Final Words (17 page)

“How could you know?” Disappointment darkened Marta’s eyes. “Oh
no. Is that where you were last night? With him?”

Emma’s temper flared, driving the blush higher up her face. “I
am
a big girl, Marta. I don’t have to check in with you on what men I
see.”

Marta opened her mouth to reply but then shut it abruptly.
Her gaze shifted beyond Emma’s left shoulder. Sympathy swept into her eyes.

Dread knotted Emma’s stomach as she turned to look behind
her. Across the terrace, wearing a smile that lit his handsome face, Jason
danced with a beautiful raven-haired woman. Danced wasn’t exactly the word. It
was more like a moving embrace. It was—very friendly.

“Didn’t take him long, did it?” Marta murmured. “You see
what I mean?”

Emma didn’t realize she was swaying until Marta caught her
arm and led her to a nearby chair.

“Take a deep breath,” Marta said, positioning herself
between Emma and the opening to the terrace. “You’ll be okay.”

Emma took that breath but it didn’t stop her heart from
throbbing. “I feel like an idiot,” she said thickly.

Marta stroked a hand over Emma’s hair. “You didn’t really
expect that leopard to change his spots just because you slept with him, did
you?”

“I haven’t slept with him. I just—” Emma shook her head. She
didn’t want to admit—not even to her best friend—that she’d just proven that
divorce hadn’t improved her judgment a bit. She didn’t want to admit that she’d
been fooled by a man again. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

A shadow fell over her face. Emma looked up through unshed tears
to see Detective Charlie Garcia standing before her chair.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said. “The two of you looked
thirsty sitting over here all alone.”

“Thank you.” Emma took the glass of wine that Charlie
offered, although a sip of water would have been more helpful to her at that
moment. Or a bucketful right in her hot, red face. If he noticed the tears in
her eyes, he was gentleman enough not to comment.

“Thanks, Charlie.” Marta took the other glass. Her friendly
tone sounded forced. “It’s nice to see you here.”

“When my wife saw the invitation, I had no choice but to
accept.” His charming smile encompassed both women. “Veronica loves to dress
up. And doesn’t she look beautiful?”

Seeing the direction of his gaze—through the opening to the
terrace—Emma almost didn’t look. But the surprised guilt in Marta’s eyes
encouraged her to peer around the Grecian column toward the dancers on the
terrace. Her gaze immediately honed in on Jason and his beautiful partner. As
Jason turned her to face them, the woman smiled and waved in their direction.
Charlie returned the wave.

“I should bring Veronica to more of these functions,” he
said, pride warming his voice. “She loves to dance.”

“That’s Veronica?” Marta darted that guilty glance back at
Emma. “She’s certainly changed since I saw her last. I didn’t recognize her.”

“She’s dedicated herself to her health in the past year.”
Charlie chuckled. “She was beautiful before, of course. But those pre-dawn runs
were worth having my sleep disturbed, after all. Just look how well she dances
even with a clumsy buffalo like Jason.”

Emma listened with only half her attention. Jason wasn’t
dancing with just some woman but with Charlie’s wife. And Charlie was happy
about it.

That suddenly made a big difference in how Emma felt about
Jason MacKenzie. A very big difference.

It made a difference in how she felt about herself too. Like
mercury, her self-confidence returned. She’d been so willing to believe all the
stories about Jason because she hadn’t been willing to trust her own instincts.
And that had been the very thing she’d been afraid she couldn’t do. Now, she
wanted to go with her own gut. And her gut told her that it might be time to
start believing in the man. And in herself.

“You’re a wonderful dancer.” Veronica smiled up at Jason as
the music ended. “But I’m not nearly as graceful as the woman you were dancing
with earlier.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Ronnie.” He squeezed her
hands as she backed away. “You’re the best dancer here.”

“I am certainly lighter on my feet than I was a year ago.”
She ran her fingertips over her flat stomach and smiled wider. “But I suppose
it is all in the fit, eh?”

Confused, Jason frowned. “I’m sorry?”

Mischief twinkled in Veronica’s dark eyes as she glanced
toward the ballroom. Jason understood immediately what she was implying. The
lady was as dedicated a matchmaker as her husband. And almost as obvious. She
inclined her head toward where Emma and Marta stood with Charlie just inside
the ballroom.

