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Jessie felt as if gallons of the fetid water had gotten trapped inside her head, behind her eyes, and in her sinuses, creating pressure on her brain. Someone draped an old horse blanket reeking of stale sweat around her shoulders. She watched as the paramedics administered CPR and pasted leads for a portable EKG unit to Sherry’s torso. Jessie was too far away to hear their whispered comments, but from their glum expressions, she surmised they didn’t have much to work with.
They found a bloody gash on Sherry’s head. Jessie hadn’t noticed it before, too busy trying to get both of them out of that damned pool.
She wasn’t sure when Daniel showed up, only knew he was at her side.
Two uniformed police officers entered from the passageway. State Trooper Larry Popovich trailed behind them. The same crew as the night Doc died.
Someone shoved a Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hands. She looked up into Greg’s face. She tipped her head toward the other cops and the paramedics. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
Greg’s expression lacked humor. “What the hell happened, Jess?”
With one hand, she clutched the rank horse blanket around her. She extended the one holding the coffee cup toward the pool and pointed. “I fell in.”
“I heard. You look like shit.”
She noticed his paint-splattered once-white t-shirt and faded blue jeans. His usually neat, short-cropped hair was uncombed. “So do you.” In truth, he reminded her entirely too much of the guy she’d fallen in love with all those years ago.
He snorted a short laugh. “I guess you’re all right.”
Popovich strolled toward them. For a man only slightly smaller than a mountain, he moved like a cat. He extended one massive paw toward Greg, who grasped it. Then the trooper turned to Jessie. “Twice in one month. That has to be some sort of record for this place.”
Jessie released the blanket to shake Popovich’s offered hand, and the blanket slid off her shoulders to the floor. She’d forgotten Daniel was there until he bent down to retrieve it. She considered telling him to leave it. The thing stunk. But she realized she was still shivering and allowed him to wrap her in it once again. His arm stayed protectively around her shoulders.
Trooper Popovich produced a pad and pen from his pockets. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
She wished the pressure inside of her head would ease up and allow her to think. “Sure.” Flanked by Greg and Daniel, she told the trooper about Sherry’s cryptic call requesting they meet.
“What did she want to talk to you about?”
Jessie resisted an urge to cast a sideways glance at Daniel. “I don’t know. She just said it was important.”
“Go on.”
“Ten minutes before she was supposed to come here, I got a text about an emergency in Zelda Peterson’s barn.” Jessie looked at Greg. “But no one there sent it. And when I checked the number the text came from, it was the same one that called Doc the night he died.”
Greg shot a glance at Popovich. The big trooper held out his palm. “Do you mind if I have a look at your phone?”
Jessie worked her hand into her wet jeans’ pocket. No phone. She fought the fog and the pressure to think. Where was it? She’d used it to call for help.
“Dr. Cameron?” the trooper prompted.
She glanced around and remembered the sickening splash. “I dropped it. It went in the pool.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered. “Okay, you were at Peterson’s barn. Then what happened?”
“I rushed back here. The lights were out, so at first, I thought she hadn’t shown up. But my note was gone—”
“What note?”
“I left her a note taped to the light switch before I went over to Barn E, telling her where I was and why.”
“Where is it now?”
“I don’t know. I told you. It was gone when I returned.”
He jotted something in his notebook. “Then what?”
“When I turned on the lights, I saw her floating in the pool. I called 911 and then tried to pull her out, but I fell in.”
“You fell? You didn’t dive in to get her?”
Jessie thought she detected a note of accusation in his voice. “I can’t swim.”
She expected him to ask her why not, but instead he asked, “Do you have any idea how the victim got that cut on her head?”
“No.” The pressure behind her forehead was becoming unbearable. “I didn’t know there was a cut until I heard the paramedics talking.”
“You didn’t know?” Popovich looked incredulous. “How could you not notice? It was a good size gash.”
Jessie liked the tone of his questions less and less. “I was busy.”
Popovich thumbed back through his notes. “I understand you and Ms. Malone have had a number of arguments in recent weeks.”
