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  The color was rising in Eliza’s cheeks. Bodhi rested a hand on her arm as if to say it’s not worth engaging with this woman. He needn’t have worried, because Eliza didn’t get the chance to engage.

  Dexter launched into a long monologue about how grateful the department was for the foundation’s assistance and patronage over the years. He vowed to close the matter of Davina’s death without embarrassing either the Rutherford Family Foundation or the family itself.

  He followed up with an apology for Bodhi and Eliza’s behavior and assured Margot and Sully that he had no plans to open an investigation into the body that Davina had found. Despite the possibility that she’d been murdered, the woman would remain a Jane Doe.

  The more he blathered on, the more agitated Bodhi grew. He had to move around to let out some energy. He stood and strolled over to the bookcase with his hands clasped behind his back to study the display of photographs and awards.

  One large, silver-framed picture caught his eye. Chief Dexter, Margot, and Sully posed in front of a podium. Margot clutched a wooden plaque with a shiny bronze plate between her be-ringed fingers and beamed at the camera. It appeared to be a recent photograph.

  Sully, who wasn’t part of the conversation between his grandmother and Dexter, came over to stand beside Bodhi.

  “Oh, that’s Chief Dexter awarding my grandmother the Distinguished Citizen of the Year Award last year for all of her community service. And here’s the award itself. We were all very proud of her.” He pointed to the plaque, which was displayed on the shelf directly above the photograph.

  Bodhi glanced up at the award but quickly returned his attention to the picture.

  “Oh, that. I don’t do it for the recognition. I do it to serve the community. It’s part of the foundation’s mission, after all,” Margot interjected.

  Then she stood, signaling that she’d had her fill of the chief’s sycophantic fawning and that this interview was over.

  “If there’s anything at all that we can do to help, Chief Dexter, just call,” Sully urged as he scampered toward the door. “I’ll personally see that you get an address and telephone number for Professor Jones’ cousin before you leave.”

  Sully opened the door with a theatrical gesture, and Eliza paused just inside the threshold. “Oh, I think one question slipped the chief’s mind. Where were you between the hours of eleven and one today?”

  “I beg your pardon. Are you asking me for an alibi?” Sully’s eyes flitted to Margot.

  “Now, Sully, of course not.” Dexter frowned.

  Eliza smiled her sweetest smile. “We’d like to rule you and your grandmother out.”

  “Rule me out,” Margot said heartily. “My dear, do I strike you as someone who would plunge a screwdriver into someone’s—what was it—thigh?”

  “Looks can be deceiving, Mrs. Sullivan. After all, Professor Jones didn’t strike you as the sort of person who would wield an ax, did she?”

  “You don’t need to answer these questions, either of you. In fact, I’m advising you not to,” Chief Dexter said, red-faced. He stormed out of the office, leaving Bodhi and Eliza no choice but to follow.

  24

  Dexter was still apoplectic when he arranged for Officer Rey to drive Bodhi and Eliza back to the lodge. He stayed behind with Officer Kincaid to speak to Marvin Washington and get an address for Davina’s cousin. They settled into the back seat and waited until their short journey from the museum back to the lodge was underway to begin speaking. Thanks to the cage and the bulletproof glass separating the front and back seats and the road noise, the driver wouldn’t be able to make out much, if any, of their conversation.

  “I guess we hit a nerve when we asked Sully and Mrs. Sullivan if they could account for their whereabouts, huh?” Eliza said, a bit sheepish.

  “I think you would’ve gotten away with it if you’d stopped with Sully. But asking Margot Sullivan for an alibi was a bridge too far.”

  She laughed, but her eyes had a faraway look. She was thinking about something. He waited.

  After a moment, she said, “Everyone seems pretty eager to pin Davina’s death on her cousin.”

  “According to Marvin, they did have an argument. There’s motive. And because he sent her home early, she could have gone to Davina’s apartment. That’s opportunity.”

