“Hi,” Ophelia said, walking toward him. “I’d like to see the doctor.”
He glanced at the screen in front of him and nodded. “She’ll be free in a couple of minutes. But if you’re here for an appointment, I’ll need you to fill out a new patient form.”
“I’m here on business.” She debated whether to flash her badge.
“Oh. In that case, you can head straight back.” Lance gestured toward a door to the right of the desk. “Go all the way down the hallway to the last door on the right. She’s in there eating lunch.”
Ophelia hesitated for a moment before nodding. So informal. “Thanks.”
She walked down the hallway, passing two examination rooms and a couple of closed doors until she reached the last open doorway. She knocked lightly on the frame.
May looked up from reading her tablet, a half-eaten sandwich resting on a brown paper bag next to her keyboard. “Ophelia. Come on in.”
Ophelia stepped inside and sat in one of the guest chairs, which matched the green leather ones in the reception area. May’s blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her smudged glasses framed sharp blue eyes. Her lab coat hung neatly on a hook by the door, and she wore a thick white sweater over jeans.
“I like your office,” Ophelia said, glancing around. A large window framed snow-laden trees, while a credenza held framed diplomas and a stack of neatly labeled files.
“Thanks.” May folded her hands neatly in front of her. “What’s up?”
Ophelia pulled out her phone. “I have a warrant to secure Wyatt as a material witness. It’s on my phone but I can print it out if you’d like.”
May winced, a flicker of something in her eyes—sympathy or regret, maybe both. “I thought you heard. Wyatt and Sylvie headed out on the EVE delivery plane for Anchorage and then to Hawaii this morning.”
Ophelia’s stomach tightened. Damn it. “How in the world did they afford that?”
May shrugged. “Heck if I know. Maybe they used credit cards or sold something off. People do strange things when they need to escape.”
Or when they need to disappear for other reasons. “How often do locals hitch rides on the EVE supply plane?” Ophelia asked, watching May carefully.
“To my knowledge, not often,” May replied, her brows furrowing. “That’s what makes it so unusual. I’m not sure how it happened, but the whole town had gotten involved in searching for Wyatt when he disappeared. Maybe Damian pulled some strings.” She took a breath, then added, “After Wyatt told me about the trip, I also called Damian this morning and requested the use of his plane to transport Tamara Randsom’s body and all collected evidence to the medical examiner’s office in Anchorage. He agreed—kindly, I might add—but the plane won’t be back for a couple of weeks. So at least that’s progress.”
Ophelia absorbed the information, her mind racing. The EVE facility’s connection to the town seemed deeper than she’d realized, and it wasn’t just about the plane—it was the level ofinfluence they seemed to wield. She made a mental note to visit Damian again soon. For now, as soon as she left, she’d have the FBI in either Anchorage or Hawaii pick up Wyatt, depending on his location. Ditching town wouldn’t work for him. Nice try, though.
“Well,” she said, her voice thoughtful, “at least we know that locals—people who belong here—might catch a ride if they need to.”
May’s pink lips curved into a soft smile. “Brock brought you here, which makes you one of us now, even if you don’t want to admit it. So, whether you like it or not, you belong.”
The thought warmed Ophelia faster than the heat blasting up from the floor vents. She leaned back, her shoulders relaxing for the first time that day. “I’ve never belonged anywhere,” she admitted before catching herself. Something about May—the calm in her voice, the kindness in her eyes—invited honesty.
“That’s sad,” May said softly, her brow furrowing in concern. “Although…I know what you mean. Sometimes you think you belong somewhere, and it turns out you’re dead wrong.” Her gaze drifted for a moment before she shook her head, focusing back on Ophelia. “So, Olly. What else would you like to know?”
Ophelia’s tone lowered. “Did Hank Osprey suffer from an illness?”
One of May’s light eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“He sought medical care regularly before his death. Why?”
May swallowed, visibly bracing herself. “I can’t discuss a patient’s care. You know that.”
“I’m dealing with an obvious homicide,” Ophelia countered gently. “Come on, May. I can get a warrant in an hour for a dead man’s records, and you know it. So help me out here. I’m not letting this go.”
May’s face paled slightly as she pushed her sandwich to the side. She exhaled slowly. “I know you could get a warrant. That’strue.” She blew out air and turned to her computer, a bulky piece that obviously needed updating. “I’ll see what kind of records the former doctors might’ve kept.” Her fingers flew quickly across the keyboard and she brought up several documents, leaning forward to read. “Well, crap.”
Ophelia sat straighter. “What?”
May turned, her brows up, her eyes soft. “One of the former doctors treated Hank for stage four pancreatic cancer. The disease progressed far enough that the only plan seemed to be to keep Hank comfortable.”
Surprise and sorrow blew through Ophelia like a punch to the chest, even as the doctor confirmed Ophelia’s new theory. “That’s terrible.”