Daniel extended an arm toward the trooper. “Excuse me, sir, should Dr. Cameron have a lawyer present?”
Popovich looked surprised. Jessie was pretty sure he wasn’t. “Only if she feels she needs one.”
“Are you accusing her of something?”
Greg stepped between them. “Hold on now.” He turned to face his colleague. “Larry, just what are you getting at?”
He shrugged. “You know how it goes, Greg. I need to find out exactly what happened here this afternoon. A girl is dead. She was supposed to meet your wife. Your wife happens to be the one who found her.”
“And pulled her out of the water,” Jessie reminded him.
The trooper held up a hand. “Which definitely helps if you want to look innocent.”
I am innocent, she wanted to shout. Greg took Popovich by the arm and directed him away from her.
Jessie rubbed the throbbing pain between her eyes. “What the hell is going on?”
Daniel’s stony gaze followed the two troopers. “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Jessie wasn’t so sure. The suffocating sensation of being in over her head came back. And she was standing on dry ground.
Greg returned without Popovich, who stayed huddled with the officers from the county police department. “They’re calling in the crime scene unit.”
Jessie repositioned the horse blanket. Besides stinking to high heaven, the thing was getting heavy. “Finally.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Finally? It’s only been what?” He checked his watch. “A half hour?”
“More like two and a half weeks. If you’d investigated Doc’s death, this one might not have happened.”
He glanced at Daniel who’d stepped away to speak with one of the officers. Greg lowered his head toward Jessie so his comment would reach her alone. “I did investigate.” His eyes hinted at more, but Daniel’s return kept him from elaborating.
He looked at Greg. “I was talking to your colleagues. They sound like they seriously suspect her.”
“I know.”
She choked on a sip of the lukewarm coffee.
Daniel glared at Greg. “Then why aren’t you over there setting them straight?”
“Wouldn’t do any good. I’m not on this case.”
The pain behind Jessie’s eyes kicked up a notch. “Why not?” She looked at Greg first, then Daniel. Neither of them replied. “Why not?” she repeated, but slower, in case they hadn’t understood her the first time.
Greg looked down at the floor. Daniel was the one to respond. “Conflict of interest.”
The putrid horse blanket’s lining must have been wicking the moisture from her sopping clothes because it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. She shrugged it from her shoulders. “In other words, the one cop who knows me well enough to know I couldn’t have killed anyone is the cop who’s not allowed to investigate the case.”
“That pretty much sums it up,” Greg said.
She stared into the cold coffee in the cup and wished for something much, much stronger than sugar to add to it.
“Once Larry speaks to Zelda Peterson and the coroner narrows down the time of death, you should be in the clear.”
“Should be?”
“You need to get some rest.”
Jessie looked toward the hallway to her office. Somehow, she found nothing restful about the idea of sleeping less than fifty feet from where Sherry had drowned. And where she had almost fallen victim to the same fate.
Daniel must have read her mind. “Pack your things. You’re coming back to my place tonight.”
Before Jessie had a chance to consider the appealing offer, Greg snapped an answer for her. “No.” He gave her that same dark look that suggested he knew a hell of a lot more than he was saying. “You’re coming back to the house with me.”
She kept her eyes on Greg, but she sensed Daniel tense beside her. “Okay,” she said.
Daniel’s look of displeasure with Greg turned to one of disappointment aimed at her.
She peeled her gaze from the man who had broken her heart, transferring it to the man who simultaneously beguiled and terrified her. “I’ll be more comfortable in my own bed. And Molly will be happy to go home.”
Daniel’s expression softened. “If that’s what you want, then that’s where you should be. I guess our dinner plans for tonight are off?”
She tried to swallow, but her throat was the only dry part of her anatomy. “Raincheck?”
“You bet.” He took a step toward her and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. In a growl directed at Greg, he said, “Get her out of here. And don’t let anything happen to her.”
Greg’s gaze followed Daniel as he made his way toward the group of local police. “Dinner? Didn’t I tell you to steer clear of him?”