  “And the means was right there in Davina’s basket of tools. She does satisfy all three tentpoles. Still …”

  “I’m not saying she’s our killer. I’m just saying it makes sense for Dexter to start with her. She’s a strong suspect.”

  “Only if you believe Davina’s death is unrelated to her discovery of Cassie and the coffin.”

  “You think it’s related?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s awfully convenient timing for bad blood between Davina and Verna to boil over, don’t you think?”

  He did think. But he also knew firsthand that family ties landed a large proportion of people in the morgue. She knew so, too.

  “Well, seeing as how we’re on Dexter’s naughty list, we’re not going to get a chance to talk to Verna anyway, so you and I should focus elsewhere.”

  “Micah, you mean?”

  He lowered his voice. “Yes. We should call him when we get back and ask him about his conversation with Davina.”

  A shadow of trouble flitted across her face, and she shifted her gaze toward the front of the squad car. Officer Rey seemed to be focused on the squawking coming from the dispatch radio. She leaned closer anyway.

  “I think it’s a good idea. I noticed in the activity log that she texted Micah as well, right after she ended the call with him. There was a paperclip icon next to the text message entry.”

  “So she sent him a file or a photograph or something?”

  “It looks like. We need to get to him before Clive finishes reviewing the phone and tells Dexter about it.”

  “I’m sure Bette and Fred will understand if we beg off tonight’s social activities in light of a murder investigation. Right?”

  Eliza’s gaze was fixed on a distant point along the winding drive as they approached the lodge, and she didn’t respond.

  “Eliza?” he prompted.

  “Sorry.” She continued to stare out the window “I’m not so sure they will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed toward the entrance of the lodge. “Mom and Dad look pissed.”

  He leaned across the seat and followed her finger. A fuming Fred and a stormy-faced Bette stood in identical poses at the base of the stairs to the main entrance. Both struck wide-hipped stances with their fists on their hips.

  Officer Rey brought the car to a stop, parked, and came around to Eliza’s side of the back seat to let them out. He glanced at the glowering figures standing in front of the stairs. “You two have one heck of a welcoming committee waiting for you.”

  “If you only knew,” Eliza muttered under her breath as Rey held the door open for her. After she climbed out, she turned back and smirked at Bodhi. “I’m just going to have to tell Fred that you’re a bad influence on me. “

  “Wha -?” But she was already halfway to the stairs, calling a goodbye to the police officer over her shoulder.

  Bodhi hauled himself off the seat. “Thanks for the lift, Officer Rey.”

  “My pleasure. If you don’t mind a piece of advice?”

  Bodhi paused beside the car. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  Rey nodded sagely. “I find that when I get in the doghouse with my girlfriend, I just have to remind her that law enforcement is a different world, and she can’t really understand all the things I go through. Now you all are medical examiners. Your significant others, they’ve just gotta understand that when there’s a murder investigation, a weekend getaway at some fancy resort has to take a back seat. That’s just the way it goes. “

  Bodhi grinned wryly. “Thanks for the tip, but those two people standing there looking like thunderclouds? They’re both the police
chiefs of their towns. They’re here for Chief Dexter’s conference. So I don’t think the ‘you don’t understand law enforcement’ argument is going to carry much weight.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re screwed. It’s been nice knowing you.” He shook Bodhi’s hand gravely.

  Bodhi squared his shoulders and walked toward the entrance. By the time he reached Bette’s side, Fred and Eliza were halfway up the steps.

  “Hi. You look upset.”

  “Do I? That’s probably because I am. I got a call from Chief Dexter.”

  He studied the tightness in her jaw and the clench of her teeth, then chose his words with care. “I assume he called to tell you that he asked Eliza and me to help out with a murder investigation?”

  At the mention of the murder, her expression slackened. “I was sorry to hear about Professor Jones. It sounds like it was…”

  “Horrific.”

