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I’d also found high traces of Diprivan in the tox screen, which explained how the killers had managed to get to the Reverend without him putting up a fight. His body had been too damaged, so I hadn’t found any puncture wounds on the surface of the skin during the external examination, but I’d found the needle mark in the muscle after I’d taken x-rays. It was the fastest way to bring him down, and by the amount I found in his system, it would have brought him down in a matter of seconds.
I finished up with the body and made him as presentable as possible so he could be claimed for burial, and then I pushed him back into the refrigeration unit. My throat was dry as dust and a slight throb was pulsing just behind my eyes. When I looked up at the clock I saw it was already past seven. I wondered briefly where Jack was or if he’d tried to call, but my cell phone didn’t get service down in the basement. If he’d needed to reach me he would’ve had to call on the landline.
I assured myself he’d just gotten caught up in the investigation and that it didn’t matter if he was here or not. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And there was a couch in my office just off the kitchen. I could sit there and stare at the wall as well as anywhere.
With that decided, coffee was my first priority, so I headed up to the kitchen and rolled around a couple of different possibilities in my brain from the information Jack had given me. It was a four-hour drive to North Carolina, and Reverend Thomas had said Reverend Oglesby left right after services on Sunday to make it down to his father’s house before it got too late. Oglesby would have packed a bag for that long of a trip. He’d have made a stop by his house to grab his things, maybe had a bite to eat before setting out. Or he could’ve tossed a suitcase in his trunk before he’d left for church that morning. I’d have to remember to ask Jack if they’d located the car yet.
The fresh scent of coffee filled the air, and I waited impatiently with an oversized mug as I tried to remember where I’d packed my aspirin. The sound of the buzzer startled me, and I stood unsure for a second as I stared at the door off the kitchen. Only close friends or the dead used the side door. It was probably Jack, but there was a part of me that remembered what could happen if it turned out to be an enemy instead of a friend. My mind went blank for a minute, and I couldn’t remember where I’d left my gun.
“Coat pocket,” I said to myself, heading to the coat rack in the corner and fumbling with the material until I felt the heavy weight of the gun knock against my hand.
The buzzer sounded again impatiently, and I chambered a bullet as I went to unbolt the door. Frustration and anger at myself made my hands unsteady as I went at the latches.
“Get it together, Graves. You’re acting like an idiot. It’s probably nothing.” But it could be something. That’s what I had to remember.
I got the door open and didn’t bother to hide the gun in my hand as I greeted the person on the other side.
“Are you going to shoot me?” Vaughn asked. “I would have left the rats on the third floor if I’d known this is how you’d thank me.”
My breath shuddered out in relief, and I ignored the sweat that had beaded at my temple.
I unchambered the round and flicked on the safety before stepping back to let him in. “Jack said they were mice. Little mice.”
“Hmm, well, who am I to challenge the word of the sheriff? It’s good to see you, Jaye,” he said, a grin sliding across his always affable face.
He was dressed in his normal work clothes—meaning he wore tailored black slacks, a charcoal grey dress shirt that probably cost more than my Suburban, a black tie with silver swirls that was undoubtedly Italian, and a long coat of black cashmere. His hair was as black as mine, and his eyes were a lovely deep blue framed by lashes I’d always been envious of. He evened it out with a goatee that was precisely shaped and perfectly groomed.
Vaughn was the clotheshorse among us, and he’d told me frequently over the years that just because I didn’t care about clothes didn’t mean I needed to look like a rag picker all the time. I’d tried not to take offense. I’d worn nothing but scrubs for most of the last eight years, so I tended to forget what real clothes felt and looked like. He owned an antique store/vitamin supercenter over in King George Proper, and despite the odd combination, he did very well for himself. It didn’t hurt that he came from a family almost as prosperous as Jack’s.
“I was worried about you,” he said. “Wanted to come up to the cabin and check on you myself, but Jack thought it’d be best to give you some space for a while. Though to tell you the truth, if you’d waited another week he would have dragged you back himself.”
He reached out to give me a hug, but I ducked out of the way awkwardly and put the kitchen island between us. He masked the hurt with another smile, but I could still see it in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I just can’t—I don’t like people to touch me anymore. I get sick.”
Understanding and pity darkened his eyes and that was almost as hard to see as the hurt. “It’s okay, babe. Jack warned me. I just thought I should try, just in case you were immune with me or something.”
He tossed the handkerchief he carried in his pocket down in front of me, and I realized I was crying. I couldn’t do that now. I was afraid if I started I might never stop. I still had the gun in my hand, and I laughed a little as I put it inside the drawer of the island. It was either laugh or start crying again. I scrubbed my hands over my face and looked at Vaughn again. He’d rolled up his shirt sleeves and loosened his tie, and he’d made himself comfortable on one of the barstools while I’d been getting myself back together.
“I’m glad you came by,” I said, clearing my throat. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but really, I am. I missed you.”
“That’s good enough for me, honey. I really missed you too. It wasn’t the same without you here telling Dickie he’s being a dumbass.”
“What’s going on there?” I asked. I remembered I was desperate for coffee and went over to finish the pot I’d been making before I’d been interrupted.
“Dickie filed for divorce from Candy.”
“No!” I turned to look at him to see if he was serious. “I didn’t think he’d have the guts. Dickie likes his money.”
Dickie had married Candy a couple of years after high school because she’d told him she was pregnant. He realized his mistake pretty much after their first month as husband and wife, so he went out and found himself a mistress to even things out. They’d all co-existed in denial for the last six years.
Vaughn smiled and the corners of his blue eyes twinkled. “I think he’s going to be okay. He hired a private investigator first and found out Candy had been juggling a lot of balls, some of them not yellow and fuzzy, during her Sunday morning tennis lessons.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” I said, snorting out a laugh. “So they cheated on each other and now things are amicable all of a sudden?”
“As amicable as possible. They’re going to split everything down the middle except the bank. His grandfather’s will stipulates it can’t go to anyone other than whomever the heir appoints. Candy hasn’t been the problem at all, but Vanessa is giving him fits.”
Vanessa was Dickie’s mistress. She’d given him an ultimatum that she wanted him to file for divorce because she was ready to have children before her ovaries dried up. When Dickie decided Candy would skin him in a divorce, he’d told Vanessa he couldn’t do it and she’d walked out.
