Nowhere Safe by Nancy Bush Page A

introduced himself as Hadley and then said, “This is Mr. Morland,” indicating the cyclist.
    â€œI come by here every day,” Morland said as soon as September and Wes introduced themselves. “Every day. Sometimes I walk into the park, if it’s dry out. Thought it might be dry enough today and so . . .” He shook his head.
    September looked past him to a spot where a flash of white showed on the soggy ground beneath a thin copse of maple trees. Skin.
    â€œShe’s just lying there, peaceful-like,” Morland went on. “Not a scratch on her, far as I could tell, but I didn’t want to touch her. Well, except for checking her pulse, like. She musta taken something. Pills or something.”
    The tech team came through so September and Wes stepped back. They asked Morland some more questions, but the cyclist kept repeating the same information. Officer Hadley didn’t know anything further, either, and the lookie-loos pressed forward, eager to talk, but they’d come after the fact and were no help.
    September heard the light beep signaling a text coming into her cell phone and looked down at the screen. It was a message from Jake.

    How about I pick up some soup at Zupan’s and then we watch some bad TV and go to bed early?

    Zupan’s was a local specialty grocery store chain that also served five or six daily soup choices. She texted back: Yes, please. In truth, she was beginning to feel the effects of her first day back—no thanks to Jake, too—and the thought of collapsing into bed was enough to make her sigh.
    One of the techs, Bronson, who was as prickly as a briar and loved to complain, made his way out to them as the rest of the team packed up their gear.
    â€œSo, have we got a homicide?” Wes asked him before he could open his mouth, which caused a line of irritation to form between the tech’s brows.
    â€œCould be suicide. Looks like she ingested something. Have to figure out what she poisoned herself with before we know.”
    â€œFoxglove?” Wes asked.
    Bronson’s frown deepened. “What makes you say that?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” Wes deadpanned.
    â€œCould be,” was Bronson’s surprising answer as he headed to the van.
    Wes turned to September, the look on his face causing her to break into a smile. “You don’t think . . .” he started.
    â€œThat someone poisoned her with foxglove and then brought her to Foxglove Park? No.”
    â€œBronson was fucking with me.”
    â€œThat’s what he does.”
    Wes stared down the tech as Bronson climbed into his van. “Maybe Foxglove Park’s named for a reason, like it’s full of foxglove. And maybe she ate some, thinking it was something else. Like eating the wrong kind of mushrooms.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œShe probably overdosed on prescription drugs.”
    â€œAnd decided to die in parklike surroundings,” September finished.
    They both looked back at the chilly, damp, leaf-choked swamp and Wes snorted.
    â€œOr, maybe it’s a homicide,” September said.
    They watched as the woman’s body was lifted onto a stretcher, carried from her bed of leaves and into the coroner’s van.
    First Stefan, and now this Jane Doe. It had been a full day already, September thought as Wes drove her back to the station. Even though there were a few more hours before her shift would be up, she checked with D’Annibal to make certain he was okay with her leaving early, and when he waved her away, she gathered her things and headed out to her silver Pilot. A lot of avenues to explore when she got to work tomorrow.
    She moved her shoulder up and down as she drove up Jake’s drive, assessing the amount of pain the movement caused. Not too bad. Sorta bad. Standable, anyway. But she didn’t think it would take that long before she was back to her old self. It was the being tired, a natural part of the