“Huh.” Brock tossed a file folder onto his desk.
A knock sounded against the open doorframe. Paige poked her head in, her expression careful.
“Mr. Osprey?”
“Yes, Trooper Johnson?” Ace figured she was talking to him.
“My partner and I were wondering if you’d sit down with us again to answer a couple more questions.”
Great. They were back to this again.
Ace felt the shift in the room. “Not without my lawyer,” he said grimly.
Brock’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the face before lifting it to his ear. “Hey, Doc. What’s going on?” His expression flattened out. “When did you last see her? Okay. No, thanks. You stay at the clinic.”
“What is it?” Paige asked.
Brock tipped his head. “That was May. Ivy Carter didn’t come into work today, and Lance headed out to her house, but she didn’t answer the door. I need to conduct a wellness check.”
Tension wound through Ace. Ivy? What the hell? “Brock?—”
“Where’s the sheriff?” came a loud and panicked man from the main room.
Brock pivoted and headed that way with the rest of them following quickly behind. “I’m the sheriff.”
“I’m Greg Thompson.” The man leaned over, sucking in air. His hair was wild, as was his beard. He looked up and held out his phone. “My brother just called. They’re fishing up Two Trout Creek, and they found a body. It’s that nurse named Ivy? We played darts with her last night. Mick says she’s dead.”
Ace sucked in air.
Paige moved toward him. “Did you take her home last night?”
“No.” Greg waved his hands, today wearing a blue flannel over dark jeans. “Not at all.”
Ace exhaled slowly. The truth would come out soon enough, and he might as well get ahead of this now. This completely sucked. “I drove Ivy home last night.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Deja vu hit May as she parked her truck and stepped out, already wearing her red boots. This could not be happening.
Lance sat in the passenger seat. His face was pale, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you want me to come?”
“No, you can’t. Just stay here, all right?”
He hadn’t wanted to remain at the clinic and had insisted upon accompanying her. The drive out had been quiet except for the gravel popping beneath the tires and the rush of her own pulse in her ears. She forced her professional mask into place. “I’ll be right back.”
She reached into the backseat and pulled on her jacket, then grabbed a pair of latex gloves. She tugged them over her hands before striding toward the already blocked-off path. Yellow tape fluttered between trees, snapping softly in the breeze.
This area was farther down Two Trout Creek to the east from where Laura Jordan’s body had been found. The memory pressed in hard and unwelcome. The same stretch of trees. The same uneven ground. The same low murmur of water moving over rock filled the silence.
“Hi, Dr. Smirnov.” Trooper Jeb Pontevo moved out from the trees, his expression tight beneath the brim of his hat.
“Hi, Trooper,” she said, zipping up her coat and shivering anyway.
A light summer breeze moved through the area, carrying the scent of damp earth and spruce. In the distance, an eagle cried, wild and lonely against the wide sky. The sun hung high but gave little warmth down near the creek bed.
“Are you okay to do this?” he asked.
“I am.”