  Her eyes softened with concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He did. But he also knew she had something she wanted to get off her chest. And it was always better to experience your emotions and then let them go than to dwell on them.

  “I do. But first, I want to talk about whatever’s got you so angry.”

  She dragged her hands through her silvery hair, then massaged her temples, rubbing small circles with two fingers on both sides.

  After a long moment, she said, “Did you accuse the most prominent citizen of this postage-stamp town of murder?”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration. We went to Davina’s apartment at Chief Dexter’s request, remember? The town’s coroner is away on vacation. So Eliza and I did the chief a favor.” He trailed off. He took a long centering breath. “I sound defensive, don’t I?”

  “You do.”

  “Let’s start again. But can we do this inside?—it’s kind of chilly out here.”

  She pursed her lips. “Sure.”

  He wondered whether it was going to be equally chilly inside, given her mood. But as they mounted the stairs, she slipped her hand inside his.

  They found a small wrought-iron table in the hallway in a quiet corner of the lobby’s coffee bar and ordered hot drinks from a passing waiter.

  Bodhi inhaled the ginger-lemon scent of his tisane and warmed his hands on the mug while Bette stirred oat milk into her coffee. After she tasted it and nodded her approval, he dove back into his story.

  “We realized when we were at the crime scene that we’d have to tell Chief Dexter about Davina coming to the museum this morning. He needs to have an accurate account of her movements in her final hours.”

  “That was the right decision.”

  “I think so, too. But it ticked him off.” She opened her mouth as if to defend the chief, but he held up a hand. “Let me finish. So he was already angry when Eliza asked Eugene Sullivan and Mrs. Sullivan if they could account for their whereabouts at the time of Davina’s murder. That’s when he blew up.”

  Her eyes went wide. “And neither of you thought that was impolitic?”

  It was his turn to massage his temples. “I’m a forensic pathologist. Most of the people I work with are dead, Bette. I’m not in the habit of running my theories and ideas through a filter to determine whether they’re impolitic. I imagine the same’s true for Eliza.”

  She snorted, indignant and incensed. “You’ve been involved in how many high-profile, political scandals and sensitive investigations? You and your little girlfriend should know better than to stomp around like gorillas in a small town that’s not your own.”

  He sipped his tea. She looked down at her coffee mug but didn’t pick it up. After a moment, she said, “You don’t have anything to say in response to that?” She kept her eyes on the mug.

  “Is this about Chief Dexter’s anger? Or is it about something else?”

  She shook her head and laughed huskily, her eyes still downcast. “I’m not jealous of the time you’re spending with Eliza if that’s what you’re driving at. I shouldn’t have called her your girlfriend, though. That was childish. I chose my words poorly because I’m angry. Your behavior in this investigation reflects on me.”

  “Bette—“

  “No, let me finish. Lewis Dexter won’t hesitate to trash my reputation. Not for a moment. That matters to me. I’ve worked hard. To get where I’ve got—especially as a woman— I’ve had to be tactful and circumspect. I can’t stand by while you and some medical examiner from Louisiana undo all my efforts. And while I don’t speak for Fred, you’re damaging his standing among our peers, too.”

  “Bette, I’m sorry. I never meant to put you in a bad spot. I’m genuinely sorry.”

  When she raised her head and looked at him, unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “Thank you. Will you promise me you’ll remove yourself from Davina Jones’ murder investigation and the investigation into Cassie in the coffin? Please?”

  Bodhi inhaled, paused, then exhaled deeply. He placed his hand over hers, squeezed gently, and then said, “No.”

  25

  Fred paced around the hotel room in fast, angry circles. Watching him made Eliza dizzy. As he started another circuit by the bathroom, she patted the couch cushion to the left of where she sat.

  “Sit down so we can talk. I feel like I’m on the teacup ride at Christmas at Acadian Village.” She smiled.

  He paused mid-step. “Is this a joke to you?”

  “What? No.”

  “Then why bring up Noel Acadian?”