She opened her mouth to explain but was glad when he raised a hand to shush her. After all, she didn’t have much of an explanation.
“Never mind.” He looked past her toward the pool. She wondered if he was trying to imagine what had happened there. “I’m going to tell Popovich we’re leaving. Go pick up Molly and I’ll meet you out front.”
“And the tabby.”
“Right.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets and headed for the other cops.
Jessie picked up the blanket and tossed it on a workbench. She looked toward the crowd gathered at the back doors and spotted a new face among them.
Emerick stood, arms crossed, surveying the scene inside the spa. His dark gaze shifted from the pool to settle on her. From the distance, she couldn’t quite make out his dark expression. Accusatory? Angry?
Smug?
His chin lifted, and there was no doubt about the smirk that crossed his lips before he turned his back and strode away.
***
JESSIE AWOKE IN HER own bed with the awful sensation of her head being packed with cotton. More specifically, cotton soaked in water from the pool. She sat up and looked around. Everything was in its proper place, so why did she feel like she had been dropped into an episode of the Twilight Zone?
And where were the cats?
Wearing her usual oversized t-shirt, she climbed out of bed and tugged on a pair of jeans. She opened the door—usually she slept with it open, but it seemed inappropriate with Greg in the house—and stepped into the hall.
Apparently, Greg did not share her awkward need for privacy. She peeked inside the guest room where Greg lay on his back, the sheet pulled up to his hips revealing his lean, muscular torso. His arms were crossed behind his head, and he was staring at the ceiling. Molly and the tabby snuggled on either side of him. Peanut lay on the rug next to the bed.
Traitors.
He spotted her and smiled. “Good morning.”
She averted her eyes and mumbled an echo of his greeting. After ten years of marriage, it struck her that she was alone in the house with a stranger. Before she had a chance to say something stupid, she wheeled and padded into the bathroom in search of something to relieve her headache.
The medicine cabinet contained a wide assortment of over-the-counter products. Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. Aspirin. Not to mention ointments, creams, and bandages. Rummaging through them, she located a box of generic decongestant. The expiration date had long since come and gone, but it promised relief from sinus headaches. She popped two, chased by a glass of water.
The mundane process of making breakfast eased the tension created by Greg’s presence. Jessie laid out the bowls and spoons while he rounded up the box of cereal and the carton of milk. She made coffee. He poured orange juice. Peanut and the cats ate side by side, although the tabby, unused to the big Lab, kept a cautious eye on the dog.
Greg broke the silence. “You really have to give that poor kitten a name.”
Jessie shook her head emphatically. “If I name him—”
“You’ll have to keep him, I know. Face it, Jess. That cat isn’t going anywhere.”
He knew her all too well. “I’ll think about it.”
Greg shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and leaned back in the chair, his forehead creased in thought as he chewed. “How about Spot?”
Jessie almost snorted orange juice through her nose. “Are you kidding?”
“What’s wrong with Spot?” He feigned deep personal injury.
“Nothing if he was a dog. Or had spots.”
“Stripe, then.”
“Oh, that’s so much better.”
He laughed, an easy comfortable laugh. Jessie smiled, the headache and the awkward moment upstairs almost forgotten. Almost.
She rearranged her cereal with the spoon. “Greg, about Daniel...”
The laughter died. He cleared his throat. “What was that about dinner?”
She decided against answering. What part of “dinner” needed to be explained?
“Didn’t you hear me when I told you to keep away from him?”
“I heard you. Did you learn anything more about his criminal record?”
“What more is there to learn? He was convicted of murder.”
“But there has to be more to it. You said he served his time.”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t given a life sentence. I mean he was released, right? He didn’t escape.”
“No, he didn’t escape. But not all killers get life. You know that. Prisons are too crowded. Convicts get reduced sentences for good behavior.”
“My point is he paid his debt to society. Have you found anything more about him since he started using the name Shumway?”
“No.”
“So he’s been clean since he got out.”
Greg slammed his spoon down on the table. “Jess, you’re trying to convince yourself the man is innocent. He’s not.”
