Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
May let the stethoscope hang around her neck as she walked into the reception area of her clinic and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
Finally, blissfully, the room was empty.
The late evening light slanted through the front windows, turning the scuffed linoleum a dull gold.
The hum of the refrigerator in the lab drifted down the hallway, steady and familiar.
After the day she’d had, the quiet felt fragile.
Nancy looked up from behind the reception desk, appearing as haggard as May felt. Her hair had slipped from its clip, and her glasses sat crooked on her nose. “It’s been a crazy one, Doc.”
May stretched her aching neck. “Apparently the flu really is going around town, along with a wave of poison oak cases. Mostly tourists. They don’t recognize the leaves when they see them.”
Nancy gave a tired huff. “No kidding.”
“Have you gotten anything to eat?” May asked.
“I had a protein bar.” Nancy cleared her throat. “Um, Brock and Olly are back in your office.”
May sighed. Her shoulders felt like someone had hung weights from them. “Go get something to eat, Nancy.” She glanced at her watch. “Actually, it’s way after dinner time. Go home.”
Nancy blinked. “Yeah? Is that all right?”
“You’re fine. I don’t think we’ll see too many more people tonight, and if we do, I’ll handle them.
” She leaned one hip against the counter for a second.
“Dr. Patterson is back at the hospital.” He was a part-time doctor who helped out during the busy summer months, and he’d been attending a convention in Seattle for the last week. Thank goodness he’d returned.
Relief flickered across Nancy’s face. “So we’re good?”
“Yes, go home and spend time with your family. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Absolutely.” Nancy reached across the desk and took May’s hand. Her grip was warm and steady. “I’m really sorry about Ivy.”
May’s chest felt tight. “Me too.”
All day long, patients had offered condolences. Then they’d asked for updates. She’d given them nothing. She wouldn’t be the one to jeopardize the investigation, although she certainly understood their concern.
Nancy swallowed again. “The med supply plane took Ivy’s body to Fairbanks for the autopsy.”
May wanted to throw up about that. “I know.”
Nancy’s brown eyes softened. “Will they give you the results?”
“No,” May said. “I’m not really involved with the case other than to say yes, this is a deceased person, and then make sure the body gets to a medical examiner.”
“Didn’t you do an autopsy last winter?” Nancy asked.
May hadn’t enjoyed that. “Yeah, but that’s because we were snowed in for months and they needed the results.
” She could still remember standing in the hospital’s small procedure room, the wind howling outside, a forensic pathologist walking her through each step over a grainy Zoom call.
It had felt surreal then. This felt worse.
“Other than that,” she continued, “the bodies have to go elsewhere.”
Nancy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That makes sense.”
May rolled her shoulders back. Nancy always knew what was moving through town before anyone else. “Have you heard what happens to Ivy after that?”
Nancy rubbed her left temple. “Yeah. Ivy’s family is from Washington State, and they want to bury her there. They’ll probably transport her once the autopsy’s done.”
May looked down at the worn counter, tracing a faint scratch in the wood with her fingertip. Ivy wouldn’t even rest here. She’d be gone.
“We should have some sort of celebration of life here,” Nancy went on softly. “Maybe later in the summer once the tourists head back.”
“Yeah,” May said, barely whispering. “We should. Once we find out who killed her.”
The clinic felt different without Ivy’s laugh drifting down the hall. Without her steady presence in the exam room next door. Every corner held a reminder. A pen she’d left behind. A half-finished chart. The mug in the break room with the chipped handle.
May forced herself to straighten. Brock and Ophelia were waiting.
The town was already shifting under the weight of two deaths, and Ace was sitting in a cell.
She wanted to go down to the jail and see him, to let him know she believed him.
To let him see it in her face. But she couldn’t leave until she was sure no one needed her. Responsibility didn’t pause for grief.
“You want me to lock up?” Nancy asked, standing and gathering her belongings.
“No, I’ll leave it open.” Patients had slowed to a trickle, but the flu was moving through town with purpose. May would see more tonight. She always did once dinner settled and fevers spiked.
Nancy gave her a hug, her sweater soft and warm, smelling faintly of gardenias. The scent clung to May’s scrubs for a second after she stepped back. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Have a good night.” May turned and walked down the hallway, the overhead lights casting long shadows along the walls.
The framed medical certificates felt like they belonged to someone steadier than she was right now.
