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Authors: Annette Blair
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couldn’t do this alone,” he admitted.
“Do what alone?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Identify Mom’s body.”
Higgins turned in his seat, his face a mask of concern. “Young Mr. DeLong needs a friend. Everybody else in his life right now wants something. He needs someone willing to give rather than take.”
“I’m here for you, Kyle,” I said, squeezing his arm.
“Let’s go inside,” Nick said. “Higgins, thanks for putting Kyle’s situation into perspective for us.”
“Thank you,” Kyle said, speaking to everyone but no one.
One by one, we were given IDs in a sterile, nondescript lobby, and when the elevator doors closed us in, Nick took me in his arms. “Prepare yourself, ladybug. You, too, Kyle.”
“What’s a forensics morgue?” I asked, never having heard the distinction. Nick examined the toes of his dress shoes and slipped a hand in one pocket. “Let’s just say that Dominique would be in a regular morgue, if the law didn’t think she died under mysterious circumstances.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
With every floor the elevator climbed came a stronger smell of disinfectant. We got out on the sixth floor where no amount of the stuff would be able to cover the smell of death.
Kyle began to pace the length of the mahogany-trim waiting room, circa 1930. Hands behind his back, he was so focused on the black-and-white floor tiles, he seemed to forget our existence.
“Kyle,” I said. “Why didn’t you identify your mom last night?”
He closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me, his body wracked with one tightly wound shiver. “That would have made it real.”
I had no control over the sob that rose in me.
Maybe I was older than him, after all. On the other hand, maybe when we lose our mother, we’re all ten years old inside.
“Jaconetti?” a suit across the room called. “Is that you? I heard you were in town today.”
A couple of men in FBI-type suits came to shake Nick’s hand. “Did the Bureau send you?” a fed with a buzz cut asked.
Nick performed the introductions, but I was so freaked at being in a forensics morgue, Dom’s body stiff and cold nearby, I keyed into Kyle’s fear of making it real. Foul play had contributed to Dominique’s death, I thought, absorbing the info, maybe for the first time, and as I did, I saw her switching those jars. Why?
Then I realized the intros were over and I had no names to put with faces. So I examined Nick’s cronies, specifically their hair, or their lack thereof, and dubbed them Buzz and Shinola.
“DeLong,” Buzz said to Kyle. “So you’re family? My condolences. We’re looking into the lost diamonds. The boys in blue over there are investigating cause of death. Don’t worry. We’ll compare notes.”
Hah. I knew from Nick and Werner that these two diverse arms of the law both wanted to come out on top. Both wanted to be the ones who solved the case. In other words, they wouldn’t like sharing info, and there would be no fraternizing without persuasion. Nick gave me a reassuring look. I gave him a trusting nod.
A woman in medical whites came out and motioned Kyle forward. He hesitated, looked back at me, and I took his arm to accompany him into a smaller office. When we got there, Nick came up beside us.
Eve waved through the glass from beside the elevator. I didn’t blame her for standing as far back as she could.
The assistant medical examiner, according to her badge, showed us a photograph that I didn’t at first recognize.
When I did, I found myself floaty and leaning hard into Nick at my back, his hands tight on my arms. He squeezed them harder and harder. The uncomfortable constriction was the only thing that kept me from passing out. Smart fed.
“Can we have a glass of water over here?” he asked.
Man, he knew me well.
Even as I sipped the water, I tried to talk myself out of floating to the floor in blessed oblivion. This is not about you, Cutler, I told
“Do what alone?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Identify Mom’s body.”
Higgins turned in his seat, his face a mask of concern. “Young Mr. DeLong needs a friend. Everybody else in his life right now wants something. He needs someone willing to give rather than take.”
“I’m here for you, Kyle,” I said, squeezing his arm.
“Let’s go inside,” Nick said. “Higgins, thanks for putting Kyle’s situation into perspective for us.”
“Thank you,” Kyle said, speaking to everyone but no one.
One by one, we were given IDs in a sterile, nondescript lobby, and when the elevator doors closed us in, Nick took me in his arms. “Prepare yourself, ladybug. You, too, Kyle.”
“What’s a forensics morgue?” I asked, never having heard the distinction. Nick examined the toes of his dress shoes and slipped a hand in one pocket. “Let’s just say that Dominique would be in a regular morgue, if the law didn’t think she died under mysterious circumstances.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
With every floor the elevator climbed came a stronger smell of disinfectant. We got out on the sixth floor where no amount of the stuff would be able to cover the smell of death.
Kyle began to pace the length of the mahogany-trim waiting room, circa 1930. Hands behind his back, he was so focused on the black-and-white floor tiles, he seemed to forget our existence.
“Kyle,” I said. “Why didn’t you identify your mom last night?”
He closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me, his body wracked with one tightly wound shiver. “That would have made it real.”
I had no control over the sob that rose in me.
Maybe I was older than him, after all. On the other hand, maybe when we lose our mother, we’re all ten years old inside.
“Jaconetti?” a suit across the room called. “Is that you? I heard you were in town today.”
A couple of men in FBI-type suits came to shake Nick’s hand. “Did the Bureau send you?” a fed with a buzz cut asked.
Nick performed the introductions, but I was so freaked at being in a forensics morgue, Dom’s body stiff and cold nearby, I keyed into Kyle’s fear of making it real. Foul play had contributed to Dominique’s death, I thought, absorbing the info, maybe for the first time, and as I did, I saw her switching those jars. Why?
Then I realized the intros were over and I had no names to put with faces. So I examined Nick’s cronies, specifically their hair, or their lack thereof, and dubbed them Buzz and Shinola.
“DeLong,” Buzz said to Kyle. “So you’re family? My condolences. We’re looking into the lost diamonds. The boys in blue over there are investigating cause of death. Don’t worry. We’ll compare notes.”
Hah. I knew from Nick and Werner that these two diverse arms of the law both wanted to come out on top. Both wanted to be the ones who solved the case. In other words, they wouldn’t like sharing info, and there would be no fraternizing without persuasion. Nick gave me a reassuring look. I gave him a trusting nod.
A woman in medical whites came out and motioned Kyle forward. He hesitated, looked back at me, and I took his arm to accompany him into a smaller office. When we got there, Nick came up beside us.
Eve waved through the glass from beside the elevator. I didn’t blame her for standing as far back as she could.
The assistant medical examiner, according to her badge, showed us a photograph that I didn’t at first recognize.
When I did, I found myself floaty and leaning hard into Nick at my back, his hands tight on my arms. He squeezed them harder and harder. The uncomfortable constriction was the only thing that kept me from passing out. Smart fed.
“Can we have a glass of water over here?” he asked.
Man, he knew me well.
Even as I sipped the water, I tried to talk myself out of floating to the floor in blessed oblivion. This is not about you, Cutler, I told
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