  She blinked at him. “Because we were just there a few weeks ago over the holidays, and the teacups made me nauseous. Remember?”

  “Eliza, I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you. I’m concerned.”

  “I can see that. I can also see that you’re all worked up. It would be a lot easier to talk if you would just sit down.”

  He made a low strangled sound of frustration but, after a moment, joined her on the couch.

  “Thank you.”

  “I guess I am a little agitated,” he conceded. “But these things you’re doing, they’re not only foolish, they’re dangerous.”

  “What I’m doing is no more dangerous than what I do every day back home. Today I examined a dead body and was called to a murder scene. That’s my job.”

  He was silent for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that she thought he wasn’t going to respond. He twisted his hands together, wringing them over and over.

  Finally, he said, “This may be what you do every day, but you don’t do it like this. You don’t do it with Bodhi King.”

  She stiffened. “That’s what this is really about, right? You don’t like Bodhi.”

  “No, you’re wrong. I don’t like Bodhi’s methods. What he’s doing—what you’re doing with him— isn’t just endangering you, it’s endangering all the progress you’ve made.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. “Now don’t get all het up at me. I’m not saying he’s not good at what he does. Far as I can tell, he’s a brilliant forensic pathologist. Maybe even as good as you, but that doesn’t mean he’s good for you. And I’m concerned about you.”

  She had to hold back a giggle. When she told Bodhi she was going to say he was a bad influence on her, she’d been joking. But Fred apparently believed it.

  “I’m sorry you’re worried. I really am. And if Bodhi and I have put you in a bad spot with Chief Dexter and the rest of the police chiefs, I’m sorry for that, too.”

  He pulled a face as if to say she should know him better than that. But the fact was, he was a law enforcement officer, and they did tend toward the straight and narrow.

  “I appreciate that. And I’m not trying to be paternalistic. Honest. But, I’m going to ask you to let all of this go—the woman in the iron coffin, Davina Jones’ murder, all of it—for me. Can you do that?”

  She was quiet for a long, long, long time. Even longer than his earlier silence. And she spent that time searching her heart to see if she could do what he asked. And she took no pleasure
when she softly said, “No. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  He gaped at her in wounded surprise and was about to open his mouth when three firm raps sounded on their door.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “I’ll get it!” She hopped up and flung open the door to reveal a tight-lipped Bette and a resigned Bodhi standing in the hall. Bodhi was a half-step behind Bette. Sorry, he mouthed.

  “Yes?” she asked, shaking off the feeling that she was a high school kid who’d just been busted by her parents. Ironic, because that wasn’t a scenario she’d experienced as an actual high school student.

  “We apparently need something that’s on Eliza’s phone,” Bette explained to Fred, adult-to-adult, as she and Bodhi crossed the threshold into the room.

  26

  Sully slumped a bit, rounding his shoulders and casting his gaze on the ground while he waited for Dexter. It wouldn’t do for anyone to recognize him.

  He was so intent on staring at the patch of earth under his feet that he didn’t hear the police chief approaching the gazebo from the lodge.

  “Hiya, Sully,” Dexter boomed.

  He jumped at least a foot off the ground and landed with his legs splayed. “Honestly.”

  Dexter pounded him on the back. “Sorry. So, what can I do for you?”

  He brushed invisible lint off his jacket, then cleared his throat. “Well, as I mentioned on the phone, this is a sensitive matter.”

  “Right. That’s why we’re meeting in person. And we’re meeting here because I need to get back inside before we sit down for dinner. So . . .”

  “Yes, sorry. I’ll get right to it. There’s a necklace in Davina Jones’ apartment. I need it. It’s a gold chain with a large gold pendant with intricate filigree work. A sizable facet-cut garnet is set in the middle of the pendant. It looks very similar to this.” He pulled the brooch from his pocket and passed it to Dexter.

  Dexter examined it for a long moment, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek, then handed it back. “Did she steal this necklace from the museum or something?”