“She fits your embrace better than I do,” Veronica said.

Watching Emma as she sat talking to Marta and Charlie, Jason
admitted to himself that Veronica was right. Emma’s body fitted against his as
if he and she were two halves of the same being. And her mouth… The fit of that
kiss…

He’d looked for her tonight with the intention of finding
out more about her odd behavior that morning. But when he’d seen her walk out
of the ballroom and lean against that column, when he’d seen the want in her
eyes—want for him—all his plans had gone to cinders.

Emma looked his way and her eyes seemed to sparkle just for
him. Was she thinking about that kiss too? Was she waiting for the moment when
she could join him and they could pick up where they’d left off? His body
hardened at the thought.

“I should go inside and call the babysitter.” Veronica rose
on her toes to plant a kiss on Jason’s cheek. “Then I suppose I will see how I
fit my husband’s embrace for a tango. You are coming out to the house tomorrow
afternoon, aren’t you, Jason?”

Emma rose and started back toward him. Her eyes were still
shining. She was still smiling.

Veronica tugged on his lapel. “Jason?”

He glanced down at her. “Right, Ronnie. Tomorrow.” He looked
back at Emma and only vaguely heard a feminine chuckle as Veronica walked away.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. His palms grew damp. His
heart pounded. He felt as if he’d never been on a date before.

Not that this was a date. This was just a chance—okay,
intentional—meeting that had somehow blossomed into something more. A meeting
that promised something more.

Emma drew closer. He wanted nothing more than to claim her
mouth again and feel her surrender.

She stopped, smile faltering as she looked down at the small
purse dangling from her wrist. Across the few yards that separated them, Jason
heard the shrill tones of her pager and his hopes sank.

Drawing the pager from the tiny purse that dangled from her
wrist, Emma looked down at it and then continued toward Jason. Tucking away her
page, she put her smile back on but it was a shade less brilliant. “Sorry about
that,” she said as she reached to him.

“No problem,” he managed to say.

“Marta had some questions about a case.” She clasped her
hands behind her. “And then Detective Garcia came by to say hello. I understand
that was his wife you just danced with.”

“Yes. That was Veronica.” Jason took a deep breath and
pulled himself together. “Would you like to meet her?”

She lifted her small bag. “I just got paged by the ME on
duty.”

Fear confirmed, Jason nodded and tucked his hands into the
pockets of his slacks. “You have to go?”

“Car accident. Multiple victims, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe we can get together afterward.”

“I’d like that,” she softly replied but shook her head and
started to back away. “But we’ll probably be quite late.”

Jason took a step after her, reaching but not quite touching
her arm. He had to save this moment. It couldn’t end so abruptly. Not when it
had held such promise moments earlier.

“I’m going to Charlie’s house tomorrow,” he said quickly. “He’s
great on the grill. I mean, he’s great at grilling chicken. Would you like to
come? You could meet Veronica then. And their son Ricci.” When she opened her
mouth to answer, Jason panicked at the thought that she might turn him down. “It’s
just a few friends getting together for a Sunday afternoon barbecue. We can
talk about your case.”

Those little lines formed across her brow again and he could
tell that she was turning over the notion in her mind. The notion of risking
her heart so soon after her divorce. She wanted to take the risk. Her kiss had
told him that.

God, he hoped he was right, because just thinking about that
kiss ratcheted up his desperation. Say yes, he thought, fingers of fear
squeezing his heart. Please say yes.

Emma smiled. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Great.” Elation swept through him, erupting in a grin. “I’ll
pick you up at four.”

“All right,” she said softly. “Four o’clock.”

Still smiling, she turned and walked back toward the
ballroom.

Joy lifted Jason’s heart when she half turned to give him a
last glance and he managed to forget that she might be half crazy.

