Close to the Bone (Widow's Island Novella Book 1) Page 4

  “I think it will be a good part of your healing process. You aren’t the type of person to sit around and relax all day.”

  “True.”

  “What are your plans for today?”

  “Shower, make some calls, and read up on Becca’s case.”

  “Why don’t you get some air first?”

  Fresh island air and some movement greatly appealed to Cate. “Good idea. Then I’ll get to work.”

  Or am I nervous to identify those bones?

  6

  Through the glass front door, Henry watched a young man in jeans and a heavy coat stride up the walkway to his clinic.

  His nurse, Julie, who was also his office manager and person-who-does-everything-else, was out on a coffee run, so Henry sat behind the reception desk, propping his head up with his hands. It’d been a quiet morning, and Henry couldn’t keep his eyes open. He’d managed two hours of sleep after the late night on Ruby’s Island. He’d lain in bed for hours, thinking about the young girl’s bones, Rex Conan’s sorrow, and Cate Wilde. If he was being honest, most of the thoughts had been about Cate. Her blue eyes had revealed she was in physical pain, but she hadn’t let it affect her work. She’d considerately handled Rex, respecting his sorrow.

  She has a story.

  A deeper story than her and Deputy Black losing a teenage friend years ago.

  The clinic door opened, and Henry pushed to his feet. The man looked to be in his early twenties and had a serious case of bed head. Henry ran a hand over his own short hair in reflex.

  “Are you the doctor?” Mr. Bed Head looked confused. Now that he was closer, Henry noticed both the coat and jeans were heavily worn and dirty. A large part of the island population was poor. The primary industry was tourism, and during the winter, the industry was nearly nonexistent. People scraped by. Others gave up and moved to the mainland.

  “I am. What can I do for you?”

  “I slipped on the ice yesterday, and today I can barely walk. Everything hurts.”

  “Mmmm,” Henry answered noncommittally. “Let’s get your paperwork done, and then I’ll take a look.” He handed over a clipboard with several forms. “You been in before?”

  Bed Head took the clipboard. “Nah. Just visiting the island.” He scowled at the form. “I don’t have any of these diseases, and I’ll pay cash today. My insurance isn’t worth squat.”

  “Then check the No box on each condition.” Subtle alarms were going off in Henry’s head. The patient looked as tired as Henry felt.

  He scribbled on the forms for a moment and handed back the clipboard. “Thought there was a pretty nurse working here.”

  “Sometimes. Usually it’s me.” Henry hoped Julie wouldn’t return within the next five minutes. The patient’s sleepy gaze darted around the clinic from the chairs to the art and to the door. For someone so tired, he couldn’t seem to focus.

  Henry read the name on the form. Blake Shelton. Yeah, right. The address was on Fifth Street in Seattle. I’d bet good money that he’s never been there.

  He sighed and sat down at the computer. “Give me a minute.”

  “Blake” nodded and started to pace around the room, unable to stay still. Several nervous looks were shot at Henry as he used the computer. When Blake had handed him the clipboard, he’d seen the dilated pupils. Drowsy, short attention span, dilated pupils, a claim of lots of invisible pain.

  It added up to drug seeker.

  He’d seen too many in Los Angeles. And in his own home.

  His older sister had died from an Oxy overdose after a year of drug abuse, family fights, and failed attempts at rehab. At the end she’d been taking nearly forty pills a day. She had been arrested three times for shoplifting to support her habit before she’d decided to steal from home. She had then sold their father’s lawn mower, Weedwacker, and revolver. Henry had been a senior in high school, and watching his sister’s rapid decline into addiction had made him decide to study medicine instead of engineering. Somehow he’d wanted to make a difference. He couldn’t save his sister, but maybe he could save someone else. The constant flow of addicted patients in Los Angeles had curbed his optimism. There wasn’t one answer or path to healing.

  “Where’s the pain, Blake?”

  “Oh man. Everywhere. Especially my back.” Blake arched his back and touched his right kidney, avoiding eye contact with Henry.

