“Harold is starting the autopsy first thing,” Joe had begun without preamble. “Let me give you the address. Be here by seven sharp.” Then he’d told Jeremy to make sure Rowenna stayed safe and hung up.
Jeremy liked having Rowenna with him, despite the circumstances, but given her experience finding the body, he didn’t think she needed to be there for the actual autopsy. It had nothing to do with her gender, because in his experience, he’d found that women M.E.s were as calm, thorough and efficient as men, not to mention that he’d seen six-foot, two-hundred-pound male cops turn green and pass out at the first scalpel cut. It was just that he’d been to a score of autopsies in the course of his career, and he was willing to bet cash money that her life hadn’t included a single one.
He put his phone down and turned to her. “I’ve got to rush. That was Joe, asking if I wanted to attend the autopsy.”
“Really?” she asked, and smiled. “I hadn’t gotten the impression he liked you all that much.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like you. He’s just being careful, I guess. He’s a good cop.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“He cares. He’s always cared. He knows people, and he likes them—once he gets to know them. He also believes in justice. You know, along with truth and the American way and all that.”
“I’ll consider myself forewarned. Listen, wait here till I get back, okay? I don’t want you going home by yourself, just in case.”
“Sure, no problem. I like wearing the same clothes two days in a row.”
He stood and looked down into her eyes. They were such an extraordinary color. Like gold, against the dark tone of her sleek hair. Her features were beautiful, as well, her nose straight and small but not too small, her mouth well-formed and generous, cheekbones high, brows delicate and arched. He cupped her chin, relishing the softness of her skin against his palm.
“We can always drive out there later and pick up some of your things. Don’t you think it makes sense to stay here in town? Close to Brad—and your friend Joe. Makes it easier for you and him to do…whatever voodoo you two do,” he said, trying to make light of it.
She flushed and tried to turn away, but his hold was firm.
“Everything I do when I help the police is based on logic, you know.”
“Sure it is,” he said skeptically.
“I’m serious. I put myself in the place of the victim. I find out everything I can about them, and then I try to imagine what they were thinking, what they were feeling. I’m not a cop. I only make suggestions based on what I feel when I’m in that person’s shoes. It’s just that sometimes my suggestions have been good ones.”
“While I’m gone, why don’t you go out and buy something new to wear? Since you’re so worried about it and all. Although your jeans looked fine to me.”
She grimaced. “Jeremy, I was lying in the dirt in those jeans.”
“Okay, good point. Run down the street and buy something else, then.”
“They sell really nice wiccan robes down the street,” she teased.
“I’m sure you’d look lovely in one,” he said, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m going upstairs to shower. I’ll see you before I head out, but please, promise you’ll stay in town and wait for me. Don’t go out to your place without me.”
“It’s all right. I’ll be around. I want to go to the library and maybe the museum, anyway. Just give me a call when you’re back.”
She was ready and waiting to take her shower as soon as he finished his, and he was downstairs, getting ready to leave the spare set of keys on the counter, along with a note, when she came down, dressed and ready to head out.
“I’m starving,” she told him. “I’m going to go get some breakfast.”
He handed her the keys, and she thanked him.
“Do you want me to drop you somewhere?” he asked.
She laughed. “Are you kidding? It’s only a few blocks to walk, and it’s nice out.”
“It’s cold.”
She laughed. “You think this is cold? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, mister.”
Even in jeans, boots, a sweater and a denim jacket, she still somehow managed to be a picture of elegance and grace, he thought, as he pulled out of the driveway.
Jeremy wasn’t sure why, but he was always surprised by the normalcy of the people who worked at the morgue. The receptionist, perky and midtwenties, seemed equally comfortable greeting the living and walking in and out of a room where human bodies lay in various stages of exposure and decomposition.