Stay Buried by Nina Grant

Author:Nina Grant [Grant, Nina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Iron Wren Books
Published: 2022-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 44

LISA

ONCE THE NANNY’S on her way to Africa, I turn my energies to more important things, like putting in some face time at work. Even though I’ve toyed with the idea of giving up my practice, I don’t think I could take the boredom, the unyielding restlessness. My mind is a machine, an engine of productivity and accomplishment, churning from task to task with efficient zeal. The two weeks I spent pretending to mourn really took it out of me. I’m in no hurry to repeat the performance.

I park the Hummer at the front door and stride into the office. Jacquelyn has stacked my schedule with the worst of the worst—street urchins with soiled clothes who invariably come up short on cash. I pump twenty through before my stomach starts gnawing. I forgot to eat breakfast, and lunch is about to fall by the wayside, too, unless I send Jacquelyn on a takeout run.

I sift through a stack of menus, searching for something different, something interesting, something that strikes a chord. But it’s all the same humdrum mix of sandwich shops and Asian bistros.

Blah.

It occurs to me that Edward and I should buy a restaurant. It’d be fun to have a team of professional chefs at our beck and call, to have our own VIP booth at the hottest new eatery in town.

My reverie is blunted by a knock at my office door. I ignore it. My time is precious. Why doesn’t Jacquelyn grasp that?

She knocks again.

I pick up the phone, intending to buzz her desk. But then a third knock brusquely sounds. I’ve had enough. I march over and whip open the door, my blood curdling with indignation. How dare she impinge on my peace and quiet?

The knocker isn’t Jacquelyn. It is a woman, though—a familiar one I can’t place for a few confounding beats until the detective steps out from behind her.

Detective Luke Jones and his leggy brunette date. Interesting.

“Dr. Hayes?” the woman says, extending a hand. “I’m Detective Mary Samson. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.” She’s traded that bedazzled jumpsuit for a pair of drab olive-green pants and an unfortunate polo shirt over a long-sleeved tee. The faux tan is toned down several notches.

I glance over her shoulder at Jacquelyn, who’s wearing an apologetic grimace. Too little, too late. “Oh, hi,” I say, keeping things light and casual. “Right, yes. The party.” I shake her hand. “Nice to see you again. Come in.” To Jacquelyn: “Hold my appointments until we’re done.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The detectives follow me into the office. Their appearance spells trouble (so much for their questions coming in writing), but I keep my cool. Acting cagey will only heighten their suspicions.

I offer them seats and take my spot behind the desk. “I’ve been meaning to check in with you about Sophie Gallagher and, well, the awful situation with Dr. Kapoor.” I frown and shake my head. Regardless of what I told his widow, I must continue asserting that the doctor was a rapist, a murderer.

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