“What?” He began to keep a wary eye on the ditch, as if that would protect them any.
“Overnight it smooths away all the boundaries, curbs, sidewalks, roads – the things that tell us where to go or what lines to stay between – and makes a place seem all so open, as if for once we can go any which way we want and ignore the rules.”
“Really.” Pressed against the passenger door as she slithered through yet another turn, he wondered if she meant it literally. “How come you dropped out from all the excitement of Médecins du Globe to take a residency in family medicine?” Perhaps if he got her talking, she’d slow down.
“There are only so many nights a person can sleep on the ground worried about bullets and bugs. I was due to come home.”
“Where’s that now?”
“New York. I can’t get enough of the city.”
Like all the other women he knew. “So how did you like McGill?”
“Ah, Montréal,” she said, leaving out the t and pronouncing the city’s name the French way. The ease with which she slipped into the accent suggested a facility with the language rather than affectation. “Wonderful.”
“I take it you speak French?”
They weaved through an S that should have qualified them for the Grand Prix circuit, and a smile created tiny creases around her eyes.
He had to admit she was a superb driver.
“Raised with it,” she said. “My mother was French.”
“But O’Connor is Irish.”
“That’s Dad. He worked for a petrochemical company when he met Mom during a posting in Montréal. Fire meeting fire, those two. For my brothers and me, it was like living between two opera stars – passion personified.”
“You grew up in Montreal?”
“First years of my life only. Dad led us all over the world, including the Middle East. I guess that’s where I inherited my wanderlust. But enough about me. Tell me your story, Dr. Mark Roper, starting with what the hell happened to you last night. I presume it’s got something to do with why you don’t have wheels today.”
Should he confide the events of the last few weeks to her? Part of the curriculum he promised residents included exposure to the world of a country coroner, so why not? After all, it would be no different than trusting her with medically confidential material in his files. “You read about the body of Chaz Braden’s wife being found near here?”
“Who at NYCH hasn’t? I also saw your name in the paper, and Dan’s too, come to think of it, in connection with the investigation.” Her eyes widened. “Does that case have to do with last night?”
“I’m afraid so.” He began to relate the events that had unfolded since he and Dan discovered the remains at the bottom of Trout Lake. As the story progressed and he recounted his childhood impressions of Kelly, Lucy’s expression grew somber. When he described what he’d found in his father’s medical files, quoting parts of the letter by memory, she shook her head.
“That ill-starred woman,” she said. “To sound so happy – yet be on the brink of her death. Do you have any idea who the man was?”
“No,” he answered, a little too quickly, and moved on to describe how Chaz Braden had been a suspect at the time of the disappearance, then cleared by the police. He also filled her in on the file Everett had given him. He left out a lot, too, said nothing about Chaz’s or anyone else’s behavior at the funeral, and, when recounting the previous night’s shooting, made no mention of who he suspected had been the man with the rifle. After all, she was a resident in the hospital where Braden worked. Whatever he thought of the creep, he had no right to share his suspicions. They could blight any future teacher-resident relationship she might be obliged to have with Chaz as part of her program.
When he’d finished, she gaped at him in amazement. “You think he killed her, then tried to kill you because you’re onto him?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“But you feel it was him, don’t you?”
So much for pulling off the persona of being an unbiased investigator. He’d have to be more careful to distance himself from whatever he said about the case to her, but she felt so much more a colleague than a protégé. Still, he held to propriety. “No comment, Dr. O’Connor, and you don’t talk about this conversation with your friends back in New York, understand?”
“Of course not.” She sounded annoyed with him for even thinking such a thing.
“Sorry, but this is a murder investigation, and I want it done by the book, so nobody can scream ‘foul.’ ”
“I understand entirely.” Her tone said the opposite.
God, he hated when women did that, got all frosty and reasonable, while making it clear they thought he was full of crap.
They drove a few miles without saying anything, the easy ambiance they’d first established replaced by awkward silence.
Why should he feel so bad? It wasn’t as if he’d overreacted.
A few more miles went by.
Okay, maybe he overreacted a little bit. She must have felt he was putting her in her place, or something silly like that.
But he definitely didn’t have anything to apologize for.
Not a damn thing.
Nothing.
“Sorry, Lucy, for speaking so sharply. After last night, this case has me on edge.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. You’re absolutely within your rights, protecting the integrity of an inquiry.”
Like hell she thought that. “No, I apologize.”
It still didn’t feel right between them. The only way to make amends was to go on taking her into his confidence. “Now let me tell you the rest of what you need to know, then I’d like to hear your ideas.” He continued the story, describing the morbidity-mortality reports in Kelly’s file, the fact that someone had broken into his house after the funeral, apparently to go through them, and what happened to Bessie McDonald two weeks ago. “I’ve recruited one of Kelly’s former classmates to go over the woman’s files. Her coma seemed a little too convenient for my liking.”
Lucy continued to drive without speaking, but obviously lost in thought. The chill had vanished and Mark started to relax, finding her speed didn’t bother him as much. It wasn’t reckless, and he’d often driven faster. He just resisted relinquishing control to someone else behind the wheel.
“I really would like to work on this with you while I’m here,” she said after a few minutes, “if you’ll accept my help.”
“No question of it. Your rotation is meant to let you experience all aspects of being a rural physician, and this business is part of my job.”
She glanced over at him. “Solving Kelly McShane’s murder has to mean a lot more to you than just being part of your job. From the way you described knowing her, she must have been very important to you as a child.”
The velvet quiet of her voice surprised him more than what she’d said. “Yes. She certainly was special.”
“Your telling about her, what she’d been like, really got to me. I couldn’t help thinking…”
“She reminded you of yourself, maybe? Young, ambitious, ready to take on the world?” He’d said it without thinking, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth, he felt presumptuous at finishing a thought for her.
Lucy flushed. “I was thinking how close we were in age. She was just three years younger than me when it happened.”
A few minutes later they pulled into an unplowed driveway beside single-story bungalow not much bigger than a single-car garage. White smoke drifted out a rusted stovepipe protruding through a tar paper roof. The wood siding had once been painted lime green, but not recently. What few flecks of color remained appeared about to blow off, and the surface beneath had weathered to a nice gray.
“Who are we seeing here?” Lucy asked, getting out of the car.