J.T. Ellison - When Shadows Fall

She took a deep breath. “Xander gave it to me. Last night, actually.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Yes, it is.” She was quiet for a moment. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not really. It’s not like we’re engaged or anything.”

“You should be.”

Her head rocked back. He saw her surprise, and this time, he did smile.

“I have to admit I was a bit surprised when he texted, said to take you to Lynchburg or else this would drive you nuts,” he said.

“I don’t know why he thought that. I was perfectly fine letting things lie.”

Fletcher scoffed. “This is me you’re talking to, sunshine. You don’t have to lie. I don’t think you do with him, either. I’m just saying, he’s a good man. He loves you. He doesn’t want to change you, and trust me, that’s rare.”

She thought about his words. Having this conversation with Fletcher was utterly bizarre, but she sensed he wanted to have it. They’d been dancing around it for months. She knew Fletcher had feelings for her. She simply never acknowledged them. It was too much to deal with—she’d had two years of grief and numbness, and suddenly, three months ago, in the course of a single week, she’d lost another man she used to love and, while investigating his death, found Fletcher and Xander. Two wonderful men who were both good for her, in their own ways.

Two loves lost. And two found. But only one made her heart sing.

By his words, she realized something had subtly changed between her and Fletcher. Everything she’d hoped for—namely, his friendship—was matter-of-factly being offered on a plate. But there were things that couldn’t be left unspoken. Not anymore.

She said quietly, “Would you want to change me, Fletch?”

He glanced at her briefly, smiled. “Naw. I like you the way you are. Though you’d drive me mad with all your nagging. ‘Don’t you ever grocery shop, Fletch?’” He did a credible impression of her, and she punched him in the shoulder, laughing.

“Damn, woman. Don’t hit so hard, I might drive off the road and take out some cows.” He gestured toward the field to his left. “Friggin’ nature. Who’d want to live out here in the boonies like this? Not enough concrete for my taste.”

“You’re prevaricating.”

“Your big words, too. Annoys the crap out of me. You’re a walking thesaurus.” He shot her another smile. “I’m not gonna lie, Sam. You’re something special. When you came along, things started looking up. But I’d drive you nuts.”

“You already do.” She grinned at him.

“Ditto.” He went quiet for a moment. “You’d be crazy to let things go south with Xander, is all.”

He was absolutely right. “I know. I know he’s a good man, and I love him. I never thought it would happen again for me.”

“So marry him already.”

“Good grief, Fletch, I’ve only known him for three months.”

“You’re a grown-up. You know what you need. He seems to fit the bill. You’ve been happy lately. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

“You don’t know me that well, Fletch. But yes, he makes me happy.”

“So why not marry the dude?”

She blurted out the words. “To be honest, I’m afraid he wants kids. And that’s not something I’m ever willing to do.”

“Ah. That’s what this is all about.” He paused a moment. “Just the thought of it makes you panic, huh?”

“What?” she asked, then realized she was opening and closing the lid of her laptop unconsciously. She slammed it closed. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“Have you told him? That you don’t want to have kids?”

“No.”

“Do it, Sam. Have a conversation, like we’re doing. Tell the man, and get on with your life. He’ll accept you no matter what. I suspect he already knows the cost of loving you, and is more than willing to pay it.”

The cost. My God, is that how people see me? There’s a cost to being with me?

“Hey. Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head, fiddled with the edge of the laptop. “No. Not at all. You’re fine. It’s me. So what’s with this new attitude? You’ve never been Xander’s biggest fan before.”

“I’m feeling like a change is in the air. Something good’s coming, for all of us.” He smiled again, and Sam realized she’d never seen him quite this content before.

“Darren Fletcher, what is up with you today? Are you in love?”

“What? Me? Hell, no. Definitely not. Lust, maybe. Andi’s fun, for an uptight bureaucrat. It’s a good setup—when she has time, she calls me. When I have time, I call her. It’s casual.”

“You’re practically friends with benefits.”

He grinned. “She ain’t asking for a drawer, so that’s good. Naw, I just like playing hooky. I haven’t in a while. Even with all the green in the fields and blue in the sky, it’s nice to get away from my desk.”

“I’m touched you’ve taken the time to come play with me.”

“Someone has to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

Sam touched his arm. “I’m glad. And thank you for the advice.”

He looked as though he wanted to say more, but settled for “Welcome.”

Her cell rang. Saved by the bell. “Oh, good, there’s Amado. Let’s see how Benedict died.”

Chapter

11

DR. AMADO NOCEK had the quiet intonation of a grave man, coupled with a slightly Italianate European accent. Some found him strange; he was serenely brilliant, very tall and much too thin, slightly stooped over, the physique of a praying mantis. The unkind called him Lurch, or the Fly, but Sam had liked him from the moment they met, recognizing a fellow scientific soul. He was a widower, too, and once, when he’d noticed she was having a panic attack during one of their meetings, he’d put his bony hand on her shoulder and said, “It doesn’t get better, but it will hurt less, in time.”

At that moment, she hadn’t believed him. Now she realized he was right.

She put him on the speaker.

“Good morning, my friend. How are things in the OCME?”

“Insanity. But Samantha, my dear, your voice always cheers me. Detective Fletcher told you about our guest, Mr. Benedict?”

“He did. Fletch is on the phone with us now. What are your findings?”

“Oh, they have not told you already? Manual strangulation. He was garroted. The implement was still wrapped around his throat. It took very little time to subdue him. He was not a large man, and terribly ill. His brain presented with clear alpha-synuclein lesions, idiopathic to advanced Parkinson’s.”

“That’s right. He had several physical characteristics of the disease, as well.”

“Whoever killed him was much taller. The angle on the garrote went upward at nearly forty-five degrees. It was a small wire attached to two wooden dowels, like a miniature jump rope. Nothing remarkable about the device outside of the reality of it. We do not see professional garroting very often here.”

“Professional?”

“Yes. There were no hesitation marks, no adjustments. This was an experienced killer.”

“Could Benedict have been sitting when he was attacked?”

“Based on the crime scene reconstruction, he was attacked while in the shower. Mr. Benedict measured only sixty-eight inches, so it is safe to assume the killer is at least over seventy-four inches tall, if not more.”

“Let me get a feel for this. How tall are you, Amado?”

“I believe I was seventy-seven inches at my last physical.”

“So you’re six-four, and Benedict is five-eight. Yes, it makes sense. It would have to be someone quite big to cause that up-angle. There was no indication the killer stood on something? The edge of the tub, perhaps?”

“Not from the current facts of the investigation, no. The man was in a handicap-friendly room, with a roll-in shower, no bathing tub. I suppose it was too difficult for him to step up over the ledge. The commode is too far away from the shower to make that scenario feasible.”