The Reluctant Coroner by Paul Austin Ardoin (distant reading txt) 📖

her. “I’m deeply concerned that you’re so close with Ferris Energy. That corporation controls enough of this town as it is.” Klein put his hands flat on the desk, palms down. “When a powerful person has access to the coroner’s office, procedures get overlooked. Policies get selectively enforced. Personal agendas take precedence over the rule of law.”

Fenway could feel her blood pressure rise but breathed evenly, in for the count of ten, out for the count of ten, then looked up at Dr. Klein.

He stared back at her.

The seconds ticked by.

Klein leaned forward, fuming. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“You’ve asked no question,” Fenway said. “It sounds like you’re making a campaign speech, but you haven’t asked me a single question since you inquired whether Seattle University was in Seattle.”

“Watch yourself,” Klein said. “Disrespect to the board won’t be—”

“Ask a damn question, Barry,” Mayor Jenkins said. “And watch your tone.”

Barry Klein glared at the mayor, then cleared his throat.

“How can you assure us that you won’t be prioritizing your father’s corporate interests over the needs of the county?”

Fenway sat up straight. “Nathaniel Ferris and I have barely spoken more than a couple of times a year for the last two decades,” she said.

“I don’t believe that,” Klein interrupted.

“Check phone records, email records, whatever you want. In fact, if you have so many concerns, Dr. Klein, I’m surprised you haven’t done so already. I’ve had less exposure to the ‘Nathaniel Ferris agenda’ than any other person in Dominguez County.”

Klein turned to the other supervisors. “This is ridiculous. We cannot allow Nathaniel Ferris to make a laughingstock of our county government. I don’t care what she says. She moved into one of his apartment buildings. She probably still gets an allowance.”

Fenway crossed her arms. I didn’t see a dime.

“You should take the job instead, Dr. Klein,” Fenway said.

Klein’s head whipped around. “We’re not talking to you.”

“You obviously want it,” Fenway continued. “I heard they offered it to you first. Take it. The only reason I’m being offered this appointment is because you said no.”

Could Barry Klein have anything to do with Walker’s murder? Maybe he wanted Walker out of the way but didn’t think things through? No, that didn’t make sense. Now, if it were Nathaniel Ferris dead, Klein would be the prime suspect.

“Some of us have obligations to our patients and shareholders,” Klein hissed.

“I bet you could work it out,” Fenway said. “You plan to run for coroner in November anyway. Just work two full-time jobs until you can get out of your practice. Hell, I worked two full-time jobs and got my associate’s degree.”

Fenway turned her head to McVie. His eyes were wide.

“Well, Barry?” Mayor Jenkins asked.

“You know I can’t take the position now, Alice.”

“Got anyone else in mind who’d accept? Or are you just trying to embarrass Miss Stevenson?”

Klein was silent.

“Thank you, Dr. Klein,” Mayor Jenkins said firmly. “Miss Stevenson, thank you for your time and your candor.” She hesitated. “I apologize for misspelling your name. We should have caught that mistake. It wasn’t professional.”

Fenway tapped the nameplate in front of her. “You got my last name correct. That’s more than most people around here.”

“Oh, please,” Dr. Klein muttered under his breath.

“You’re excused, Miss Stevenson,” Mayor Jenkins said. “Sheriff, let’s chat for a bit before we adjourn.”

“I appreciate the opportunity.” Fenway bent her head, halfway between a nod and a bow. She stood up and turned to McVie.

McVie sat back in his seat, shoulders slumped, eyes wide. He looked up at Fenway. “That wasn’t what I expected.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare.”

She walked out of the chamber. Part of her was terrified at what she’d just said, but part of her was glad she’d claimed her space.

And then it hit her.

Her mother’s cypress tree painting.

It was clear in her mind now. A four-foot-wide by two-foot-high canvas her mother had hung in her bedroom above the dresser.

She’d never had a favorite painting of her mother’s because most of the ones Fenway got attached to had been sold. This painting was striking, sure, but Fenway had assumed it was of a location on the Olympic Peninsula, or maybe down farther, where the Columbia empties into the Pacific. It never crossed her mind that the landscape would be in California. In Estancia.

Her mother hadn’t sold it. A few buyers had been interested, but they always bought another painting instead. Maybe her mother had liked that painting. Maybe no matter how bad it had been for her mother in California, inspiration and hope were never far away. Her mother had found a beautiful spot overlooking the ocean, near a butterfly grove, around the corner from a coffee shop, and she had made it hers, even from a thousand miles away.