Death by Engagement (Caribbean Murder Series, Book 12)

“Nothing’s impossible,” the coroner objected, “believe me, nothing at all. There’s no way of knowing how she jumped, where she flung herself from, or what rocks were there. She was found at the bottom of the cliff with a few bones fractured in a way that was consistent with a fall.”


“No, I don’t buy it,” murmured Cindy. “She could have been thrown, someone could have tossed her. Or better yet, she could have been killed somewhere else and dumped there.”

That stopped the corner cold. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“If you’re saying she fell, I’m saying we have to know what angle she fell at and what the effects on her body would be,” Cindy demanded.

“Sweetheart”—he became more engaged now—“do you know how many people come down here, get drunk or high and jump off cliffs? If we had to figure what angle each of them fell at, we’d have no time for anything else.”

“But there was no evidence of liquor or drugs in her body, was there?” Cindy zeroed in.

“No, there was not,” he agreed, “but depression acts like a drug. It whacks your body chemistry until you don’t know what you’re doing. We talked with her psychiatrist about it, and he agreed.”

“Is the psychiatrist down here?” Cindy suddenly wanted to talk to him badly.

“No, I spoke to him on the phone,” the corner said. “But Edward’s now paid the guy to come down here and talk to Shari’s mother. She’s not doing well and Edward’s scared.”

Cindy was relieved to think that she’d have a chance to talk to Shari’s psychiatrist herself.

“So, is there anything more I can do for you?” The coroner was obviously eager to be through.

But Cindy wanted to spend a few more minutes with Shari’s photo. She glanced at it sadly, remembering the lively, charming young woman she’d met.

“So, how do you figure this bruise got here?” Cindy asked then.

“Still with the bruise?” The coroner got impatient.

“Yes, I want to know if it was there before she died,” said Cindy.

“Well, how in the world are you going to know that?” he asked brusquely, reaching out his hand for the photo. “For all you know she had rough sex with the guy she was about to marry,” he continued, and grinned, “or someone else.”

Cindy let him take the photo back slowly, feeling as though she were relinquishing Shari to someone who couldn’t care less and who was ready to insult her without a second thought.

Disgusted, Cindy stood up to leave then. “How about the medical examiner’s latest report?” she asked, before leaving.

“Yeah, yeah,” the coroner grumbled as he tucked the photo back into its folder.

“What do you mean, yeah, yeah?” asked Cindy.

“We got a few more details,” the coroner said reluctantly, then, “nothing important.”

“What details? Tell me.” Cindy was all over it.

“Seems like the time of death was an hour or two earlier than we thought originally,” the coroner said grudgingly. “You never know with these things exactly, there’s always room for guessing. It doesn’t make a difference, though.”

“Doesn’t make a difference?” Cindy looked at him askance[cl10] . “The time of death makes a huge difference.”

At that the coroner spun around and glared at her. “Why?”

“If Shari died a couple of hours earlier, then her fiancé doesn’t have an alibi that I know of,” Cindy said, breathlessly.

“Oh, give me a break, that’s crazy,” the coroner blurted out. “Enough’s enough! What’s wrong with you lousy detectives, prowling around and making trouble for nothing. Doesn’t the family have enough heartache?” Then he slammed the file drawer shut and turned his back toward Cindy, letting her know in no uncertain terms that it was time to go.

*

Cindy shivered as she walked down the long hallway. Even though Shari’s bruise was relatively slight, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Had they fingerprinted it? Probably not. True, there were many ways Shari could have gotten it, but Cindy wanted to know how. It didn’t seem to be something to make light of the way the coroner had.

Cindy walked out of the coroner’s building into the bright light of day, where people were walking to and fro, happy, laughing, making plans for what they’d do for dinner and dancing that night. Shari wasn’t among them anymore, though, and Cindy wanted to know why.

As she crossed the street to get a taxi, a car started honking at her. Cindy looked over and to her surprise it was Edward, parked outside, obviously waiting for Cindy to come out.

“I’m over here, here,” Edward called, waving his hand from the open car window. “Come on over, come in, I’ll give you a ride back to the hotel.”





Chapter 13


“They say it’s possible the time of Shari’s death was a couple of hours earlier than we thought,” Cindy said the minute she opened Edward’s car door and got in.

“I know, I know,” said Edward, excited. “The medical examiner called while you were in there and let me know. We’re on a roll.”

“That doesn’t look good for Doug, does it?” Cindy commented, as Edward stepped on the gas and began to drive.