In the Temple, page 33
Then they’d all crawled into bed, getting up only to go to the clinic and then to eat something. They’d come home at the end of daylight and decided they all needed more sleep.
Jesse was the first one back up. She stood in the kitchen now and scrolled through the updates on her phone.
Serena was going to make it. They'd gotten her to the hospital in time to have her stomach pumped. She fully expected Serena to be singing like a bird, because Georgia was right, Serena had begun drinking to cover her own guilt.
She'd protected Seth, and he'd dumped her not long after. But by then she was so caught up in it she didn't have a way out. She was taking money from Hank, had a job she wasn't qualified for and had lied to the police repeatedly.
Georgia wandered out of her room, her feet padding softly in the darkened house. Only the kitchen light was on. She didn’t speak until she’d reached into the fridge and grabbed a coke.
Cindy came into the room right behind her, apparently having changed into her pajamas for a nap. “It’s really late.”
“I know.” Jesse held up the bag she’d pulled out. “But I thought it was about time we got around to this.”
Two smiles answered back so they all headed onto the back patio. Lighting up the fire pit wasn’t quite as easy as it looked, but they located the marshmallow sticks and sat there in the dark. The only light the glow of the flames in front of them as they each toasted their marshmallows.
Cindy stuck hers directly into the flames. She watched it burn like a little arsonist for a few long moments before she finally blew it out. Georgia, on the other hand, toasted hers carefully, not letting a single flame actually get to the sugar.
While she watched, Georgia started talking. “Seth killed Zoe, we think because he found out she was sleeping with his little brother.”
Jesse shook her head to dispel the bad taste that left. No matter what Cindy said about it being more prevalent than she thought, it still bothered her. They'd all just been kids, and Wesley had only been fourteen. Despite his size and growth spurt, he wasn’t an adult. None of it was okay, though at least it seemed he hadn't done anything criminal.
Jesse wondered who was going to notify him about what had gone down. The police might have already done it. His father was in custody. They would possibly seize the bank and the house and the assets. She didn’t know.
“Are the police going to do anything about Serena?” Georgia asked.
“I have no idea,” Jesse admitted. “Hopefully, whatever they do, they’ll get her into a rehab program.”
“Amen to that,” Cindy said, “and a dentist to fix the tooth that Hank broke.”
There was another pause, then Cindy asked, “I heard you call the Godwins before we all went back to bed. Did you call the Warsaws?”
Jesse shook her head, still remembering the racist remarks that Mrs. Warsaw had made against Gordon. “I decided my own sleep was more important.”
“We've closed two cases!” Georgia announced lifting her perfectly toasted mallow out of the fire.
“We've closed a lot more than that,” Jesse added with a laugh.
“That's a good point,” Cindy said from the other side of the little fire pit. “I would like to stop finding additional murders each time we investigate something.”
Jesse wasn’t sure if she should laugh, shrug, or cry. Her own marshmallow was just about right, black and bubbly, though not burnt to a charred crisp like Cindy's.
Taking it out of the flames, she tested it with her fingers before pulling it off the end of the long fork. The hot, sticky sweetness beckoned her, but before she put it in her mouth, she said, “About that. I owe you both payment for the work that you did on this case.”
“Sweet,” Georgia said, but Jesse kept going.
“More than that, I’d like to offer you each a job.”
It was the first time she’d offered a job to a capable criminal saved only by her own morals and a woman in emoji jammies and bunny slippers. The first time she’d offered a job with a hot marshmallow between her fingers and less than twenty-four hours since their prime suspect had tried to kill them all.
The air went silent except for the crackle of the flames and Jesse found herself holding her breath. She had intended to work alone. She kept telling herself she did work alone, but clearly, she didn't.
“I think I'd like that,” Cindy said, and Jesse felt her breath letting out.
“I don't know,” Georgia replied, though Jesse hadn't expected much more. “I'm still supposed to be taking my LSAT exam and applying to law school this year.”
“Is there enough time to make it?”
“Maybe. I may try.”
As Jesse was absorbing the two very different answers, Cindy spoke up again, “If I'm hired on, though, I'd like to work some on the cases that I see.”
“What do you mean?” Jesse asked.
“I've seen two other murders, and I don't have the skills to figure out who they even are. I’d like help with that.”
Jesse contemplated it. “We can help, but I can't fund extra investigations.” Not unless the agency began doing a lot better financially.
“Neither can I,” Cindy agreed, “But I would appreciate help with them in between cases.”
“Are they recent?” Georgia asked as if she weren’t stepping away after all.
“I don't think the first one is. It’s maybe ten or twelve years old, and the other one, it is more recent . . . It might be the same guy.”