  “Where’d you land when you slipped?”

  “On my ass. Stairs were icy.”

  “You must have hit your back several times on the steps, then.”

  “Yeah . . . a lot of times. They were steep and concrete. I was at the top when I slipped.” He winced. “I think I need to sit down.”

  Henry pointed at a chair in the waiting room. No way I’ll let him into the back of the clinic. Henry didn’t have opioids on hand, and he’d seen angry drug seekers destroy expensive medical equipment when they were denied their fix.

  Blake sat and moaned, appearing quite crippled, no longer the young man who’d confidently stridden to Henry’s door.

  A blood pressure cuff in his hand, Henry entered the waiting room as his ire battled with his sympathy. I don’t have time for this today. Or the patience. He had forgotten how each drug-seeker encounter wrenched his bruised heart, which had never healed from his sister’s death.

  “Take your coat off so I can take your blood pressure.”

  “Out here?”

  “I don’t want to make you walk any farther than you have to.”

  Blake slipped off his coat, and his strong body odor filled the room.

  “Turn so I can look at your back.”

  Blake froze, and his eyes widened.

  Oops. Someone realized his back should be bruised and battered.

  Rookie.

  “Don’t want to show me your back?”

  “It hurts inside. There’s nothing really to see.” Blake squirmed in his seat, not knowing what to do with his hands.

  “I’m not going to give you a prescription for pain,” Henry said as Blake turned angry eyes to him. “What I’ll give you is a phone number for help. I’ve watched too many people throw their lives away for this addiction.”

  Blake shot out of the chair, and Henry stood his ground, his muscles tensing. The men stood eye to eye for a long second while Henry fought the impulse to take him to the floor. He’d tackled addicts several times in the LA emergency room. “Back the fuck down,” Henry said quietly. “My sister died from this shit, and it’ll kill you too if you don’t do something about it.”

  Blake turned to grab his coat and then headed for the door. “Asshole.”

  “And tell your druggie friends not to seek here!” Henry shouted just before the man slammed the glass door behind him. Leaping down the outside steps, Blake nearly knocked over a woman. Henry threw open the door and raced out to steady her. She appeared to be in her seventies and had a long gray ponytail.

  “What’d you do to scare off your patient?” she asked with a glimmer in her eye.

  “Refused to give him opioids for his back pain.”

  “Ah, yes. He was clearly in pain as he rocketed down the stairs.” She tilted her head as her blue eyes studied him. “Are you Dr. Powers?”

  “I am.” Henry frowned. The woman was familiar, but he was pretty certain he’d remember someone with a ponytail nearly to her waist.

  “Jane Sutton. Glad to have you on the island.” She held out her hand, and he shook it. “I’d like to get your opinion on my arthritis.”

  He invited her in and sat her in an exam room. She stated she was in his records, and he reviewed her medical history on a laptop.

  “So fancy,” she said, eyeing the small computer. “Old Doc Hardy never had anything like that.”

  “It’s taken weeks for Julie and me to computerize everything. We’re still not done.”

  “I imagine folks are a little resistant to some of your changes? Us islanders have strong opinions.”

  Henry laughed for the first
time that morning. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “There’re only five thousand people on the island, but we’ve got ten thousand opinions.” Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “I don’t want drugs for my hands. I was hoping you had some exercises or creams to recommend.”

  He did. Henry guided her through a few hand movements to help increase the joints’ natural lubrication. Jane joked with him as she practiced, and he was at ease with her, but her visit felt a bit like a job interview. Her gaze was too sharp, and she asked a dozen questions about his past.

  “Why Widow’s Island?” she asked as she stretched her thumbs across her palms.

  “It felt right the first time I visited. Even during the ferry ride, I knew I was about to experience something special.”

  Her nod was approving.

  “But it appears I have some hazing to get through,” Henry added, raising a brow.

  That triggered a scowl. “What sort of hazing?”

