little ones not be frightened by the badges and guns.
“Everyone who’s here, yes,” she said as they followed her to the back of the building. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Allyson and Sameen are off today. They’ll be here tomorrow. I can have Qiesha call and give you their numbers.”
“That would be great.” Miriam dug into one of her notebook’s pockets and handed Helen three of her business cards. “Here’s a card for both of them. And here’s one more for the office, in case anyone needs to get in touch for any reason. Thank you again for your time.”
“You’re most welcome,” she said, lining up the cards with the fingers of both hands as one would a deck. “If I can be of any more help—”
“I do have one last question,” Miriam said, wishing she hadn’t left her sunglasses in her SUV. “Dr. Gardner discovered his wife’s body when he went home at lunch. Did he have appointments all morning yesterday?”
Helen swallowed hard and frowned as if she didn’t like the taste of Miriam’s query. “I’m fairly certain he did. But I work primarily with Dr. Nguyen and don’t always see Drs. Gardner and Cuellar come and go.”
And there was the chink she’d been looking for. “Could you check on that for me? I’ll give you a call later today and see what you’ve found out.”
“Certainly,” the older woman said, then added, “I hope you find who did this soon.”
“Oh, we will,” Ballard assured her, walking away with a wave. Once around the building’s front, he stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot.
“Hey, Ballard.” Miriam clicked her key fob to unlock her door, her mind on her notes and their complete lack of anything useful. Tossing her notebook into the passenger seat on top of her crossbody, she looked up to find Ballard still waiting.
“What?”
“When we were in the Gardner house yesterday, did you notice a Bible anywhere? Or a Scripture embroidered on a pillow? Maybe praying hands above any of the kids’ beds?”
Ballard thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I did. Though the ID tag on Bongo’s collar was a Saint Francis medal.”
The patron saint of animals. “Huh. Really.”
“Yep. And considering he made it out alive, I guess it worked.”
T EN
Wednesday, 9:00 a.m.
Miriam arrived at the county’s forensic-services department only minutes before Ballard. Fiona Wick, one of the two forensic pathologists in the office that served four adjoining counties, was ready and waiting. She’d already switched out her lab coat for protective clothing and had Gina Gardner’s body on the slab.
On a supply shelf just inside the door sat Fiona’s Louboutin black-patent platforms that Miriam wished she had a reason to wear. She was only three years younger than Fiona, but the other woman was so chic, Miriam always felt like an awkward tween when around her—not because of anything Fiona said or did but because at thirty-eight years old, Miriam wasn’t sure she’d ever have her own ducks in anything resembling a row.
She might be degreed, and able to follow bread crumbs better than Cumberbatch’s Holmes, but her personal life was a wreck. She was the first to admit it. No reason not to; it was the absolute truth. And she really had no business judging her siblings because of it.
It was also why she worked as many hours out of the day as she could. She needed to keep busy, to stay on the move. To think. To act. Slowing down allowed the bits and pieces of herself she kept on the perimeter of her life to creep into the day-to-day.
Truths like how she’d ended up thirty-eight with a bad tequila habit and emotionally alone—though that one was easy. The genesis was in her choice to work her way through grad school not as a waitress or barista but answering calls for a suicide-prevention hotline.
A bad day there had made it easy to justify the drink. A lot of bad days there had made it easy to get out from
“Everyone who’s here, yes,” she said as they followed her to the back of the building. She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Allyson and Sameen are off today. They’ll be here tomorrow. I can have Qiesha call and give you their numbers.”
“That would be great.” Miriam dug into one of her notebook’s pockets and handed Helen three of her business cards. “Here’s a card for both of them. And here’s one more for the office, in case anyone needs to get in touch for any reason. Thank you again for your time.”
“You’re most welcome,” she said, lining up the cards with the fingers of both hands as one would a deck. “If I can be of any more help—”
“I do have one last question,” Miriam said, wishing she hadn’t left her sunglasses in her SUV. “Dr. Gardner discovered his wife’s body when he went home at lunch. Did he have appointments all morning yesterday?”
Helen swallowed hard and frowned as if she didn’t like the taste of Miriam’s query. “I’m fairly certain he did. But I work primarily with Dr. Nguyen and don’t always see Drs. Gardner and Cuellar come and go.”
And there was the chink she’d been looking for. “Could you check on that for me? I’ll give you a call later today and see what you’ve found out.”
“Certainly,” the older woman said, then added, “I hope you find who did this soon.”
“Oh, we will,” Ballard assured her, walking away with a wave. Once around the building’s front, he stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot.
“Hey, Ballard.” Miriam clicked her key fob to unlock her door, her mind on her notes and their complete lack of anything useful. Tossing her notebook into the passenger seat on top of her crossbody, she looked up to find Ballard still waiting.
“What?”
“When we were in the Gardner house yesterday, did you notice a Bible anywhere? Or a Scripture embroidered on a pillow? Maybe praying hands above any of the kids’ beds?”
Ballard thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I did. Though the ID tag on Bongo’s collar was a Saint Francis medal.”
The patron saint of animals. “Huh. Really.”
“Yep. And considering he made it out alive, I guess it worked.”
T EN
Wednesday, 9:00 a.m.
Miriam arrived at the county’s forensic-services department only minutes before Ballard. Fiona Wick, one of the two forensic pathologists in the office that served four adjoining counties, was ready and waiting. She’d already switched out her lab coat for protective clothing and had Gina Gardner’s body on the slab.
On a supply shelf just inside the door sat Fiona’s Louboutin black-patent platforms that Miriam wished she had a reason to wear. She was only three years younger than Fiona, but the other woman was so chic, Miriam always felt like an awkward tween when around her—not because of anything Fiona said or did but because at thirty-eight years old, Miriam wasn’t sure she’d ever have her own ducks in anything resembling a row.
She might be degreed, and able to follow bread crumbs better than Cumberbatch’s Holmes, but her personal life was a wreck. She was the first to admit it. No reason not to; it was the absolute truth. And she really had no business judging her siblings because of it.
It was also why she worked as many hours out of the day as she could. She needed to keep busy, to stay on the move. To think. To act. Slowing down allowed the bits and pieces of herself she kept on the perimeter of her life to creep into the day-to-day.
Truths like how she’d ended up thirty-eight with a bad tequila habit and emotionally alone—though that one was easy. The genesis was in her choice to work her way through grad school not as a waitress or barista but answering calls for a suicide-prevention hotline.
A bad day there had made it easy to justify the drink. A lot of bad days there had made it easy to get out from
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