The Garcia family welcomed Emma warmly. Veronica, a lovely
woman with kind, chestnut eyes and a gentle manner, graciously accepted the
potted chrysanthemums that Emma had brought. Charlie dragged Jason outside to
show off his new gas grill in the small, lushly landscaped backyard. Ricci, the
Garcia’s seven-year-old child, proved he was his father’s son by immediately
putting on the charm. He drew out a chair in the gaily colored kitchen for Emma
and then made sure she had a small plate of the guacamole he had helped his
mother make. At Emma’s grateful smile, Ricci blushed and then grabbed a Frisbee
and ran out the back door to join the men.

“The girls in the second grade had better watch that one,”
Emma commented as Veronica smiled after her son.

“He is a charmer,” Veronica agreed. Rising on her toes, she
reached to lift down a stack of plates from a cabinet near the sink. “Little
girls are already calling him on the telephone.”

“I’ll bet he’s popular at birthday parties.”

“Absolutely.” Veronica set the plates on the kitchen counter
and then took off her avocado-stained apron. “Come. Let’s sit outside and watch
the boys play.”

Moments later, Emma and Veronica sat on a cushioned wooden swing
on the back deck while Ricci and the men threw the Frisbee across the wide
yard. Charlie’s new gas grill sent waves of heat into the evening air and the
scent of grilling chicken wafted around them.

“I have never seen Jason smile so much,” Veronica commented
as she gently pushed the swing with one foot. “You’ve made a wonderful
difference in his life, Emma.”

“Me?” Emma held her glass of lemonade in both hands and
tried not to stare at Jason as he played. She’d been trying not to watch him
ever since he’d picked her up this afternoon, trying not to reveal the case of
nerves that had come over her when she’d realized that she’d committed herself
to exploring her attraction to him.

But there was more to it than the fact that she hadn’t dated
in years. There was the secret of what she could do. If their relationship did
grow into something meaningful, how could she explain to him that she spent
part of each day talking to the dead? And if she didn’t explain…

Could she calmly come home to him after a night like last
night? Four teenage girls had decided that two six-packs of beer wouldn’t
impair anyone’s driving skills. Not only had their drunk driving killed the
girls but it had also killed a family of three. Despite the fact that two other
medical examiners had assisted, somehow Emma had ended up listening to all the
spirits at one point or another over the course of the late night. By the time
she’d gotten back to her apartment at sunrise, she’d been physically shaking
from the experience. And mentally? Well, no intimate companion would have
missed it.

Veronica lifted her heavy hair off her neck with one
forearm. “I suppose he told you about his sister?”

“Yes.” Emma ran her hands over her damp glass. “What a
tragedy.”

“Jason has been obsessed with finding the driver who killed
Rose.” Letting her hair fall, Veronica sighed. “He does nothing but work.”

Glancing at Veronica, Emma wondered how much information the
woman might be willing to divulge about Jason. It struck her that while she had
no trouble getting information out of the dead lately, the living were another
matter. The dead wanted the truth to be known but the living had reasons for
secrets.

“I’ve heard he has quite an active dating life,” she said
quietly, wanting someone else to confirm what Jason said about putting a stop
to his excessive dating. “That he likes to go from woman to woman.”

“Such stories were true at one time and Jason would be the
first to admit it.” Veronica’s eyes softened in sadness as she watched Jason. “He’s
also the first to insist on his own atonement.”

Emma frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Jason blamed himself for Rose’s death, believing it was a
direct result of his ‘active dating life’.”

“What did his dating have to do with his sister’s death?”

“That’s a story he will have to tell you himself.” A
secretive smile curled the other woman’s lips as she looked back at Emma. “And
I believe he will.”

Emma traced a fingertip down the condensation on her glass. “Why
would he tell me? We’re barely friends.”

“Friends?” As her gaze ran over Emma’s face, Veronica’s
smile turned to surprise. “You haven’t realized that the man is in love with
you.”

“Love?” Emma’s pulse quickened and her mouth went suddenly
dry. “We hardly know each other.”
Of course, there were those kisses…

“Sometimes love blooms quickly. Can’t you tell by the way he
looks at you?” Veronica gestured toward the men with her glass of lemonade. “Now,
for example?”

Emma looked up. Jason stood at the far end of the yard, his
gaze fixed on her. The dark gleam in his eyes sent a thrill of satisfaction
shooting through her. He desired her. She’d known that for a while. But
Veronica’s words made her aware of more than desire dancing in his expression.
She saw a longing that echoed within her own heart.

