Beyond the Blue, page 6
“It’s not a bother at all,” Dr. Sharpe replied. Glancing to the floor a moment, she asked, “Why? Do I seem difficult to you? I know the other officers think I am.”
Morgan knit her brows together. Insecurity had to be a rare look on the urbane doctor. “Difficult? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Sharpe deflected, shrugging. “Many of them find me intimidating.”
“And? Them being scared of an accomplished woman is their problem. My mom used to say intimidating is a word men use for intelligent women who don’t take shit. In my experience, she’s been one hundred percent right about that.”
Much to Morgan’s delight, Dr. Sharpe laughed again. “Funny and, quite sadly, true. Well, um, my offer stands. Swing by, or send me an email if you don’t want to possibly come in the middle of an autopsy. I don’t know how much help I can be elbows-deep in someone’s chest cavity.”
“Duly noted.”
“I should get back, let you finish your lunch without another baby corn attack.”
“There is no end to their treachery,” Morgan replied, grinning ear to ear. “See you around, Dr. Sharpe.”
Once home and redressed, Morgan stopped to check herself out in her hall mirror before heading out. For grief meetings she dressed down, avoiding any stylistic clues she might be a cop. No suits or badges, just ripped jeans, raglan leather jacket, and wool beanie. All of the regular attendees knew her profession, but she didn’t like to signal it if she could help it.
Locking up behind her, Morgan shivered at the cold breeze rustling the garden. Cutting through the front yard, the motion sensor light illuminated the driveway, casting a garish yellow spotlight on her car. Before she could get in, a voice called from above, “You all right, Morgan?”
Squinting up into the light, Morgan just made out the plump figure of her upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Vern, leaning out her second-story window. “Yes, Mrs. Vern. Going to my meeting.”
“Okay, dear, have fun. Don’t be out too late, it’s getting cold. I heard there was some snow on the way.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vern,” Morgan replied, chuckling. “Have a good night.”
Backing out of her driveway, Morgan slowly cruised down her block. The neighborhood was more upscale than she could afford, sitting just outside the city limits in a gentrified neighborhood with an organic grocery and French-press coffee shop. However, when she apartment-hunted years ago, a spot opened up at a rent so low Morgan would’ve moved in even if it had been haunted. Mrs. Vern lived upstairs and owned the entire duplex, and in her retirement sought a low-key renter whom she could trust. After revealing herself as both a police officer and an orphan, Morgan received an adopted grandmother and a beautiful, affordable one-bedroom apartment on a scenic block.
She didn’t venture to the suburbs much, not for anything other than work or her grief meeting. Well-manicured lawns, shiny vehicles, pristine mailboxes, all the hallmarks of an upper-middle-class neighborhood—and Morgan felt like an outsider. The warm lights of their garden lanterns acted as torches keeping away the Frankenstein monster Morgan imagined she was, treading upon their precious land.
Already late, Morgan parked her car in a hurry. The night grew colder and Morgan jogged across the high school parking lot to the entrance of the gym, practically bursting through the doors. Her loud entrance cut off Sister Laura mid-sentence, and Morgan grimaced as all eyes turned to her. Scurrying to her seat, she stopped midway between the open folding chair and the folding table full of treats. Not homemade, Morgan noted sadly, but a brownie was a still brownie. Nabbing the treat, she sat down next to Sister Laura and shucked off her coat. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Sister Laura.”
“That’s quite all right, Morgan. I’m glad you’re here.” Sister Laura was sixty-five with long hair, blond and graying, and the weathered look of someone who lived on a houseboat full time. She didn’t wear a habit, instead dressing in flouncy sweaters and bell-bottom jeans, but her nun vibe put Morgan at ease. Morgan had attended a lot of grief meetings since fifteen years old, but Sister Laura’s was the only one that ever took.
“I just finished my introduction as we have two new folks here today.”
“Oh?” Morgan looked up, scanning the semicircle for new faces. Most of them were old faces, literally and figuratively. For weeks now, Morgan was the only person in the grief meeting under retirement age. Tonight, interrupting the sea of white sat a brown-haired, bushy-bearded, middle-aged man in a brown suit, and—
Morgan nearly dropped her brownie. Across from her, dressed casually in trousers and a violet sweater under a wool coat, sat Dr. Sharpe. Like a deer in headlights, the doctor stared at her in open shock.
