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Authors: Thomas H. Cook
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report, too.”
Serena appeared to brace herself. “What did you find out?”
“He died of a heart attack, Serena,” Kinley said flatly, “and unfortunately, there was nothing in any report to indicate a reason why he was in the canyon.” He shrugged. “As to the files that were taken from his office, I really don’t have any idea about that.”
“All right, then,” Serena said coolly.
Kinley touched her shoulder, “Sorry, but there just wasn’t anything to go on.”
Serena pulled away from him slightly. “I understand.”
“So, the thing is,” Kinley added hesitantly, “I thought I’d just do one more thing.”
Serena looked at him quizzically. “What?”
“Talk to Dr. Stark,” Kinley told her. “Sometimes the written autopsy’s not the whole story, especially in a case like this, where there’d be no reason to look for anything strange. It’s a long shot, but when you talk to people, they remember things.”
Serena smiled appreciatively. “Daddy told me that he wanted you to have something of his,” she said finally. “I have it in my car.” She motioned him forward. “Come with me, I’ll get it.”
Kinley followed her to the car, then stood by silently as she opened the glove compartment and withdrew a thick book. It was a large book.
“It’s in here,” Serena said as she opened it.
Inside, Ray had pressed a small piece of brown forest vine.
Kinley picked it up and held it gently.
“He gave it to me a week ago,” Serena said. “He wanted me to tell you that since you never made it there, he went and got it for you.”
Kinley smiled softly, remembering their first adventure together.
“He never let anything drop,” Serena said.
“No, he didn’t,” Kinley said, his eyes staring with a sudden unexplainable distance at the vine, as if his mind were drawing him away once again, reminding him of the perils of too much feeling. “Ray never forgot anything.”
EIGHT
The coroner of Cherokee County was also one of its oldest citizens. When Kinley had first noticed his signature on the autopsy, he’d doubted it could be the same Dr. Joseph Stark who’d treated his sudden asthmatic attacks as a boy. But as the door to Stark’s office opened, and he saw the old man rise slowly from behind his desk, he instantly recognized the dark eyes that had stared down at him in his youth. They were quiet eyes, but piercing as well, and Kinley had never really forgotten the curious way they’d seemed to watch him distantly from the other end of the long black stethoscope. Now, as the door swung open and Kinley stepped inside the doctor’s office, he realized that they had changed very little. Stark’s hair had gone silver and the skin of his face had slackened and turned pale, but the dark eyes seemed eternal, beyond the grip of time.
“Little Jack Kinley,” the old man said, his voice now trembling slightly, the full lower lip pulled rudely downward at the left, so that Kinley realized that he must still be recovering from a stroke.
“Hello, Dr. Stark,” Kinley said gently as he approached the desk. “It’s good to see you again.”
The eyes widened slightly. “Are you still a sufferer, my boy?”
Kinley looked at him quizzically. “Sufferer?”
“From those terrible attacks you used to have,” Stark explained. “The asthma.”
Kinley shook his head. “No, not anymore. I guess I finally outgrew it.”
Stark looked pleased to hear it. “Not uncommon with that disorder,” he said, “but I’m sure you know that as you grow old, you may come to be afflicted again.” He shrugged softly. “The nature of things. Nothing to be done.” He tried to smile, but the effort seemed to exhaust him. “Nature is not benign. We only like to think it is.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his small hands over his old-fashioned white lab coat. “You are lucky to be alive, my boy,” he said, almost wonderingly. “Do you remember that night?”
“What
Serena appeared to brace herself. “What did you find out?”
“He died of a heart attack, Serena,” Kinley said flatly, “and unfortunately, there was nothing in any report to indicate a reason why he was in the canyon.” He shrugged. “As to the files that were taken from his office, I really don’t have any idea about that.”
“All right, then,” Serena said coolly.
Kinley touched her shoulder, “Sorry, but there just wasn’t anything to go on.”
Serena pulled away from him slightly. “I understand.”
“So, the thing is,” Kinley added hesitantly, “I thought I’d just do one more thing.”
Serena looked at him quizzically. “What?”
“Talk to Dr. Stark,” Kinley told her. “Sometimes the written autopsy’s not the whole story, especially in a case like this, where there’d be no reason to look for anything strange. It’s a long shot, but when you talk to people, they remember things.”
Serena smiled appreciatively. “Daddy told me that he wanted you to have something of his,” she said finally. “I have it in my car.” She motioned him forward. “Come with me, I’ll get it.”
Kinley followed her to the car, then stood by silently as she opened the glove compartment and withdrew a thick book. It was a large book.
“It’s in here,” Serena said as she opened it.
Inside, Ray had pressed a small piece of brown forest vine.
Kinley picked it up and held it gently.
“He gave it to me a week ago,” Serena said. “He wanted me to tell you that since you never made it there, he went and got it for you.”
Kinley smiled softly, remembering their first adventure together.
“He never let anything drop,” Serena said.
“No, he didn’t,” Kinley said, his eyes staring with a sudden unexplainable distance at the vine, as if his mind were drawing him away once again, reminding him of the perils of too much feeling. “Ray never forgot anything.”
EIGHT
The coroner of Cherokee County was also one of its oldest citizens. When Kinley had first noticed his signature on the autopsy, he’d doubted it could be the same Dr. Joseph Stark who’d treated his sudden asthmatic attacks as a boy. But as the door to Stark’s office opened, and he saw the old man rise slowly from behind his desk, he instantly recognized the dark eyes that had stared down at him in his youth. They were quiet eyes, but piercing as well, and Kinley had never really forgotten the curious way they’d seemed to watch him distantly from the other end of the long black stethoscope. Now, as the door swung open and Kinley stepped inside the doctor’s office, he realized that they had changed very little. Stark’s hair had gone silver and the skin of his face had slackened and turned pale, but the dark eyes seemed eternal, beyond the grip of time.
“Little Jack Kinley,” the old man said, his voice now trembling slightly, the full lower lip pulled rudely downward at the left, so that Kinley realized that he must still be recovering from a stroke.
“Hello, Dr. Stark,” Kinley said gently as he approached the desk. “It’s good to see you again.”
The eyes widened slightly. “Are you still a sufferer, my boy?”
Kinley looked at him quizzically. “Sufferer?”
“From those terrible attacks you used to have,” Stark explained. “The asthma.”
Kinley shook his head. “No, not anymore. I guess I finally outgrew it.”
Stark looked pleased to hear it. “Not uncommon with that disorder,” he said, “but I’m sure you know that as you grow old, you may come to be afflicted again.” He shrugged softly. “The nature of things. Nothing to be done.” He tried to smile, but the effort seemed to exhaust him. “Nature is not benign. We only like to think it is.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his small hands over his old-fashioned white lab coat. “You are lucky to be alive, my boy,” he said, almost wonderingly. “Do you remember that night?”
“What
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