But they barely knew each other and much of their
relationship revolved around his suspicion and her secrets. And yet those
things didn’t seem to matter in that dark gleaming gaze, in that intriguingly
sexy smile.

Maybe. Just maybe, he could accept
everything
about
her. If she took the time to explain it the right way and not just blurt it out
as she’d done over his sister’s photograph.

Suddenly, Charlie raised one hand. “Hold on, guys,” he
called to Jason and Ricci. He pulled his chirping cell phone from its case on
his hip and flipped it open.

Veronica slumped against the back of the swing. “I guess our
evening is over,” she murmured as her husband, speaking into the phone,
gestured toward Jason. “The life of a cop’s family.”

“It can’t be worse than the life of a doctor’s family,” Emma
replied, wondering if they could possibly work it out. Did she really want to?
She’d gone from divorced and not wanting to risk losing herself in a
relationship to considering life with a man who might very well consume her.
All in a space of a few weeks.

Charlie ended the phone call, spoke in hushed tones to Jason
and then gestured to his son. “Ricci, will you get my blue jacket off my bed,
please?”

“Sure, Papa.” Clutching the Frisbee to his chest, Ricci ran
into the house.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” Charlie said as he and Jason approached
the swing. Both men looked grim. “We have a case.”

“Oh, Charlie.” Veronica touched her husband’s hand as he
stepped up beside the swing. “I’m sorry too.”

As Charlie kissed his wife’s cheek, Jason stepped around the
couple. “I’ll give you a lift,” he said to Emma.

“Ricci and I will see that Emma gets home,” Veronica
offered. “You and Charlie go on.”

“Emma isn’t going home. She has to work too.” Jason tugged
her to her feet. The dark gleam in his eyes had become something desperate. “This
one’s going to be bad.”

* * * * *

Hours passed before the police received the body. At just
after one o’clock Monday morning Emma looked at the little girl on the table
and knew that Jason had underestimated the case. “Bad” didn’t begin to cover
it. Amy Benson was a tiny eight-year-old, with the thin limbs and gaunt facial
features of someone who had been ill for a long time. There was a mark on her
right temple that looked as if she may have been struck.

“She had leukemia.” Skitch studied the file in his hands.
His eyes shimmered as they shifted toward the little girl. “Poor kid.”

Emma ached for him. Skitch took it harder than most whenever
the deceased was a child. Few of his coworkers knew but Skitch had fathered a
child when he was a teenager. The child’s mother, refusing to marry him, had
neglected the child. The little boy had died before reaching his second
birthday, forgotten in the bathtub one evening by his own mother.

Putting the file aside, Skitch leaned over the small, still
body and wrinkled his nose. “What’s that fishy smell? Wasn’t she in the
hospital when she died?”

“No.” Emma paused, remembering what little Jason had told
her on their way to the scene. She looked her assistant in the eye. “She died
in a pond.”

Skitch went very still and his hands clenched at his sides. “Look
at her arms and legs. This kid wouldn’t have been able to walk, let alone swim.
What was she doing in a pond?”

“That’s what the police want to know. It was a koi pond in
her backyard. Her father built it a couple of years ago.”

“Koi? You mean those giant goldfish everyone keeps these
days?” His voice turned sharp. “How did she wind up in a pond full of fish?”

“No one knows.” Emma spoke softly, understanding her
assistant’s anger. She considered the frail little body. “Her father was the
only one at home with her at the time. Her mother had gone to the grocery
store.”

“So her dad was in charge?”

“That’s right. Mr. Benson told the police that Amy was in
his bedroom on the first floor. He left her tucked in the bed while he went
into the kitchen to get her some juice. He says he was gone only a few minutes
but when he came back, Amy wasn’t there. The French doors leading from the
bedroom to the backyard were open.” Emma paused. “He found her in the pond.”

“Oh man.”

“She died in less than two feet of water. Even given her
small size and weakened state, she should have been able to drag herself out if
she’d fallen in.” Bile tickled the back of her throat. “The police think that
she didn’t
fall
in.”

