relieve m’self over the side of the
boat. Lost m’ balance when this big swell pushed through and I fell. Hit m’
head on the bow. Boat flipped. I sank.” His chest rose high and fast as if he
labored to catch a breath. “End of me. End of story.”
Skitch took Emma’s arm and eased her toward a stool. As she
continued staring at the old man, he began to fade.
“Wait!” Desperation gripped her. She needed proof that this
was really happening. “Your wallet?”
“Under the beer in my cooler. Wrapped in plastic. It should’ve
floated to shore. Now, I’m too tired to talk anymore.” And then he was gone.
Emma blinked and dropped onto the stool.
Skitch knelt beside her, both gloved hands around hers,
rubbing gently. “Doc? What about my wallet?”
Emma kept staring at the place where the figure had stood. “You
didn’t see?”
Skitch glanced over his shoulder and gave the room a quick
scan. “See what?”
Her gaze flickered toward the body on the table. The dead
man’s face was definitely the same as that of the apparition. Either her
imagination had projected that image into ethereal form or…
“See what, Dr. St. Clair?”
Looking at Skitch, Emma saw worry and suspicion in his dark
eyes. Worry for her health and suspicion that she couldn’t handle her job
anymore. If she told him what she’d seen, he would go straight to their boss
with the information. And Edgar would forbid her to do any more autopsies. He
might even relieve her of duty completely. Without her job, she really would go
crazy.
She forced a smile and tried to think fast. “I saw someone’s
wallet…under a chair in the break room. I-I just remembered and wondered if it
was yours.”
“No. I have mine.” He studied her with deepening concern. “You’re
kind of pale. Are you okay?”
“I just got a little dizzy for a second. I guess I haven’t
been eating right lately.” Gently, she tugged her hands free of his. “I just
need some protein, that’s all.”
“I have some snack bars in my cubicle. I’ll get you one.” He
stood. “You should wear a smock over your scrubs too. It’s too cold in here.”
“I’ll be all right. Let’s finish up with—with this gentleman
first.”
Skitch took her arm again as she rose. “You sure?”
Steady on her feet, she patted his hand. “I’m okay, Skitch.
Really. But you’re right. The room is cold.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.” He led her to the table, his eyes
still dark with worry. “Whatever you say.”
* * * * *
“What you need, my friend, is the love of a good woman.”
Charlie dropped into a deck chair late Monday afternoon and handed a bottle of
beer to Jason. A breeze whipped in off the bay to stir his thick, gray hair.
Jason kicked back in his own chair and propped his feet up
on the railing surrounding his deck. He twisted off the bottle cap. Weariness
rolled through him. He and Charlie had been on the move all weekend, chasing
down leads that went nowhere. The car that had struck Emma and Brian must have
been invisible because they couldn’t find one witness who’d seen anything. And
they’d come up with nothing on the Campanero case, either. Or any of the other
cases they were working.
“You need someone to share your life,” Charlie said.
Jason looked at the waves rolling in less than thirty yards
from his stilted house. “And what you need is a hobby. Something like model
railroading or collecting butterflies. Anything but matchmaking.”
“I think you’re interested in Dr. St. Clair.”
“I can’t help what you think, Garcia. But you’re wrong.” The
lie tasted bitter and he tried to wash it down with a big swallow of beer.
Since their meeting at the morgue he’d been very interested in Dr. Emma St.
Clair. She consumed his thoughts, night and day. Meeting her had forced his
heart back to life and he feared the pain that might come to life with it. He’d
lost his parents, his sister and two friends within a span of three years.
boat. Lost m’ balance when this big swell pushed through and I fell. Hit m’
head on the bow. Boat flipped. I sank.” His chest rose high and fast as if he
labored to catch a breath. “End of me. End of story.”
Skitch took Emma’s arm and eased her toward a stool. As she
continued staring at the old man, he began to fade.
“Wait!” Desperation gripped her. She needed proof that this
was really happening. “Your wallet?”
“Under the beer in my cooler. Wrapped in plastic. It should’ve
floated to shore. Now, I’m too tired to talk anymore.” And then he was gone.
Emma blinked and dropped onto the stool.
Skitch knelt beside her, both gloved hands around hers,
rubbing gently. “Doc? What about my wallet?”
Emma kept staring at the place where the figure had stood. “You
didn’t see?”
Skitch glanced over his shoulder and gave the room a quick
scan. “See what?”
Her gaze flickered toward the body on the table. The dead
man’s face was definitely the same as that of the apparition. Either her
imagination had projected that image into ethereal form or…
“See what, Dr. St. Clair?”
Looking at Skitch, Emma saw worry and suspicion in his dark
eyes. Worry for her health and suspicion that she couldn’t handle her job
anymore. If she told him what she’d seen, he would go straight to their boss
with the information. And Edgar would forbid her to do any more autopsies. He
might even relieve her of duty completely. Without her job, she really would go
crazy.
She forced a smile and tried to think fast. “I saw someone’s
wallet…under a chair in the break room. I-I just remembered and wondered if it
was yours.”
“No. I have mine.” He studied her with deepening concern. “You’re
kind of pale. Are you okay?”
“I just got a little dizzy for a second. I guess I haven’t
been eating right lately.” Gently, she tugged her hands free of his. “I just
need some protein, that’s all.”
“I have some snack bars in my cubicle. I’ll get you one.” He
stood. “You should wear a smock over your scrubs too. It’s too cold in here.”
“I’ll be all right. Let’s finish up with—with this gentleman
first.”
Skitch took her arm again as she rose. “You sure?”
Steady on her feet, she patted his hand. “I’m okay, Skitch.
Really. But you’re right. The room is cold.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.” He led her to the table, his eyes
still dark with worry. “Whatever you say.”
* * * * *
“What you need, my friend, is the love of a good woman.”
Charlie dropped into a deck chair late Monday afternoon and handed a bottle of
beer to Jason. A breeze whipped in off the bay to stir his thick, gray hair.
Jason kicked back in his own chair and propped his feet up
on the railing surrounding his deck. He twisted off the bottle cap. Weariness
rolled through him. He and Charlie had been on the move all weekend, chasing
down leads that went nowhere. The car that had struck Emma and Brian must have
been invisible because they couldn’t find one witness who’d seen anything. And
they’d come up with nothing on the Campanero case, either. Or any of the other
cases they were working.
“You need someone to share your life,” Charlie said.
Jason looked at the waves rolling in less than thirty yards
from his stilted house. “And what you need is a hobby. Something like model
railroading or collecting butterflies. Anything but matchmaking.”
“I think you’re interested in Dr. St. Clair.”
“I can’t help what you think, Garcia. But you’re wrong.” The
lie tasted bitter and he tried to wash it down with a big swallow of beer.
Since their meeting at the morgue he’d been very interested in Dr. Emma St.
Clair. She consumed his thoughts, night and day. Meeting her had forced his
heart back to life and he feared the pain that might come to life with it. He’d
lost his parents, his sister and two friends within a span of three years.
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