“All right,” Sister Laura said, opening her arms out into the semicircle. “Would either of our new members like to introduce themselves?”
Pulling off her beanie, Morgan watched her colleague seize with social anxiety. Thankfully, the man piped up. “Um, I can start. My name is Jonathan.”
“Welcome, Jonathan,” Sister Laura replied. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”
“Oh.” Jonathan twisted his gloves in his hands. “I’m forty-three. I’m a liberal arts professor, have been for quite some time. I lost my husband five months ago. So, that’s…that’s why I’m here.”
“Thank you for sharing, Jonathan.” Turning her attention to the other side of the circle, Sister Laura inquired, “Would our other newest member like to introduce herself?”
Startling in her seat, Dr. Sharpe visibly recoiled and shook her head. “Oh, me? No, I—no.”
“That’s all right, dear,” Sister Laura soothed. “In your own time.”
“I’m Mei,” she blurted out. “Mei Sharpe.”
Heart thudding in her ears, Morgan didn’t hear anything else Sister Laura said. In her mind she got sucked back into the past, Ratatouille style, to the snowy night on the highway. Meeting a woman named May whose voice and humor instantly charmed her, and whose energy hummed with Morgan’s own. Shaking her hand, having her moment of connection. Flashing to the morgue, the name Dr. Mei Sharpe emblazoned on the door as she walked in.
“Would anyone like to get us started?”
Thrust back into the present, Morgan shook herself out of a trance and raised her hand. “Maybe I can get us going,” she said, drumming on the tops of her thighs. “It’s been a tough week, to be honest. Next week will be the twentieth anniversary of my mom’s death.”
“That must be very hard,” Sister Laura replied.
“I miss her, every day. It gets easier, but it’s so goddamn slow.” Morgan winced. “Sorry, Sister.”
“That’s all right,” she said, reaching over to pat Morgan’s leg. “Keep going.”
“I’ve lived on this earth without her longer than I did with her, and I’m still not able to get beyond it,” Morgan admitted. “It’s so scary. There’s a lot of fear in grief, you know? I don’t think we talk about that enough.”
“What do you mean?” Sister Laura inquired gently.
“Living without someone. Living with loss. Living with this interminable void, it’s—it’s…”
“Terrifying,” Dr. Sharpe supplied from across the room. Morgan looked up from the floor, gazing at her. “Nobody tells you how scary it’s going to be.”
“Exactly,” Morgan agreed, relieved. “It’s scary, right? We’re meant to move on and live our lives, and everyone tells you it’s okay to be sad, but nobody tells you it’s okay to be scared.”
“Especially in the second year,” she said, giving a glance over to fellow newbie Jonathan. “I lost my husband in February, two years ago. And that first year was fine because, well, it was expected. First Father’s Day without him. First Thanksgiving, first Christmas. You know to expect this hole. But that second year? When what was first an anomaly becomes the standard? That’s absolutely terrifying. The normalcy is frightening.”
“The normalcy is frightening,” Morgan repeated, staring directly at her from across the semicircle. “That’s absolutely it. Thank you.”
The doctor offered a weak smile and took off her coat. Others in the group echoed Morgan’s sentiment of fright. Their losses varied from spouses to siblings, parents or children, but they all circled back to fear in their own way. When Sister Laura called it a night the elderly folks swarmed Morgan before she could take a step.
“Lieutenant, how’s crime?”
“Did you get that email I sent you?”
“When are you going to call my granddaughter?”
Unable to break the testudo formation of seniors enveloping her, Morgan attentively fielded their inquiries, peering between them to watch Dr. Sharpe hurry out the door. Excusing herself as politely as possible, Morgan jogged out of the blue double doors and into the parking lot. Spotting the doctor bent over near a luxury sedan, Morgan waved and ran toward her.
“Hey, Dr. Sharpe, wait!”
As Morgan approached, the wary smile on her coworker’s face turned into a frown. “Lieutenant, you’re not wearing a jacket.”