  “Locals told me I had to check out the amazing live music on Thursdays at the Harbor View Inn’s bar.” Henry paused. “One man playing oboe doesn’t qualify as amazing in my book, and it was one of the most uncomfortable experiences I’ve ever had. The musician has no sense of personal space. I didn’t appreciate his oboe three feet from my nose.”

  Henry tried not to show it, but the treatment from the locals was getting to him. How long does it take to be accepted?

  He’d moved to the island to help people. They could give him a little slack.

  Jane’s laugh was infectious, and Henry had to grin. “We all know to avoid the bar on Thursday nights when Herb plays his oboe. But we get a kick out of recommending it to the tourists.”

  “He enjoys performing,” Henry said, remembering how the musician enthusiastically played at every table, trying to persuade the patrons to groove with him and his horn. “Now I don’t know what to believe from the islanders.”

  “What else have you been told?”

  “Is it true married men don’t live through old age on the island?” Henry felt a bit ridiculous asking the question.

  Jane nodded. “I’m a three-time widow. Most of the women my age are widowed.”

  “There has to be a medical explanation . . .”

  She shrugged. “No one has found one. The name stuck to the island after Camilla Bishop became a notorious widow.” She leaned toward Henry, her eyes serious. “You’ve heard about Camilla and Elias Bishop, right?”

  “And Ruby?”

  “That’s them.” Satisfaction filled her face.

  “I’ve heard bits and pieces over the last few weeks.” Cate’s statement that she was a descendant of Elias and Ruby rang in his head. “Why does the island have so many unusual location names?”

  “You mean names like Harlot Harbor and Breakneck Point?”

  “And Cheater’s Bookstore and Widow Maker Brewing.”

  “We embrace our history. It happened. No point in hiding it.”

  “Clearly no one was hiding it when the adjacent three islands were named Ruby, Camilla, and Elias,” he said dryly. “How are your hands feeling?”

  She stretched her fingers, and a surprised look crossed her face. “Those few exercises made a big difference.”

  “Good.” He typed a notation in her chart.

  “Any other island questions?” Jane asked.

  “Not right now,” Henry said, pleased with her kindness. Maybe the tide is turning. “I guess time will tell if I’m meant to be here.”

  An odd look entered Jane’s eyes. “The island will either accept you or tell you to leave. You’ll know which it is. Its roots will embrace you if you’re meant to stay.”

  Henry didn’t know what to say.

  Her face cleared, and she gave a confident nod. “I have a good feeling about you, Dr. Powers.”

  At least one of us does.

  Cate’s small SUV followed the winding road to the southwest point of Widow’s Island. Her destination was the cliff edge known as Widow’s Walk. She’d avoided the area since she’d returned. In fact she’d avoided Widow’s Walk for over fifteen years, but today something pulled her to the site.

  She’d taken a brisk walk at her grandmother’s, frustrated at her inability to jog without jostling her shoulder. As she’d walked, she’d had a yearning to look out over Blind Bay and see Camilla’s Island in the distance. Knowing she had work to do, she’d gotten in her vehicle, promising to keep her visit to the cliff brief.

  The road rose higher and higher, and she kept an eye on the outside temperature, hoping she wouldn’t encounter ice. To her left, she caught brief glimpses of the green forested hills of Camilla’s Island. The entire island was a wildlife refuge full of the tiny black-tailed deer. Many of the deer lived on Widow’s Island and swam between the two islands. She reached the top and noticed a few vehicles parked at the Widow’s Walk. One was a county SUV.

  Cate scanned the scattering of people strolling along the fence. There. Tessa’s familiar profile and blonde hair.

  Why is she here?

  Tessa leaned against the rails of the wood fence, her focus on the beach far, far below. Cate was nearly to her side when Tessa finally looked up. Delight crossed her face. “Cate!”

  The women hugged, and Cate wondered again why she hadn’t contacted her best friend. “What are you doing here?” Cate asked, pulling her coat tighter against the brisk breeze.

  Tessa looked across the bay. “I don’t know. I felt the need to stop here today. Usually I avoid it.”

  “Me too.”

  “Probably because of the body discovered last night.”

