With one phone call, my family descended upon my cottage like the wrath of the Irish and Italian mobs. My sisters arrived first, followed by my parents. The Silverville sheriff came with a tech and took the envelope, promising to get the envelope processed as soon as possible. It didn’t matter. Although both Aiden and I had touched the envelope, Davey had never left a fingerprint, and I was sure he hadn’t started now.
There was no way to trace the cards to him. Not legally, anyway.
Aiden had taken off the second Tessa had arrived, still oddly quiet about the entire situation. It probably did seem weird.
My family and I ate a bunch of food, and we talked about everything except Jareth Davey. While my uncles had tried to find the guy through the years, no doubt Nick had contacts they didn’t. He’d made the offer, and it was time he came through. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with the information, but I needed it.
My parents went home around ten, having to drive fifty miles across the mountain pass, and my sisters stayed the night. We watched old movies and ate too much popcorn, and I only got a couple hours of sleep before I had to go to work.
Thursday was a light day for me with no court, so I dressed in nice jeans and a blue blazer, not really caring what anybody thought. After a cursory check in my office, I left and headed down to the war-room, where I found Nick drawing connecting lines between Aiden Devlin, the Lordes, Melvin Whitaker, and Scot Peterson. Pictures of Randy Taylor and Cheryl Smythers remained to the side.
He finished drawing his last line as I walked in. “I talked to my brother in Silverville and heard about the anniversary card sent to your house.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes clear and bright. Definitely more awake than I was. “I’ve already reached out to contacts in the military and will have a location for you as soon as possible.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out until I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
Nick turned to face me, also wearing jeans and a blazer. Apparently he didn’t have court today, either. “I think you can create a harassment case based on the years involved, but proving Davey has been sending cards is going to be difficult since he hasn’t left prints.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I’ll figure that out once we find him.”
Nick nodded. His phone dinged from the table, and he read a text. “The autopsy is finished on Cheryl Smythers. Do you want to come with me to talk to the coroner?”
I swallowed. “Yes.” No. Definitely no. I’d never been to the morgue, and I was more than happy with that, but it was time to put on my big girl pants and go to work. “You’re driving.” I still wasn’t all that steady after receiving the letter at my home the night before.
We’d already reached his vehicle and driven through town toward the hospital area when he hit me with his next bomb. “I’m thinking of firing all of the attorneys and paralegals in the office.” As if discussing the weather, his voice remained calm and thoughtful.
I jerked. “You can’t fire six lawyers and what? Ten paralegals?”
“Five. There are only five paralegals.” He glanced my way. “You’ll have to help hire new ones.”
I shook my head. “There’s no way we can cover everything in the meantime. Come on.”
He pulled into the back lot of the morgue, which was set away from the brick hospital. “We can push off work to other counties until we’re up and running. Yeah. That’s the plan.”
It was a rotten plan. Especially for the hard-working people who probably had nothing to do with running drugs or whatever else Scot had been involved with. “Fine, but you have to give the existing employees a chance to apply, interview, and possibly be rehired.”
“I can do that.” He tossed his sunglasses on the dash and stepped out into the dewy morning.
Sometimes he was such a butthead. Grumbling to myself, I followed suit, trying to appear okay with the fact that we were about to visit dead people. Or rather, where dead people got cut up. My stomach lurched. I sucked it up and followed Nick through the back door, which he opened by using the weathered keypad next to it.
We walked into a hallway, and he silently led the way to an elevator at the end, passing several closed doors. “You ever been to the morgue?”
“No.” The elevator door opened, and I fought the very real urge to turn and run.
“This is a small one, so it won’t be like you’re in the big city,” he said, pressing the button for LL2. “In other words, there won’t be tons of bodies around. So take a deep breath, and you’ll be fine.” Then he glanced at me, his brown eyes shrewd. “Take a deep breath now. Not down in the morgue.”
I gave him a half-hearted grin at the lame attempt at humor.
When the elevator door opened, I let him take the lead. A clean and rather dark hallway led to a light blue door, which he opened to reveal a locker room. There were cubby holes filled with materials, and he turned and tossed me plastic shoe covers and a mask, which I quickly donned. Then he moved to another blue door and opened it.
The smell of formaldehyde and death hit me instantly. Bleach, too.
In the room, there were three gurneys, all shining and free of bodies. My gaze tore past the counter with scales and other medical equipment to the refrigerators with their square boxes.
Nick tore off his mask, and slowly, I removed mine. “Guess we’re late.” He pointed to another blue door to the north. “That’s where the dead are processed by being fingerprinted, and the x-ray room is beyond that.”
A final blue door opened, and a grizzly man of about eighty limped in, manila files in his hand. He had short white hair and clear brown eyes. “Hey, Nicolo.”
Nick nodded. “Hi, Uncle Bay. This is Anna Albertini. Anna, this is Dr. Bayson Mandi, the county coroner and my uncle.”