Looking down, Morgan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Right. Well, I wanted to say goodbye, but I got jumped.”
Dr. Sharpe shivered, leaning toward her car as if it would protect her from the wind. “That’s okay. I didn’t want to elbow my way through your throng of admirers in there.”
“Oh, man.” Morgan groaned, shaking her head. “Some of it is that Boomer cop-worship, but they’re sweet. Early on I made the mistake of letting them know I don’t have any living grandparents, and, well. Now I have a surfeit of grandparents.” Morgan pointed to the beanie on her head. “Eleanor knit me this hat.”
Chuckling, the petite doctor suppressed another shiver as the wind whipped around them. “You must be freezing.”
Morgan shrugged. “Strong constitution, I’ll be fine. Anyway, so, you are the woman whose tire I changed on Valentine’s Day.” Dr. Sharpe bobbed her head in confirmation. “Did you know when Ruiz introduced us?”
“Not immediately,” she admitted. “Eventually I remembered your name and then connected it with your face. You look very different indoors. And not, you know, covered in snow.”
Morgan scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t know at all. All I had to go on were two brown eyes and the make and model of your car. Not that I was like, looking for you or anything. I never expected to see you again.”
“You know, I did wonder, how did that date go?”
“Poorly,” Morgan said with a snicker. “She was livid I changed your tire and accused me of intentionally sabotaging our date.”
Balking, Dr. Sharpe put her hand on her chest. “Sabotage how? Like you put those nails in the road?”
“No, because I…” Morgan trailed off, embarrassed. That date went so remarkably bad it should have a place in a museum. “It’s not important. Long story short, I felt more of a connection with you, a total stranger, than I did my supposed date. Needless to say, I haven’t heard from her since.”
“I would apologize, but it sounds like I did you a favor.”
Cheeks dimpling, Morgan smiled and took off her hat, rustling her fingers through her hair. “I, um, I don’t mean to sound too forward, but I’m happy to see you again. It’s sort of crazy we ended up working together, right? And then here—honestly the last place I expected to see one of my colleagues. It’s mostly just me and the golden gang.”
“I’ll admit when my daughters suggested this to me I was reluctant to join a care-share circle. Being forthright with strangers is not my forte, but seeing you here made it easier.” Ducking her head, the blushing doctor scoffed. “I’m sure that sounds ridiculous, we barely know each other.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” Morgan replied quickly. “I feel the same way.”
A light dusting of snow began to fall, coating Morgan’s hat and the tips of her eyelashes. She watched the perfect crystals land amongst Dr. Sharpe’s lovely black hair, shimmering like ancient constellations. “I can’t believe it’s snowing again.”
Morgan peered up at the weighty blanket of gray clouds looming overhead. “It’s kind of our thing now, huh?” She took a step away from the car, motioning toward it. “Gosh, get inside, you’re shivering like crazy. Have a good night, Doc.”
“Mei,” she said. “You can—please, call me Mei.”
“Okay, Mei.” Morgan’s lips spread into a giant grin and Mei smiled back. “Get home safely. I don’t want to have to get my mask and cape out of the car again.”
“Very funny, Lieutenant.” A smile still plastered on her face, Morgan stepped away from the car as she got in. Engine coming on with a quiet purr, Mei rolled down her window. “Please go get your jacket.”
Morgan saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
Rolling her eyes, Mei closed the window and backed up, slowly navigating out of the parking lot. Morgan stood amidst the snow, waving to the car driving away from her. As Mei’s backlights faded into the night, Morgan closed her eyes and imprinted the moment in her mind. Morgan never forgot a new beginning, and she had the strong feeling this one would be one to cherish.
Chapter Six
“Mei, what do you think about this?”
Without looking up from her autopsy, Mei knew Morgan was powering into the room. Over the course of a few weeks Morgan developed an expertise in maneuvering around the equipment tables and finding Mei. Bone saw in hand, Mei waited patiently for Morgan finally to realize she’d interrupted a rather delicate procedure. Between them a cadaver lay with its rib cage wide open, matter sprayed on Mei’s protective mask.
“Whoops.” Seemingly unperturbed by the body, Morgan boosted herself up onto the empty metal slab on the other side. “Sorry, please keep going.”
