that about—‘on scene’?”

“It’s—uh, well, it’s why I wanted to talk to you.” He put his hands flat on the table. “Okay.” He smiled. “We have a problem that came up last night, and I think you can help us out because you’re a nurse. Nurse practitioner. Your whole medical background—in the emergency room, and your forensic nursing degree.”

“I’ve got one more class to finish.”

“Even so.”

Fenway studied McVie’s face. Her father’s words from their phone conversation: I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Just talk to Craig.

Before she’d agreed to move, she’d asked her father if he had another motive besides helping her. She kicked herself for falling for his half-truths. Now the most powerful man in the county had gotten the sheriff to do his work for him. And now that Fenway had moved to Estancia, she couldn’t extract herself from the situation. Not