The Blue Lion, page 7
part #1 of Cape Danger Series
Meg bit her lip and looked away, and he lifted her chin. "Answer me, Meg."
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry." It was a whisper. She still didn't seem able to look at him.
He heaved a sigh and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. "We'll talk about this later." Keeping his arm around her, he guided her to the car and inside.
Taking long enough to stop for take-out, he pulled into the driveway at home thirty minutes later. Wallace was sitting in the car outside the house when they arrived. With a wave, he stepped out. Matt pulled to a stop to greet him.
"Sorry. I'm early. If it's not convenient for you, I can come back later."
"No, it's fine. I'll be at the door in just a sec."
Matt drove the car into the garage, bringing Meg into the house. Before opening the front door, he took her shoulders and turned her to face him. "You already know the worst. I should send you upstairs while I talk with him, but I'll give you a choice. Do you want to stay?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Can you handle it?"
"Yes. I think so."
He studied her face. "All right, but if I see you're struggling, I'll send you upstairs, and I'll expect you to go without arguing. Hear me?"
She nodded. "I understand."
Chapter 7
Matt moved to the door. Wallace was standing outside in the dark, and Matt flipped on the porch light. "Sorry. It's getting dark earlier now. We'll have to start leaving the porch light on. Come in, please."
Meg immediately asked if he would like a cup of coffee, and he smiled.
"I would appreciate it, Mrs. Hart. I've kept late hours the past few days, and I confess, I'm beat."
Meg paused. "Matt?"
"I'd like some too, princess."
Matt waited until Meg had ducked into the kitchen and motioned the lieutenant toward the sofa. "My wife wants to sit in on this, if it's all right with you."
Wallace nodded. "It's fine with me. I actually have some questions to ask her."
Meg peeked around the corner. "Sugar? Cream?"
"Black. Thank you." He reached into a briefcase and pulled out a file.
Matt watched as Meg emerged from the kitchen a moment later with two mugs. Handing each of them one, she sat down next to him. He brought her hand into his.
Wallace frowned. "Don't mind me. I just have a lot of questions about terminology and I knew you'd be able to explain it."
Matt's brows rose. "Go ahead."
"Well, the first question is, when I looked at the coroner's report, it mentioned conjunctival petechiae. When I looked at the ER report, I didn't see it. I know you weren't the main physician treating her when they brought her in, but I figured you'd know."
"You're right. We also didn't see the furrows on her throat, either, due to the degree of the burns. Petechial hemorrhaging often isn't visible without extremely good light. Sometimes coroners are the only ones who catch it. And the ER staff was concerned with a good deal more than looking for it. We were trying to establish life support."
"Ah. That makes sense, then. I also noticed a lot of drugs were found in her system. Mrs. Hart, since you knew her in school, that leads me to a question. Had you ever known her to do drugs?"
Meg stared at him. "Never. She would never have done that in high school. But I didn't get to see what all was in her system, either."
"The list was as long as your arm."
Matt spoke up. "But what actually killed her wasn't the drugs. It was the burns. I've rarely seen anyone burned that badly. I knew she wouldn't make it."
Wallace scribbled something into his book, nodding. "Another question, Mrs. Hart. What kind of girl was she then? What kind of student?"
Meg gulped. "Sweet. Kind. Sense of humor. She was a prankster, but it was harmless. As far as grades, she didn't make straight A's, but she was close."
"What kinds of pranks did she play? Did you ever do any with her?"
Meg shook her head. "No. She asked me once. They were just silly, innocent things."
"Like?"
"Similar to the old, calling up the grocery store and asking, 'Do you have Prince Albert in a can' thing, and if they said 'yes' you'd say, 'Well, you'd better let him out.' That kind of thing. It really was harmless."
"Ah." He nodded. "I did that myself, once, as a kid. What was her family like?"
Matt watched as Meg frowned. "They were different. She invited me over to spend the night once. I didn't understand why at the time, but my parents refused to let me go."
"Did you realize there was a history of parental abuse by her father?"
Meg's eyes grew wide as Matt watched. He put an arm around her.
"Not until later. But I think my parents must have known about it. They refused to give me a reason why I couldn't go, and it wasn't like them. They were usually candid with me. She never asked again."
Matt felt her shoulders trembling and tightened his arm, bringing her closer.
"We found her beside the road on 74, not far from Country Club Lane. She'd fallen into the ditch when the sheriff's department got there. One foot was visible from the road. The police could have missed her quite easily if they hadn't been looking." He glanced down at the paper in his hands. "I see they took her to Smith-Hall."
Matt stared. "You realize that's the funeral home the family requested. The coroner is livid that they want her service to be held there. But it wasn't his doing or his decision."
Wallace leaned forward. "By her family, you mean her husband. Apparently, there are no children."
Matt nodded. "We were unable to contact her husband at the hospital."
"It also says she hasn't had anything to do with her immediate family since she graduated. It's tragic." He rubbed his jaw, frowning. "I have just one or two more questions, but I'm sure I'll find more, after talking with you. About the ligature…"
Meg leaned back against her husband, feeling lost. When there was a break in the conversation, she looked up. "Is it possible, I mean, if she tried to get away, is it possible they tried to kill her and failed? Matt, you said what killed her were the burns…" she trailed off.