“I cannot use a bone saw with you in here without protective gear, Morgan. Not after last time.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You know, some of it was still in the cuff of my shirt when I went home?”
Placing the saw on the table, Mei flipped the shield of her mask open. “What can I do for you?”
Morgan paused, clearly contemplating whether to continue with her interruption. Ultimately, she couldn’t contain herself. “Okay. Remember the Harris homicide I asked you about last Monday?”
“Yes. The home invasion.”
“Right. So, the examiner’s report is pretty good. Not like, Dr.-Sharpe-level good, but decent. The stomach content section is crazy thorough. ‘Roasted potato, undetermined type of red meat, fibrous green vegetable, possibly string bean or asparagus.’” Morgan glanced up. “Doesn’t that sound extra specific? Aren’t they usually more vague?”
“It depends,” Mei replied, crossing her arms over her protective anorak. “There’s analysis that can be done to determine what the food is, if the officers deem it necessary to establish timeline. For example, if the examiner finds undigested curly fries in the stomach—”
“Gnarly.”
“—then you know the victim was killed within a few hours of eating the curly fries, maybe from an Arby’s. It takes about six hours for the stomach to empty. If I can identify or estimate the foods, I do.”
Morgan closed the folder, staring down at it. Accustomed to this idiosyncrasy, Mei waited in silence as the detective worked the case in her head. Morgan suddenly refocused. “The timeline is all screwy, but that at least narrows down the time of the murder. You don’t eat steak and potatoes for breakfast, even if it is 1974.”
“I can tell you for certain I did not eat steak and potatoes for breakfast in 1974.” Morgan snickered and peered up at the clock. Following her gaze, Mei frowned. “Oh, when did it get so late?”
“It can’t be too late.” Lifting her wrist, Morgan proved the opposite with a grimace. “Never mind, it’s almost seven.”
“That’s not late for you,” Mei replied casually. “When I leave your car is usually still here.”
Her grimace now a sly grin, Morgan playfully raised an eyebrow. “Are you tailing me, Dr. Sharpe?”
Far too late to walk back on that comment, Mei attempted indifference. “Your car is not an easy thing to miss. It’s a statement vehicle and you know it, Lieutenant Kelly.”
“She is a beaut.” Mei rolled her eyes and pulled the shield back down, ready to continue her sawing. “Listen, do you—do you want to grab dinner? Off the clock, I won’t make you explain anything about any dead person’s half-digested food. And we definitely won’t get Arby’s. I may never eat it again. Which is a shame, ’cause, you know, the milkshakes.”
What else did Mei have going on? Nothing waiting at home but a dinner for one and a random documentary. Totally normal, right? Two colleagues going out to dinner on a Thursday night? Plenty of employees fraternized outside of work; this wasn’t an aberration. Technically they didn’t even work together, other than the past two weeks of her unofficial assistance on the unsolveds.
She must’ve taken too long to answer because Morgan raised the folder and waved her off. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I’ll—I’ll go.”
Warring with herself, Mei watched her take a few steps before speaking up. “No, I’d love to. I just need to put all this away and clean up. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”
Morgan brightened considerably. “Great! Where to? Any dietary preferences?”
“Nope, I’m pretty open. Lean vegetarian but I’m not strict about it.”
“Cool. I know a good spot not too far. I’ll meet you outside.”
Normally she preferred to finish her autopsies, but the crestfallen look on Morgan’s face at a perceived rejection made her heart hurt. Perhaps she was more empathetic than she thought.
Twenty minutes later, Mei emerged into the parking lot and found Morgan waiting against the exterior of the building, round headphones over her ears. An overhead floodlight cast a pale yellow glow around her, picking out the darker golden streaks in her hair. Unseen, she watched Morgan bob her head to an unheard song, tapping on her phone with her thumbs. Mei, only five foot four on a good day, estimated Morgan’s height to be closer to five nine. Generally slender but athletic, the outline of her biceps visible through her shirt and the flexor muscles in her exposed forearms. Built like a basketball player, or maybe a soccer player, if she had to guess. Years of observing nude corpses made Mei more of an expert in what people looked like beneath their clothes than she’d ever admit out loud.