She turned into her office where Brock and Ophelia had spread notes across her desk.
“Hey,” Brock said, looking up. “I hope it’s okay we took over your office.”
May wished she’d thought to grab a protein bar before sending Nancy home. Her stomach felt hollow and tight at the same time. “Of course.” She knew they were there to keep an eye on her safety, and she appreciated the concern.
“So the murders are here and here,” Ophelia said, pointing to a large map they’d laid across the desk. “Access points are from here, here, and here.”
Colored pins dotted the paper. The map made it look almost logical. Almost solvable.
“Did you guys find anything?” May needed good news.
“No,” Brock growled, glancing up. His green eyes were darker than usual, shadows sitting beneath them. There was no doubt he and Ace were brothers, as their bone structure was so similar. “Sounds like the flu’s going around.”
“Yeah, you two should take your vitamins,” May said automatically. “Get some sleep so you don’t catch it.” Her body felt wrung out. She wasn’t sure sleep would come even if she tried.
Ophelia looked up and studied her carefully. “Are you doing okay, May?”
“I’m fine,” May said.
“Right,” Ophelia replied gently. “I’m really sorry you had to go identify Ivy.”
“Me too.” May looked at Brock. “Any news on Ace?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Daisy’s still trying to get him a hearing today so he doesn’t have to sit in jail overnight, but the troopers pretty much told me to get the hell out of the building. So I did. We’re running our own investigation.”
“Ace wouldn’t kill anybody,” May said. The certainty of it lived in her bones.
“We know that,” Ophelia added. “The problem is he was the last person to see Ivy alive.”
“Except for the killer,” May said quietly.
Brock reached for a pen to make a notation. “Totally agree.”
“What about the Thompson brothers?” May asked. “They partied with Laura and they partied with Ivy.”
“Yeah. Mick and his brothers seem good-natured, but they’re on my list.” Brock shifted papers aside and pulled out a legal notepad. “Half the town’s on this list, except for the ones we know have solid alibis.”
The weight of that pressed down on her. Half the town. It meant suspicion hanging in every grocery aisle, every church pew, every boat on the river.
May swallowed hard. The front door jingled. Her chin dropped. “More flu cases, I’m sure,” she sighed. “Let me know if you hear about Ace.”
“You’ve got it,” Brock said, already bending back over the map.
May walked down the long hallway into the reception area. It was empty. The overhead lights hummed. The front door stood closed. That was weird. She knew she’d heard the bell. A couple dots of blood on the floor caught her eye. What in the world?
She turned and retraced her steps. The door to the first examination room was closed. It shouldn’t be. She glanced down the hallway toward her office, reached for the knob, and twisted it open. Then she poked her head inside, ready to yell for help. She stilled. “Holy crap. Nixi?”
“Hi.” Nixi sat on the exam table, one hand pressed against her right rib cage. Blood seeped steadily between her fingers, dark and arterial-bright where it hit the overhead light.
What in the actual heck? May slipped inside and shut the door behind her, locking it automatically. “What happened?”
“Um, I need help.” Nixi lay back on the papered table, her breath shallow. She wore a bloody blue T-shirt and shorts. “Can you stitch me?”
May’s pulse jumped, but her training took over. “Are you Nixi or Stella, by the way?” The woman had pretended to be an influencer with the name of Nixi before being revealed to be Stella, Damian’s wife. May crossed to the sink and snapped on latex gloves. “Lift your hand.”
“Stella. My name is actually Stella, which you obviously already know.” She hesitated and then lifted her shirt.
May sat on her rolling stool and brought her tray with her, studying the injury. The wound was a horizontal laceration just below the eighth rib on the right side, about three inches long, gaping slightly. “What happened to you?” May reached for sterile gauze.
“Would you believe a wild boar got me?”
“I would not,” May said dryly. “This is going to pinch,” she said, drawing up 1% lidocaine with epinephrine into a smaller syringe. “I’m going to numb you.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Stella flinched but didn’t pull away.
May went to work. “I like this hair color on you.”
“Thanks.” Stella had thick brown hair this time instead of spiked colors of pink and purple. Her blue eyes were the same, deep and dark, but those could be contacts.
May focused. “You’re not really brunette, are you?”
“I’m whatever I want to be.”
That was a decent answer. May waited thirty seconds, then tested the area with the tip of a forceps. “Feel that?”
“Pressure.”