The headache was back. She pressed two fingers into the space between her eyes. “Yesterday you said you investigated Doc’s death. What’d you mean?”
“Just what I said.”
“Uh-uh. I know you. There’s more to it. What’d you find out?”
Greg scowled into his bowl. He glanced at her then returned his full attention to the cereal. “Doc wasn’t exactly well liked by the masses.”
Jessie leaned back and folded her arms. “If you’re afraid you’re gonna shatter my illusion of him being a god, you can relax. I’ve already figured that out.”
“In the weeks before his death, he managed to get into several arguments.”
Old news. But she kept that to herself. “With whom?”
Greg shot another glance at Jessie but continued to direct his conversation into his breakfast bowl. “Your Daniel Shumway for one. My source wasn’t able to say what the argument was about, just that it was animated.”
“Who else?”
He looked up again. This time his expression clearly stated he didn’t think he needed to go on.
Jessie held his gaze, determined he would.
He sighed. “A guy from security.”
“Butch.”
Now Greg looked annoyed. “You already know so much, why don’t you tell me?”
“No, that’s okay. You go on.”
He started ticking names off on his fingers. “Sherry Malone. Neil Emerick. Frank Hamilton.” Greg held his hand in front of her with the four fingers poised, waiting to include the thumb. “Do you have anyone to add?”
“You’ve pretty well covered it.”
“You could have shared what you knew.”
“You kept telling me there was no murder. No investigation.”
A muscle in Greg’s jaw twitched.
“Did your source tell you what any of the arguments were about?”
“More than one source, actually. And no. They either didn’t know or wouldn’t say.”
“Care to share your sources’ names?”
“So you can track them down and pump them for information after I’ve promised them anonymity? I don’t think so.”
Jessie picked up her spoon. “Can’t blame a gal for trying.” She took a bite. “Anything on who broke in here?”
He shook his head. “I’ve checked all the pawn shops from Chester to Follansbee for your laptop.”
A soft tapping on the doorframe between the dining room and kitchen drew Jessie’s attention. She looked up to find Vanessa standing there, the one small fist that had been doing the knocking still raised. Peanut abandoned his food, nails scratching and sliding on the floor as he scurried to his new best friend.
Jessie lost interest in her meal too, but for a different reason. Greg jumped to his feet. His chair tipped back, and he grabbed for it, catching it before it went all the way over.
The petite blonde’s childlike voice was barely audible. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Jessie’s head throbbed with renewed vigor. “What are you doing here? I fired you. Remember?”
“I’m not here to work. I came looking for Greg.” Vanessa gazed at him with those plaintive blue eyes. “I missed you.”
Any remaining appetite Jessie had vanished. “You might not have a job, but I do.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now.”
Vanessa scooted out of the doorway, keeping her head lowered as if afraid Jessie might attack her. Peanut looked back and forth between them.
Jessie stopped to scratch him under the chin. “See you tonight, fella.” She straightened and glared down at Vanessa, who was almost a head shorter and still avoiding her eyes. “Enjoy your visit. Because I’m still not giving you my house.”
“Jess.” Greg apparently didn’t approve of Jessie’s tone. She started into the kitchen, but he called her name again, this time using his stop-in-the-name-of-the-law voice.
She wheeled. “What?”
He dug in his pocket and removed his cell phone. “You’d better take this until you can get a new one. Since yours is at the bottom of the pool.”
Or at the crime lab.
He tossed it to her. “Make sure you get your calls forwarded to it.”
Jessie stared at the phone. Part of her longed to wing it back at him. Bounce it off his head. Instead, she curled her fingers around it. “Thanks.”
As she paused on the back porch to tug on her boots, she glanced through the window into the dining room. She looked away. And looked back. Vanessa was in Greg’s arms. Six-foot-four state cop holding barely five-foot unemployed veterinary receptionist. It occurred to Jessie that in spite of the size difference, they fit. It also occurred to her that her head still ached. But her heart didn’t. The realization made her smile. Maybe she’d reached the final stage of grief after all.