When Skitch didn’t respond, she looked up to find him
staring at her with hollow eyes. Quietly, she went on, “Mr. Benson was having
money problems.”

Skitch looked back at the child. “And the cops think he
killed her? Her own father?”

“Yes.” Anger surged past the bile. “But I don’t agree. Why
would a man kill his own child?”

“There are all sorts of reasons.” His voice fell almost to a
whisper. “And sometimes no reason. Maybe, in this case, the life insurance.”

“No agency would have insured a child in this condition. And
the family has no health insurance.” She paused again and her next words tasted
more bitter. “The police think Benson may have wanted out from under Amy’s
medical bills. They had already hit the half-million mark.” She looked down at
the tiny face, sweet even in death. “What father could do that?”

Skitch lowered his voice. “You know lots of fathers—or
mothers—could do it, Doc.”

Skitch would certainly know and Emma feared she would hear
exactly that from Amy’s spirit. Still, she’d seen Amy’s father on her way in.
He’d appeared inconsolable. But did that mean he hadn’t taken a step he felt
was necessary to relieve himself of the financial burden of caring for a child
who couldn’t be cured? A child who was fated to die soon anyway?

“There’s another theory floating around.” She touched her
fingertips to the cold metal table. “Amy overheard her folks arguing about
bills a few days ago. Mrs. Benson is afraid that maybe Amy did it herself, to
save her parents the money.”

Skitch stared at Emma. “A kid this young couldn’t possibly
think like that.”

A sob wedged its way into Emma’s throat and for a moment she
couldn’t speak. She looked down at the peaceful curl of the child’s tiny mouth,
at the lush lashes so dark against thin cheeks that should have been healthy
still with baby fat.

“The Bensons are Catholic,” she finally went on. “A suicide—even
a child with good intentions—you can imagine how upset they are.”

Skitch made a strange sound in his own throat. “Yeah.”

Emma took a deep breath. In a moment, she could find out the
truth and perhaps give everyone involved a measure of peace.

Or she might have to prove a murder or suicide.

Gently, she lifted one hand off the steel table and placed
it on the crown of that blond hair. “Amy,” she whispered. “Tell us how you
died.”

Something moved at the corner of her vision, on her left,
down low. Aware of Skitch’s attention on her, Emma shifted her eyes without
moving her head. A small figure stood beside her, a girl whose head barely
reached Emma’s hip.

“Dr. Emma?” The voice was as tiny as the child.

Still not moving her head, Emma stroked the soft blond hair
of the child lying on the table. She waited as the spirit moved nearer and its
presence chilled her.

“Daddy told me to stay away from the pond,” the petite
spirit went on. “But I felt better. I wanted to see the fish. I got out of
Mommy and Daddy’s bed and walked to the pond. I sat on the rocks…and I felt
funny. Then the little girl fell in the water. I told her to get up but she
wouldn’t.”

“No way was she strong enough to walk out to the pond on her
own, Doc.” Skitch shook his head, obviously trying to forget his own sadness
and focus on the case. “I’ll bet she could barely sit up without help. But that
mark on her temple…” He leaned closer. “No blood. No bruising. It looks like it
happened after she died.”

Emma studied the mark. Then, looking up, she watched the
small figure fade away. She drew her hand away from that soft blond hair. “I
don’t think she drowned, Skitch.”

“But her father found her in the pond.” Skitch looked up at
Emma. “Of course, she drowned.”

“No, she didn’t.” Emma lowered her face shield as relief
settled inside her. “And we have to prove it.”

* * * * *

Jason sat at the rear of the chapel in the Medical Examiner’s
building, arms folded over his chest. Frank and Iris Benson, the little girl’s
parents, sat in the front pew, arms wrapped around each other. Their heads were
bowed together and their sobs echoed quietly in the cool, still air.

As he watched them suffer together, his own sense of loss
and loneliness deepened. In the time he’d spent with Emma last night and this
afternoon, he’d felt himself climbing out of the abyss of his grief. Now,
seeing what had happened to Amy Benson and its affect on her family had
reawakened his anguish with bitter force. He had a long way to go before he
would get over what had happened to his sister…or to Tyrone and Brian.