  “Do you think it’s Samantha?” Cate whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Tessa said slowly. “For some reason my gut says no.”

  Cate exhaled. “Mine too.”

  Tessa’s blue gaze met Cate’s, a look of puzzlement in her eyes. “Why do we feel relieved? We both know our feelings mean nothing in an investigation.”

  Turning toward the bay, Cate placed her hands on the top rail of the fence and leaned over as far as she could. She directed her words toward the rocky beach far below her, watching the water lap at the big rocks. “No one knew her better than us.” A memory floated through Cate’s mind: the three of them making Christmas cookies in Jane’s kitchen.

  “We had a special bond,” Tessa agreed. “You two were like my sisters. Hell, we lived at your house half the time. Your grandmother practically raised us.”

  Cate paused, hesitant to ask her next question. “How is your mother?” she asked delicately. She’d heard about the dementia diagnosis from Jane.

  Tessa was silent for a long moment. “Some days are better than others.”

  Her heart heavy, Cate put an arm around Tessa’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome at Jane’s when you need a break.”

  They stood side by side, their heads touching.

  Someone is missing.

  Cate knew this was why she’d avoided Tessa. Together they were incomplete. Even almost twenty years later.

  “Do you still have—”

  “Yes,” Cate answered. “But I don’t wear it anymore.”

  “I don’t either.”

  The necklaces had been a gift from Jane. A heart pendant had been divided into three jagged pieces, each with its own chain. The word sisters was inscribed on each piece. “I don’t know of any girls closer than you three,” Jane had told them as they unwrapped the tiny presents. “It’s like you were separated at birth.”

  The silence stretched, both women lost in the past.

  “I nearly asked last night how you were assigned to this case,” Tessa said. “It didn’t make sense because I knew you’d been shot less than three weeks ago. You shouldn’t be working yet. I put it together once I realized the ferry wasn’t running.” She didn’t look at Cate. “You’ve been on the island for a while, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” The admission relieved some guilt. She removed her arm from around Tessa but continued to stand shoul
der to shoulder with her, feeling strength flow from her friend.

  “Are you okay?” Tessa asked in a soft voice.

  “I’m healing. I should regain at least ninety percent of the use of my left arm. I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was here. I couldn’t . . .” Cate couldn’t find the right words.

  “You weren’t ready for people,” Tessa finished. “I know you.”

  “You do,” agreed Cate.

  “Now you’ve been plunged into this investigation.”

  “It’s good for me. I was starting to mentally atrophy doing nothing at Jane’s, and we’ll know very soon if it’s Samantha or not,” said Cate.

  “Dr. Powers’s clinic is storing the bones until we can get them to a medical examiner on the mainland,” said Tessa. “I emailed him the dental records we have on file for both Becca and Samantha. He’s had some experience with comparing teeth.”

  “That needs to be done by a forensic odontologist.”

  “I agree, but it doesn’t hurt for him to look. I think he knows his limits.”

  “I thought it was pretty funny that he didn’t know he was the island’s coroner,” said Cate, relaxing.

  “He’s a nice guy,” said Tessa. “Half the island women have their eye on him. Even the ones who are way too old.”

  “Understandable. A single doctor.”

  “An extremely attractive single doctor,” Tessa corrected. “Tall. Built. Smart.”

  Cate silently agreed. Henry Powers was easy on the eyes.

  She checked the time, wanting to pull more information on Becca Conan. But would it be a waste of time if the remains didn’t belong Becca?

  I wonder if Henry has examined the teeth yet.

  One way to find out.

  7

  Cate stepped through the door of the doctor’s office.

  “Good morning. What can I do for you?” said the lovely dark-haired woman behind the reception counter. Her name tag said Julie.

  “I’m Cate Wilde. I’d like to talk to Dr. Powers—I’m not sick. This is about . . . something that happened last night.”

  “Wilde,” Julie repeated, and understanding crossed her face. “You’re the FBI agent who responded to the . . . issue on Ruby’s Island.”