Wallace's glance across at her held sympathy. "That thought might soften the blow a little, but Mrs. Hart, we're treating it as a homicide. My wife feels the same way; she's devastated at this, even though she hasn't seen Mrs. Kirk but a handful of times since graduation. You just echoed her sentiments, and she hasn't seen the reports. There are several persons of interest in this case, and we're just getting started. The reason I'm here is to establish the immediate facts surrounding her murder and get a physician's point of view."
Meg remained quiet until after Wallace rose. "When this is over, Stacy asked me to invite you both for dinner. She'd love to see you again, Mrs. Hart.
Meg nodded. "I'd like very much to see her, too."
Wallace glanced from one to the other. "I'll have her call you."
He had closed the door behind him when Matt brought her to her feet and pulled her to face him. She let out a sob. "Poor Chelsea."
Matt's strong arms engulfed her, breathing into her hair. "I know, princess. I know."
The funeral…
Nikki had called early that morning. "I'm sorry. I just don't think I can make myself go to the funeral, and Scott's working and wants me to work with him. Will you be okay without me?"
Meg leaned toward the vanity, trying to decide whether or not to put her contacts in.
"Yes, Matt's going with me. Don't worry. I'll tell you how it went."
"I just wanted to tell you, Heather left a message on my voice mail, asking if we'd come to another luncheon Saturday. Then she left another one after that, calling it off. She said it was too soon. But it didn't matter. I wasn't going anyway."
"She didn't call me. And I'm sorry you'll be there by yourself this morning."
"No worries. Well, I won't keep you. Let me know how it goes, all right?"
Meg was still standing in front of the mirror with her contact case in her hand when Matt put his head in. "My advice, if you'll take it, is to wear your glasses this morning. If you cry, you're bound to lose the contacts."
She met his eyes in the mirror and glanced down at the little case in her hand. "You're probably right." She set them back down with a sigh and picked up her glasses.
He leaned forward, putting his arms around her. "Hey, sexy girl. Are you ready?"
She nodded.
"Then let's go."
The trip to the funeral home was quiet. Matt kept her hand in his as they neared it. But as they passed the house that Heather and Pierce lived in, she turned, staring.
"The gargoyle up next to the house is stained yellow," she observed. "Odd."
Matt slowed. "It is odd. I wonder if it's always been that color. I've never noticed it before."
There were few cars in the parking lot as they pulled into the drive at Smith-Hall, and few people in the lobby as he led her inside.
Meg glanced around inside the chapel. At the front was a small table, with an urn on it. Matt stopped, and Meg felt him stiffen, next to her.
"Matt?" she whispered.
He shook his head. "It's nothing."
She knew better than to ask, and he wasn't going to tell her. Glancing around the rest of the room, she saw Hannah, sitting on the third or fourth row. Amber was next to her. One person sat alone on the back pew, and she turned.
It was Heather, and she was sitting there quietly, but her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.
Meg looked up at Matt, who nodded. "Go, princess," he said softly.
Moving slowly toward Heather, Meg slid her arms around the girl's shoulders. Heather's immediate reaction was to give a startled gasp, but when she realized it was Meg, she flung her arms around her.
"Oh, Meg. I can't stand it."
Meg said the only thing she knew to say, "I know. I'm so sorry."
Heather tightened her arms around her neck. "It's not your fault," she whispered.
Meg shook her head. "It's no one's fault except the person who did this to her. Matt was at the ER when they brought her in. They tried so hard to save her."
Heather's response was to sob more desperately. She was almost inconsolable. It took a while, but Meg finally managed to get her to move up and sit with Hannah and Amber.
"Mellie couldn't come," Amber whispered.
"Nikki couldn't, either." Meg looked up.
Matt was reaching for her hand. "We should go up and say something to her husband."
Meg nodded and placed her hand in his as they moved toward the front. Neither of Chelsea's parents were there, and her husband stood by himself. He refrained from looking at either of them as they shook hands.
Meg took an instant dislike to him. He didn't seem grief-stricken. He didn't seem anything. His eyes were shifty and distant. She'd heard of people being so numb at the loss of their loved ones, they couldn't respond, and she wondered if that's what was happening.
As they returned to their seats on the third row, Meg noticed another couple there. It was Lt. Wallace and his wife, Stacy. Matt sent her into the pew, and she scooted over to greet her.
"Hi, Stacy."
"Hi, Meg. This is a terrible place to say this, but it's so good to see you. I didn't know if anyone would be here or not."
"Some of the old gang is here."
"I see them. I sent a dinner invitation to you with Mason last week, did he tell you?"
"Yes. We'd love to come."
"I'll call you," Stacy had just whispered, when the funeral director stepped up to the podium. They sat quietly as he read the eulogy and uttered words of comfort.
Comfort? Meg thought. How was anyone to be comforted in this kind of situation? Thankful Matt was with her, she glanced up to find him studying her. He squeezed her hand.
