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I sat up straighter in my seat when Jack turned left onto Queen Mary. The only road it intersected in that direction was Heresy—the street where my family home was located. I wasn’t ready to go back there yet.
“Relax,” Jack said. “I just need to stop by my place for a few minutes.”
“I’m fine.” My heart rate slowed back to a normal pace and my muscles relaxed against the seat as Jack turned right instead of left onto Heresy, so we were headed in the direction of his house.
Jack was one of the citizens of Bloody Mary who didn’t actually have to work for a living if he didn’t want to. Saying he was filthy rich would be an understatement. He came from a long line of tobacco farmers, and Jack had bucked tradition when he’d chosen to go into law enforcement instead of the family business. But his parents had supported him anyway, which was unusual in this neck of the woods—where family tradition and what was passed from one generation to the next was more important than making something of yourself on your own.
Jack’s house was the one place I’d always felt the most comfortable. It was a two-story log cabin that looked as if it had sprouted up from the forest of trees surrounding it. It was masculine, but not domineering. Grey stone chimneys jutted from each end, and a covered porch wrapped around the entire house. There weren’t many windows in the front, but I knew the entire backside of the house was nothing but floor to ceiling windows so the full view of the trees dropping away to the water could be seen. It was almost exactly the same view from my house.
“You want something to eat?” he asked as he pulled the cruiser into the driveway.
“I could eat a cookie or two if you’ve got some. I’ve missed your cookies.”
Something a lot of people didn’t know about Jack was that he could cook like an angel. He probably figured it was best to keep that secret under wraps, considering he already had women throwing themselves at his feet on a daily basis. I often thought it was unfair that Jack had been blessed with so many talents.
“I might have a few left in the cookie jar.” He grabbed the large manila envelope that held an assortment of information about the crime scene and tucked it under his arm as he unlocked the front door.
Warmth and the smell of that morning’s coffee greeted me, and I felt my bones ease inside my skin.
“I need to check in with Colburn, and then I want to do a written report and get all my thoughts down on paper while they’re fresh,” Jack said, flipping on lights as we headed back to the kitchen. “I’ll need to talk to the mayor. The whole town is going to be skittish after what happened last December.”
The inside of the house was done in rich wood tones and stone. The rooms were open and airy on the bottom floor, so one connected to the next in a big square. The kitchen and living area were at the back of the house, and I dropped down onto the oversized leather couch that flanked the fireplace and faced the back windows.
“Did you run me being back as coroner by the mayor and council?” I asked. “They might not be all that excited to have me back on the job. Especially considering death seems to follow me around. I wasn’t in town a minute before another body fell into my lap.”
“It just adds to your mysterious persona. Do you want some coffee?”
“Yeah, I could use a cup or ten.”
Somewhere between the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the hypnotic sway of the trees outside, my eyes managed to close and stay that way. When I woke up, it was still daylight and a dark blue throw covered me. I was also lying full out on the couch and my shoes were off. The good news was I’d slept like the dead. There’d been no dreams or memories, only the peaceful dark of sleep. I had Jack to thank for that. I felt safe with him.
My stomach growled as the scent of something spicy filled the air. I shrugged off the blanket and put my feet on the floor, running a hand absently through my disheveled hair. My eyes were clear and most of the fog had left my brain.
“Just stay where you are,” Jack said. “I’ll bring a tray in. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Does coffee count as one of the food groups?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“I bought a bag of chips and a candy bar when I stopped at a gas station on my way back yesterday.”
“I keep thinking you’ll outgrow your adolescent eating habits at some point,” Jack said, bringing in a tray and setting it across my lap.
I settled back against the couch and stared at the giant bowl of spaghetti in front of me. I knew he’d made the sauce himself, and my mouth was watering so bad I was afraid I’d start drooling.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the meal, but I don’t need to be coddled,” I said, savoring the first bite. It had been so long since I’d had a good meal that my stomach protested. But it settled the more I ate, and suddenly I was ravenous. “I’m not fragile.”
“I never said you were,” he said, digging into his own bowl. “But when you come home with dark circles under your eyes big enough to get lost in and your clothes don’t fit because you’ve lost too much weight, then it’s obvious someone needs to step in. Lucky for you it’s me.”
“If I had more energy we’d have a fight right now.”
“I’ll look forward to it once you get your strength back.”
He polished off his food, and I was surprised to see my own fork scrape the bottom of my bowl. I shooed his hand away when he tried to take my dishes and carried them to the kitchen myself. I couldn’t cook worth a damn, but I knew how to load a dishwasher.
“Did you find out anything while I was asleep?” I asked.
Jack poured us both fresh cups of coffee and I joined him at the large butcher-block table that sat snugly in a nook and had benches on each side. Papers and photographs were scattered across the top, and I could tell he’d been busy while I’d been out.
