Chapter 4
It had taken a great deal of effort on Byron’s part the previous day to convince her that their first day in New York should be spent trying to relax as much as possible. He did not realize or appreciate that one of the main ways she dealt with traumatic events was by staying overly busy. It was by far not her healthiest coping mechanism, and only after admitting that to herself did she allow him to take her out to lunch with his old friend Garrett, who had graciously lent them their phones. The guy had been pleasant enough, she supposed, but he seemed on edge for the first half of their lunch.
Little had she known, when she started the phone call with the bank, that she would still be waiting almost an hour later, having heard the on-hold line recorded announcement that they valued her as a customer approximately three hundred times.
“Are... you okay?” Byron asked, for only the third time.
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Who in their right mind sets a looped recording to play more than once a minute?” she asked, huffing.
The mischievous twitch in his smile tugged irresistibly at her own amusement and she found herself smiling back at him. How in the world did this man make her laugh without even saying anything? It was absurd.
“Hello—”
She jumped and grasped the phone tighter to her ear, “Hi, My name’s…”
“We apologize for the inconvenience of waiting, all our operators are currently busy. Your place in the line has been saved and you will receive a call later in the day.”
The shrill beep that sounded after the recording was so loud it made Abigail recoil.
“Ah! They cut me off!”
“What?” Byron asked, disbelieving.
Abigail sighed and tossed the phone down onto the bed.
“Allegedly they’ll call me back, I never trust those things...”
Garrett had bought lunch the previous day, and he insisted he be allowed to treat them as he had invited them. The diner he’d chosen hardly matched the grand language of the gesture, but the food had been good, and so Abigail had found that she did not care about the vinyl seat tears repaired with duct tape or the grimy windows.
Byron had been luckier with his bank. They had issued a card, at the very least—less fortunately, they had also posted it to his address in Rhode Island. So they were having to make do with the five hundred dollars the branch had allowed him to withdraw. This meant they didn’t have to worry about food, but it also meant they couldn’t afford to change rooms.
After a second night on the thinly padded chair, Byron looked worse for wear. As she looked at him, she saw how hunched his posture was and how painful his expression was when he stretched. I should offer to take a night on the chair, she thought, begrudgingly acknowledging that it would be the right thing to do.
“So—”
“Do you—”
He smiled as he cracked his back and gave her a mock bow. “Ladies first...”
Her resolve evaporated when she heard a series of loud clicks from his spine.
“I was just going to ask if you had any ideas where to start looking. I did find the address of the apartment where Jacob was found but I feel weird about just showing up there. Like, it wouldn’t even tell us anything—right? It’s been twenty years.”
Byron nodded, “Honestly, probably not much at all. Keep it in the back of your mind. We might want to check something later, but as a first port of call, it’s probably a waste.”
Abigail nodded, deflated. She knew she was right, but it was somehow more distressing to hear it confirmed.
“I did think we could meet an old friend of mine?” he suggested.
“Not Garrett?”
“No, Peta,” he said, “she worked in the morgue at the time. If she can help, then she will.”
Without realizing she was doing it, Abigail felt her expression morph into something unflattering. The thought of working in a morgue made her shiver—shiver, but not panic. That caught her off guard, and she did a quick body scan for her telltale signs of anxiety.
There weren’t any.
Which was technically good... but she had been violently mugged less than forty-eight hours ago and was about to meet a stranger in a strange city who may or may not have worked on the dead body of her high school sweetheart.
“Ah shoot,” she said under her breath.
“What?”
“Oh... nothing,” she said, but grabbed her phone and shot off a text to Doctor Lavender.
From Abigail: Hey Doc, I’m all right—honestly—but I’m a bit worried. I kind of got mugged on Saturday night and I’m not feeling anything big about it... feels like I should be feeling something. I am fine, not hurt, I mean. Just want to check in with you as discussed.
“Let’s go,” she said, “at least to get out of this room and walk for a bit.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye and appreciated the way he was clearly listening but correctly chose not to say anything.
***
The woman waiting for them in the almost silent and obsessively clean café—that was the complete opposite of yesterday’s diner—was stunning. Abigail actually felt her jaw drop open for a second when she caught sight of her. She was already tall, but she wore a pair of four-inch spike heels secured with a dark green ribbon that wound around her ankles and finished in a neat bow. Despite her love for the look of high heels, she had never been able to put up with the pain—then she’d had twins and the concept of stilettoes around toddler hands was too much for her active imagination. This woman was the exact combination of naturally beautiful and exquisitely dressed, which made people uncomfortable. Her makeup was immaculate, her dark copper-colored hair looked effortless but probably took an hour to style and a monthly salon appointment, and the all-black outfit flattered her perfectly.
Peta stood to greet them and towered over Abigail, who was still slightly in shock.
“You did not tell me I’d get to meet your friend,” she said to Byron as she enveloped him in a hug.
“Didn’t want to scare you off,” he replied, “I know how shy you are.”
Her laugh was melodic and Abigail found herself smiling too—despite not being in on the joke. When she turned her smile on Abigail, she instantly felt tongue tied again.
Good grief, Abigail thought, she’s a person, not a celebrity crush, and you’re not fourteen!
“Hey,” she said, “sorry if I’m—”
“Oh don’t apologize,” Peta said, “he never lets me meet his friends.”
