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“I saw that in the report too. What’s the investigation of that looking like? Any leads on what might’ve caused the blood abnormalities?”
Jeff sighs as he drops the folder back in the basket. “Nah, we’re waiting on a rerun of the toxicology. Problem is that our local lab is a little slow. Budget, you know. To make sure there was no mistake, we had to ship blood and tissue samples up to the state lab. And they make us look fast.”
“A mistake?” I question. “So you’re not looking into a possible exposure?”
Sheriff Barnes shakes his head, eyeing me like I’m stupid for even asking the question. “No need until the report is confirmed, which it probably won’t be.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair, seeming wholly unconcerned for Mr. Horne’s results, and I get the feeling he really wouldn’t care about Mrs. Horne’s claim.
“Okay, I guess I’ll follow up on that then. I’m going to see the coroner next.”
That gets Barnes’s attention. His feet hit the floor with a thud, and he bolts upright and leans across the desk toward me. “You’re going to see Zoey?”
My eyes narrow. He doesn’t seem protective or caring. More so, he seems concerned or even fearful. I don’t like it, not after how the folks at the bar treated her.
So it’s hard to keep the ice out of my voice as I clip out, “Yes, she’s the coroner on file for Mr. Horne.”
“Yeah, she would be.” He nods, agreeing with himself. “She’s . . . well, she’s . . .” He seems unsure how to complete that sentence, and I want to give him more than enough rope to hang himself with.
“She’s what?” I prompt.
“She’s a strange one, our Zoey,” he whispers.
“Strange how?” I’m going to make him say it, whatever it is. I want to hear what’s truly on his mind so I can decide just how bad, and how widespread, this situation with Zoey is. She said ‘everyone’ thinks she’s cursed, but surely, these people aren’t that superstitious?
“Well, she can’t help it, working with the dead all the time. She just talks to them a bit, you know?” He nods like that’s just fine, normal behavior. “And poor thing has had more than her fair share of bad luck. You’d think she was born on Friday the thirteenth, under a ladder, while a black cat was walkin’ by, the way it is. It’s bound to make a person a bit . . .” He whirls a thick finger by his temple with a teasing smile that says ‘you know what I mean’. “She’s all right, you know. Damn good at her job, and mighty pretty to look at. Just an odd bird.”
There’s a mix of respect and fear in his words, and I decide to swallow down my indignant anger at his assessment of Zoey, who is perfect just the way she is.
How do these people not see how amazing she is? And more importantly, how fast can I see her?
Because I want to wash away all these people’s preconceived notions that Zoey has internalized and get her to go out with me again.
* * *
I can feel the chill of Zoey’s world before the door even opens, the fingers of overly air-conditioned air reaching down the hall. Normally, it’d give me shivers, but being this close to seeing her again has me burning, and the coolness is a welcome reprieve so I don’t look like a sweaty nerd on his first date.
I take one last breath to still my excited nerves and push open the door—ready to see her, ready to hear about her day while I watch her red lips form words, and ready to learn more about this woman who is haunting my every thought.
“Zoey?” I call out as I open the door.
She jumps a foot in the air as she whirls. “Shit, you scared me!” she shrieks, but she’s already laughing at her overreaction, her palm pressed to her chest where I’m guessing her heart is racing.
I laugh a little too. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
I take three steps across the room to stand directly in front of her, seriously thankful that there’s no body on the table and her hands are clean this time.
She seems to be working on the paperwork spread out along the stainless-steel table. Her breath hitches, and I feel a sense of relief that my nearness affects her the same way hers affects me.
The air between us charges with sparkles of electricity, making me even more grateful for the cold air.
“Better meeting like this than a car crash.” I offer a smile, letting her know it’s a tease, and her lips quirk, though she doesn’t grant me her full smile . . . yet. She’s a harder win than that, but I’m up for the challenge.
