The waiting room, dotted with folding chairs, appeared quiet and empty. Someone had painted snowmen on the windows, and Christmas music filtered through invisible speakers. Nancy Phylets looked up from the reception counter and smiled, her red lipstick bright and cheerful. The woman was in her early thirties, smart, and frighteningly efficient, even with a swollen belly, which would be her fourth baby. Probably her fourth son. “Sheriff. It’s good to see you.”
He sighed.
Ophelia moved forward, lifting her badge from her chest with the chain. “I’m?—”
“Olly Spilazi, FBI,” Nancy said, tapping papers smoothly into a manila file, her black hair in a no-nonsense bun. “You’re sure a pretty one. Look just like that Angie Harmon from that lawyer show. Are you Italian?”
“Yes.” Ophelia tucked the badge away. “I’d like to see Wyatt Yankovich, if I could. What’s his status?”
Nancy leaned forward, her dark eyes wide. “He’s lost his mind. Is babbling something about a knife and blood. It’s so weird. Doc is checking to see if he hit his head or something.”
Ophelia straightened. “Knife and blood? Anything else?”
“Not that I know,” Nancy said.
“Any frostbite?” Brock asked.
Nancy nodded. “Oh, yeah. We have him on a drip with hands and feet already wrapped.”
Brock winced. “How bad is the tissue damage?”
Nancy shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Doc.” Metal file cabinets lined the wall behind her with potted plants spread across the tops, and she turned toward an open doorway to her left to yell. “Doc? Sheriff and the FBI lady are here.”
“I’m not the sheriff,” Brock said.
“Sure, you are. We elected you.” Nancy rolled her eyes. “Bobby said you need to stop being a dork and just take the job.”She smiled at Ophelia. “Bobby is my husband, and he and Brock played hockey together in high school. I headed the drama club, and I got the two of them to act in Macbeth. I’ll bring you some pictures. It’s hilarious.”
Ophelia blinked. “Sure.”
Oh, man. Brock subtly shook his head at Nancy. He and Ophelia were not dating, and he didn’t need to be fixed up. Nancy’s eyes sparkled, but she held her tongue. He’d sigh again, but why bother? “This way.” He gestured Ophelia toward the open doorway and followed her through. The long hallway led to several examination rooms and one trauma center. “Doc?” he called out.
Just what had Wyatt seen?
Ophelia followedBrock down the hallway and stopped short as a woman emerged from one of the examination rooms, her blond hair in a ponytail and oval-shaped glasses covering her blue eyes. She wore aqua-blue scrubs over a white turtleneck. A stethoscope hung around her neck. “What is all the yelling about?”
“Hey, Doc,” Brock said. “This is Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi from the FBI.”
Ophelia stepped forward and held out a hand for a firm shake. “Hi.” All right. She’d stereotyped, figuring Doc would be a grizzly old guy with a grumpy nature and a heart of gold. This woman looked to be in her early thirties with intelligent eyes and stylish boots lined with fur. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you. My full name, which nobody seems to remember, even though I’ve only been in town since September, is May Smirnov.”
Ophelia tilted her head. “You’re new to town?”
“She saved us,” Brock said. “We’ve had a series of rotating doctors for a few years, and not one of them has wanted to stay because of the weather. Doc here signed a three year contract.”
The doctor nodded. “The signing bonus was a great temptation, and I always wanted to work in a more rural area as a full family practice. I love the snow and quiet.” The doctor looked beyond Ophelia to Brock. “Why did you miss poker night last week? My wallet is light, and I wanted a knit hat from that new store in Anchorage. Now I’ll miss the next supply plane.”
Brock snorted. “If I remember right, Smitty won the pot the week before.”
Smirnov pressed her pink lips together, the light in her eyes dancing. “I don’t know how, but I think he cheated.” She rolled back on her heels and stuck her hands into the pockets of her scrubs.
Just how close was Brock with the pretty doctor? Ophelia ignored a totally irrational spurt of curiosity and cleared her throat. “How is Mr. Yankovich?”
The doctor winced. “Are you asking in an official capacity?”
“Yes,” Ophelia said. Hopefully, the doctor wouldn’t require a warrant before giving her information.
Dr. Smirnov shrugged. “Fair enough since the sheriff is with you. Wyatt has frostbite on his extremities, and it’s too early to tell if I’ll be able to save his fingers. We’ve wrapped all injured skin and are administering an IV with a tissue plasminogen activator. We’ll see from there. I’ve provided him pain medication, and he’s currently resting in relative comfort.”