Jesse hated the shudder that snaked down her spine. Hadn't they just joked about not getting any extra murders? But she’d said yes, and Cindy’s special skills were an asset she couldn’t find anywhere else.
“Cheers!” Georgia grinned, holding up her can of soda. Jesse and Cindy had glasses of ice water, but they held them up and clinked them together.
The three women toasted that they were alive. The case was closed. Hank Greenbrier was going to get what he deserved, and with Zoe's death attributed to someone else, the system would have to let Gordon go.
Jesse didn't know how long that paperwork would take, or if the family would be able to sue for any kind of reparations from the state, but those were all problems for the future.
“Cheers!” Cindy added, “To a case closed.”
“Cheers to Sandoval not finding me!” Georgia tacked on.
“About that,” Jesse interrupted, and Georgia's head turned. In the firelight, she caught the concerned blaze in the younger woman's eyes.
“I paid the cemetery caretaker to keep an eye on Lee’s grave. To occasionally go over the footage when he had spare time and notify me if he found anything.”
“He found something.” Georgia’s voice was deadpan.
“He did.”
Thank you for reading In the Temple.
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Chapter 1
Donovan Heath could tell from the start that his first assignment was not going to go as planned. Senior Agent in Charge Westerfield was not what he expected. Donovan had talked to the man on the phone a handful of times and they’d exchanged more email than could be counted. The medium, stocky-but-strong build was as expected, though Donovan really would have thought the man would have that comic-book city commissioner look with the gray being smart enough to stick to the temples. Westerfield’s was everywhere. Still the pictures Donovan looked up online didn’t show the unbelievably blue eyes that looked at Donovan as though he were a piece of meat that had not yet passed inspection. The photos also failed to show just how shockingly white and overly perfect Westerfield’s teeth were. Donovan didn’t trust men with perfect teeth. There was also that quarter the lead agent walked back and forth across his knuckles, as though the meeting was not interesting enough and he had to fidget.
Donovan might have overlooked the see-through-you eyes and the too-white teeth, but he couldn’t get past the scent that Westerfield wasn’t right. Something about his smell . . .
His new partner sat beside him—also a shock, if Donovan was admitting things—sagely nodding at the list of dos and don’ts that Westerfield was reviewing with them. It was a formality, this first meeting, a chance for either of them to back out and he was considering doing just that.
Eleri Eames, his new senior partner, seemed to have no such desires. She didn’t seem to sense anything was off about Agent Westerfield. Donovan managed to avoid outwardly flinching. As a child, he learned quickly that his sense of smell was stronger than everyone else’s. He learned not to show when things smelled “off,” not unless the stench was overpowering and everyone else around him was reacting.
So Donovan Heath, newly minted FBI Agent, sat quietly, nodding each time Agent Eames did and contemplating the wisdom of his decisions.
He was ambivalent about so many things. Sitting here, wearing non-sneaker shoes and a suit when he felt he should shed it all and go running free, was a decision he wasn’t sure was in his own best interest. He would not have anywhere near the opportunities to run that he was used to and he wasn’t sure how that would affect him—if at all. Aside from a stint in junior high when he’d been going through puberty, which was its own personal hell, he’d never tried to not run.
He wasn’t sure about his partner. Her bio included only a headshot, so he knew she had pale green eyes, rounded cheeks, full lips, and a smattering of freckles that sweetened an already friendly face. But it didn’t show that she barely passed five-foot-four and he could see she was wearing heels. She probably stood five-two if she stretched, making her an odd accompaniment to his six-foot-three.
Her emails had been all no-nonsense. Even the personal details—where she grew up, what led her to the FBI—didn’t give him a clue at all to the fact that she spoke every word with a crisp accent. It was almost Southern. When he listened closely, he heard faint traces of something he couldn’t place. What was easy to see and place now that he met her in person was money. Old money.
Eleri Eames probably did not need this job. Maybe she had been vacationing for the past three months. She sure hadn’t been working for the FBI during that time. Donovan had been in training, working his ass off. Living in the new clime of Virginia, in and around all the FBI recruits, the vast majority of whom were years younger than him.
Yes, he was of two minds about his ability to run. He’d have new places to go and more opportunities to get caught. He was of two minds about this job. The old one had gotten monotonous and he needed something new, but Donovan was no longer so sure this was it. And he was of two minds about his new partner. She was his senior partner, but looked like she was fresh out of high school. She was younger, higher ranked, and oozed the scent of real wealth.
Donovan, always a loner, was wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Eleri hung back until SAC Westerfield noticed. Agent Heath clearly wasn’t interested in heading out for a beer and some get-to-know-you conversation even though they were in his hometown. She’d had that before; her last partner had met her, grinned, stuck out his hand and given her his best good-ole-boy impression while suggesting a beer. This time she was the senior agent, and admittedly at a loss.
