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

who read novels. McVie who liked concerts. McVie who looked in her eyes when they were talking. Not all their talk was about their work, his as sheriff, hers as coroner. But McVie had made it clear he wanted to work things out with his wife. So here she was.

She looked at the small apartment building—Akeel had one of the three upstairs apartments in the converted Victorian—and saw him at the window, watching her car, watching her.

And, she saw clearly, not wearing a shirt.

Apparently he wasn’t interested in pretense.

She shook her head, popped the trunk, and opened the car door.

She took her suitcase from the trunk, keenly aware that he was watching her. When she’d walked up the seven steps to the landing, Akeel was already there, behind the door.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “You changed your hair. I like it.”

“Hey, Akeel,” Fenway said. “Didn’t your mom ever tell you you’ll catch cold if you don’t put on a shirt?” Cold? Hell, the danger was fever: his abs hadn’t lost their definition in the two years since she had seen him. She thought of what Dez had said and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What my mamma told me was that I better have someone to keep me nice and warm.” He pulled her to him. Even in her sneakers she had two inches on his five-eight frame. “I can’t catch cold when you’re so hot.”

Fenway rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Akeel,” she said, stepping out of his embrace.

“That’s a great dress, too,” he said. “Looks all innocent, like you’re about to go on a picnic or something. It’s like ninja-sexy.”

“Ninja-sexy?”

“Yeah, it looks all sweet and nice at first, not like a sexy dress, and then it sneaks up on you and suddenly, pow! You don’t know what hit you.”

She could feel the color rise to her cheeks. “Okay, Cyrano, take this suitcase upstairs before we make everyone puke.”

“Ain’t no one out here but us,” he said.

“I hope there’s no one in there but us either.”

Akeel smiled. Fenway smiled back and followed him upstairs.

Her hands were on his muscular back as soon as the door to his apartment closed behind them. Her left hand snaked around to his stomach, then started to loosen his belt. She kissed his shoulder.

“You’re not wasting any time tonight,” he said. He put the suitcase on the floor. She put her purse on the end table, still kissing his back.

“Only got one night in town,” she breathed into his ear. “Wanted to make it count.”

“One night?”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

They made it to the sofa, although his jeans did not.

It was easy to get comfortable with him again, Fenway thought. Their bodies went well together. She liked how they fit. She liked the way his skin smelled, liked how his hands were so strong and confident on her back, on her shoulders, on the sides of her face as he kissed her deeply.

Her phone rang in her purse.

When she realized where the ringing was coming from, their clothes were mostly off, and he was kissing her, up and down her body. The phone stopped ringing after about twenty seconds. Then it rang again. She ignored it again, and it again went to voicemail. They were in a rhythm, and she didn’t want to lose it.

The phone rang again.

And, excruciatingly, Akeel stopped. “You got a boyfriend in Cali wondering where you are?”

“No,” she said. “I hardly know anyone there except co-workers. And they know better than to call me on vacation.”

“You gonna get that?”

“No, I’m not going to get that,” Fenway said. “I want you to keep doing what you were doing.”

“Your phone is breaking my concentration. And believe me, you want me to have my full powers of concentration for this.”

Fenway sighed. “Fine. I’ll tell them to go away.”

She pulled herself up on the sofa and grabbed the phone out of her purse. “It’s Dez,” she said.

“Who?”

“She’s my co-worker.” Fenway answered the call. “Hey, Dez. This better be important. You don’t have any idea what I’m—”

“Mayor Jenkins is dead, Fenway.”

Fenway stopped. “Wait, what? The mayor? Dead?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Stabbed,” Dez said. “They found her at Cactus Lake Motel about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Cactus Lake Motel? Was she trying to stop a drug deal? Was she trying to make a drug deal?”

“I can’t say,” Dez said. “Where are you? Have you made it to Seattle yet?”

“Yeah, I’m here. With Akeel.”

“Good. We booked you on the next flight back. Five thirty. Coastal Airways flight out of Sea-Tac.”

“Out of Sea-Tac? But I’ve got my car here.”

“Just leave it in long-term, Fenway. The county will pick up the tab. You can go back and get your car in a few days.”

“No one else can do this?”

“Are you or are you not the coroner of this county, Fenway? You don’t think the mayor getting murdered is important enough to cut your vacation short?”

Fenway stood up and padded half-dressed into the kitchen, away from the disappointed Akeel. She lowered her voice. “Is there any way I can leave tomorrow instead?”

Dez’s voice was sharp. “Did you hear me say who died? Alice Jenkins. First black judge in this county. First black mayor in this county. First black anything-that-matters in this county. Not the first black woman, the first black person, period.”

“I guess I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. I’ll be on that flight.”

“I’ll see you when you land.”

Dez clicked off.

Putting the phone in her purse, Fenway avoided Akeel’s eyes. She had to be out of the apartment in thirty minutes. And she had caught a chill.