Suddenly, Abigail felt a twinge of something... Byron never let her meet his friends? Were they...? Had they been? Peta swooped down and planted a light air kiss on her cheek, which cut off the thought mid question. Her perfume smelled amazing, and somehow, the heavy smoke and leather scents were cut through with something tangy and sharp, which prevented it from being overwhelming.
“I don’t have any friends,” Byron said, smiling as he gestured for them to take a seat.
“It’s great to meet you,” Abigail said, feeling herself slip into the calm and confident persona she’d spent so many years using while liaising around the world for her old employer, “and I have to say, your perfume is incredible!”
Peta smiled sweetly. “Oh, thank you, it’s a custom blend from this guy…”
She fished out a business card from her handbag and handed it over.
“Oh, thanks,” Abigail said, instantly sure that she would not be able to afford a custom perfume from anywhere Peta shopped.
“He’s only just opened up for business; if you’re interested, I’d get in there before he gets famous and the price triples,” Peta said with a wink as if reading her mind.
“Right... sure,” she replied, pocketing the card, “thanks.”
A waiter appeared to take their order and Abigail was taken aback when Peta ordered for all of them—how did she know even what Abigail would like!?
She wasn’t wrong, Abigail had to admit, but still. It wasn’t even her normal regular coffee she had ordered—it was a hazelnut, oat milk latte. It sounded delicious the moment she said it, but that was hardly the point, Abigail silently fumed.
“Sorry, I do that sometimes,” Peta said, “please feel free to change it...”
The woman did look actually embarrassed, which made Abigail want to insist.
“It’s fine—I... a bit weird, sure, but it does genuinely sound good,” she admitted, “I don’t know what any of the cakes you ordered are really, but all of them looked amazing on the way in—and cake is cake so...”
Peta smiled at her, “You’re very kind. I am a bit weird... I’m sure Byron has told you?”
“Nope,” he said, “you’re your own person and I refuse to act like you’re a spectacle to warn people about. It’ll go to your head.”
With a wink, Peta grinned at Abigail. “He used to warn people.”
The coffee and cake arrived and it was, admittedly, perfect. When they finished and the bill arrived in its sleek leather cover, she winced and looked away. Good coffee and cake was one thing but eleven dollars for a coffee was... Peta didn’t even glance at it before sliding a black credit card into the folio and setting it aside.
“So, this favor,” Peta said, “It’s for you.”
“Uh, yes,” Abigail said, “I.. uh... feel the need to ask—”
“What’s a stereotype like me doing working in a city morgue?” Peta guessed.
Abigail flushed, “well, yeah, honestly.”
The angelic woman across from her laughed, “Because I’m good at it, it’s interesting, and I get bored very easily. Byron said you needed details, notes, photos, whatever—of this Jacob Givens guy? Why?”
The abrupt change in her tone was startling. She was all business now.
“I don’t think he killed himself,” she said, matching the blunt tone. “I don’t know what happened, but I have reason to believe the death certificate is incorrect.”
The table fell silent as Peta surveyed her. She could feel her heart racing but did everything she could to stay visibly calm under the unexpected scrutiny. Mentally, she pre-loaded the answers to the questions she expected were about to be fired her way.
“Okay,” Peta said simply, “I’ll let you know when I’ve got them.”
Abigail blinked, “Oh, great, thanks.”
As if closing a program on a computer screen, Peta’s face lit up again in a smile and her friendly personality was back on in full force.
“Amazing to meet you, now I really do have to run,” she said, getting up and signaling to the waiter.
After the whirlwind of goodbyes and even more air kisses, Abigail leaned back in her seat and looked at Byron, who held his hands up in supplication.
“How could I possibly have warned you? You’d never have believed me.”
He wasn’t wrong; it still annoyed her, though.
“Did you tell her what kind of coffee I like?”
“Nope,” he said, “she probably looked up your social media before we got here. She’s nosey. Sorry—curious—which is probably what makes her such a good Medical Examiner.”
Abigail’s mouth fell open. “She’s a Medical Examiner!? That’s like a hundred years in school—she barely looks twenty five!”
“She’s thirty-six, and she graduated high school early,” he said, “I told you, you wouldn’t have believed me unless you met her.”
Letting out a long sigh, Abigail nodded and pulled out her phone—she still hadn’t heard from the girls or Liam, and she was starting to get worried.
“You like her, though?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he spoke.
“Yeah, actually,” she said, “she’s definitely weird, but in a good way.”
“Good,” he said, smiling as he leaned across the table towards her.
The breath in her lungs hitched as she met his gaze. He was smiling at her like she had just said something brilliant or interesting, and she was unsure why. She swallowed hard and tried to speak.
“You want to go get some lunch or—”
The phone lit up as a call from the bank filled the screen.
“Hi, hello. Yes, that’s me. Correct...” Abigail answered, “but you have my police report...”
The garbled but legal sounding nonsense from the bank employee only made her angrier the more he spoke.
“I understand that I’m not the only person on the account, but I can assure you my husband would be fine with me having another card.”
She winced as she used the word husband to describe Liam, but if she went back now and added the “ex”, it would hardly help her case. When she hung up, she was furious and exhausted.
“Lunch? Please?” she asked Byron. “Apparently, it’s nineteen-fifty-three, and I need Liam’s go-ahead to replace a card.
“Right,” Byron said, seemingly distracted by his phone.
Distracted, or just not interested? she wondered as they exited the café and he remained glued to his screen.