Matt was glad it was over, for Meg's sake. The ladies had come over to Meg, promising to meet again soon, if nothing more than to share memories about Chelsea. It was as they left that he let out a sigh. It was the most tragic service he'd ever attended. How horrible that the girl who had been so badly burned, had ended up being cremated after all. He'd kept the gruesomeness of it from Meg as much as he could. What she knew was bad enough. The media had shown it so often, every young woman in the area was probably terrified. Murder didn't often happen in Cape.
It was as everyone was rising to leave, he saw Pierce standing in the doorway to the chapel, his eyes scanning the room. When they lit on his wife, he moved toward her, nodding to Matt.
"I tried to keep her from coming," he murmured as he passed. "She wouldn't hear of it."
Heather reached for him as he approached, still weeping, and he brought his arms around her and led her outside, nodding once again as he left.
Corralling Meg, Matt urged her toward the car. She remained silent until they climbed inside. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "I don't like her husband."
He glanced down sympathetically. "I could tell. Why don't you?"
"I can't put a finger on it, actually. I just don't. He doesn't seem like he's grieving."
"No, that's true enough. But you know as well as I, people grieve in different ways, princess. We don't know what's going on behind the scenes."
She sighed. "No. I wonder if they're investigating him."
He put a hand on the back of her neck, massaging gently. "I'm sure they are," he echoed thoughtfully. "But if you're wondering if he killed her, I'm sure the police are looking into that, too."
"I'll bet they're looking into everyone."
"Yes. If she had come to the luncheon, they'd be interviewing you, too, because you'd have met with her."
Meg nodded. "I hadn't thought of that."
Matt slowed as he turned left out of the drive. The garage door was coming down from the house Heather and Pierce occupied.
"I wonder what the significance of the yellow is." Meg craned her neck to see the gargoyle between the house and the road as they passed. "I'll have to ask her when I see her next."
A feeling of unease crawled up Matt's spine. He wasn't exactly sure where it came from, but the thought of Meg going into the old house left an ominous cloud over his head. He frowned, looking down at her. He'd prefer she stay away from it.
She noticed. "Matt? What is it?"
He made an effort at a smile. "I honestly don't know, princess. But I prefer you not go near the house. Or the funeral home." He shook his head. "I have a lot on my mind, that's all." He lifted her chin "I'm taking off the rest of the day. Scott's seeing my patients. Where to for lunch?"
She grinned. "You never take off work. What's gotten into you?"
He wound a hand through her long hair and brought her face upward, kissing her soundly. "You have. Either you pick a place to eat, or I'll begin ordering you to strip, beginning now. It's been too long."
"It's been less than twenty-four hours," she tossed back.
"My point exactly," he said, raising a brow.
The challenging glance she raised to his with those big blue eyes was nearly his undoing.
Her inviting lips curved into a slow, tantalizing smile. "I'm not hungry."
His brows rose further. "All right, then," he commanded. "Panties off."
Chapter 8
"You're serious." Meg stared at him.
"Of course, I'm serious. And you're stalling. Do I have to threaten you with consequences?"
She tried to keep the smile from her face. She knew what that meant. Normal consequences meant punishments for disobedience. In the bedroom, however, those consequences were decadent.
"Megan Savannah? You've just earned a trip over my knee, young lady."
Her lips formed a pout, and his brows rose even further. Quickly, she looked around at the traffic. The only other car in sight was several hundred feet back.
"You're really asking for it, aren't you?" There was amusement there, but that stern manner hadn't entirely left. Reaching up under her dress, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her lacy panties and began to tug them down, just slowly enough to tease.
He held out a hand, and she placed them, folded, into it. While giving her a long glance, he tucked them into his pocket.
"Now, the bra."
"Not the stockings?" She grinned. He loved her in the thigh-high stockings.
"Not yet."
When she glanced around at the road, he shook his head. "I'll watch the traffic. You do as you're told."
Meg reached over to undo the seat belt.
"Oh no, you don't."
She looked up incredulously. "How am I supposed to get my bra off with the belt on?"
"Use your imagination."
She huffed out a sigh. Edging the dress up through the seat belt and above her waist, she managed to get one arm out of her sleeve and through the bra strap, bringing it down. The other followed, and she pulled it out through the neck of the dress.
"Ah. Sneaky, I see. I'll let you get away with it. This time."
She took her time, wishing he'd drive a bit faster.
When that, too, was placed in his hand, he grinned. "Now, the slippers."
The short pumps with the tiny heels came next. Meg started to put one into his hand, and he chuckled. "You can leave them in the floorboard, princess. Now," he paused a moment, grinning. "The slip."
Glad she had only worn a half-slip, Meg brought it down. The car seat, warm from the sun, felt hot against her bottom. Folding it, she handed it over.
"Now, close your eyes."
"What?"
"Are you questioning me?" There was an edge to his voice. She knew it was forged, but she blinked and obeyed.
"Good girl. Now, the stockings."
Slowly, she rolled the top of first one down, then the other. Folding them, she held them out, and he took them.
"Now. Keep your eyes closed." He waited a moment. "Hear me?"
"Yes." She heard the uncertainty in her own voice clearly.