“Eames?” Westerfield finally acknowledged her over his shoulder.
“Sir, if you have a moment, please.” Her shorter legs left her perpetually feeling like a small child struggling to catch up. From the back she could see that his gait was as perfect as his smile and she wondered if he’d been crafted as a fully formed adult from a kit of some kind.
He nodded as he walked, letting her introduce the topic. It showed he trusted her here in the hallway, where people could listen, where other agents could hear, not to discuss the case they’d been assigned as their first. Luckily, she’d gotten all her questions about that answered back in the room. Well, at least the ones she could think to ask. No, this was a different topic. “How much has Heath been told about my history?”
There was a clear shift as he realized what she was referring to. “Only what was in the docket. Anything else?”
“No, sir. Thank you.” She always said thank you. Even when she didn’t mean it. It was bred into her bones like so many other things she’d inherited. She was beginning to wonder what her genetics would say if someone could really read them.
Westerfield was already down the hall, leaving her in the dust the moment she paused. Agent Heath was far ahead; she caught sight of just his pants leg as he turned the corner. He was wearing Doc Martens—not unheard of, but not the usual dress shoes associated with a suit and tie. He was clearly uncomfortable in the clothing as well as the building.
Without her trying, her brain turned to what she did so well: she analyzed. He was mid-thirties, she knew that from the paperwork she’d been given. She knew he’d been a medical examiner until about six months ago when he left that position and began agent training. He was pretty ripe to hit the Academy, but he wasn’t the only one. Each class had a small handful of older, more experienced trainees. But even then, ninety-eight percent of them were ambitious go-getters. Heath was not.
She automatically began pulling on threads. His emails had little to no tone in them; he likely wasn’t one to place much stock in opinion or gut instinct. He had an MD in pathology. Another score in the science column. Eleri would bet her trust fund that the FBI had approached him, not the other way around. She would bet that he was growing bored doing autopsies—even though he was reportedly very good at finding even the most odd and obscure causes of death—and that he’d considered the FBI’s offer as a new opportunity. He appeared undecided about his choices, even though he already invested more than six months in testing and training.
And she was standing in the hallway when she should be chasing after him. She should be extending a drink invitation as the senior agent. She should be making certain that their partnership worked well, but he was already a good distance ahead of her. So Eleri did what she always did when her legs weren’t fast enough, she pulled out her phone and called.
He was frowning when he answered. “Doctor Heath.”
She laughed. “I believe it’s ‘Agent Heath’ now.” No, he had not reached out to the FBI. “Look, I was curious if you were available later tonight or for lunch tomorrow, to go over the facts of the case. It sounds like we’re going to ship out in the next few days to start the legwork.”
There was a pause. He was quiet, this one. No good-ole-boy aw-shucks here. She was going to have to be the talker in this partnership. “Lunch tomorrow. I admit I’m not familiar with the area. Do you know a place nearby?”
When he declined, she looked up a burger joint she knew and picked a time when it would be emptier. They would want space to spread out files without people seeing and without dripping ketchup on them. Clearly he would want a place where he didn’t have to wear his suit.
She wondered how many he even had.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” The words sounded almost forced out of his mouth, as though pleasantries had not been part of his upbringing, and then the line went dead.
Eleri mentally added that she would also have to be the social one, but she was anxious to see what he brought to the unit. She’d worked with agents with law degrees and psychology degrees but never a medical degree.
So she hitched her bag over her shoulder and headed home after the short meeting. She had paper, photos, and e-file backups of all of it. She’d come of age just prior to the e-revolution and still believed in laying things on a table top and looking at all of it. Her psychology classes had taught her that hand writing something stored it in the memory much better than typing it did. And her colleagues always laughed at her the first time she took notes by hand. But only the first time.
She and Heath had two days to get up to speed enough to start work. They had notes and phone numbers from agents and police departments who’d worked parts of the case or related crimes. It made for heavy reading.
Being behind the wheel of her own car was still an unusual feeling. She’d driven herself everywhere since she turned sixteen. But for the last three months she hadn’t driven at all.
So the ability to pull over and get her favorite pizza had her stopping in and waiting while a small pie baked. She hadn’t had good, greasy pizza in forever, and her mouth watered as she tried to sit patiently on the hard take-out bench and do nothing.
There was no one to call while she waited; she didn’t really have friends. Like many agents, her work consumed her, much to her parents’ dismay. They kept her busy with events, so she went out plenty, but she didn’t meet anyone like-minded at these things. So she didn’t rack up lovers or friends with ease. Plus, she was unusual looking, a byproduct of a heritage she wasn’t supposed to mention.
