When Shadows Fall

“But Dr. Owens, you’re the only one Mr. Savage trusted to handle things for him.”

“I said no, and I meant it. It’s late. I believe it’s time for you to go.”

“But—”

Xander stood and took three steps toward the front door. Benedict gathered up his things and followed. Once in the foyer, he said, “There’s more. You need to know he’s asked for you to do an autopsy on his body.”

Sam felt another chill down her back despite the pashmina. “What?”

“I’m afraid he was very specific. He clearly thought all of this through. He wanted you to be involved, Dr. Owens. He’s begging for your help...from the grave.”

She shook her head. “Stop trying to manipulate me. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

Benedict nodded grimly. “I understand you don’t want the responsibility, and there will be forms you’ll need to sign, declining the executor role. I will have them drawn up and sent to you. If you’re absolutely sure, that is.”

“I’m sure. You can send them to my office. And next time, Mr. Benedict, please be sure to call first. I could have saved you a long trip today.”

He hesitated, hands shaking silently, then shrugged and said, “I can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do, Dr. Owens, though I hope, once the shock has passed, you’ll reconsider. Perhaps we can speak again in the morning.”

“Perhaps not.”

Undeterred, Benedict said, “In the meantime, there is one last detail. Mr. Savage wanted you to have this.”

He dug in his pocket and dropped a small silver key into her hand. “He said you’d know what to do with it.”

Sam tried to hand it back. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be involved at all.”

Benedict ignored her, tipped a finger to his forehead in a goodbye salute then walked down the stairs and disappeared around the corner onto P Street.

* * *

Xander closed the door and watched Sam, clearly upset, stalk into the dining room and begin clearing the cups away. He didn’t like this, not one bit. For a stranger to seek her out was one thing, but to get her involved in a legal predicament, to write letters claiming she was in danger because he was contacting her and now this, leaving her holding the bag with his estate inside? If Timothy Savage weren’t already dead, Xander would have killed him himself.

He thought back to Savage’s letter. He said he’d compiled a list of people who could have murdered him. Who were these people? And why, if it was clearly a suicide, did Savage try to rope Sam into his world with the claim of murder?

There was something rotten in Denmark. Without a doubt.

The crash of broken china came from the kitchen. He hurried in to see Sam with a finger in her mouth, cursing under her breath.

“You okay?”

She shook her head. “Broke a cup and sliced my finger. It’s nothing, just an ouchy.”

She went pale as she said the words, and he knew it was a phrase she’d used with her kids. They slipped out, these motherly incantations, when she was highly upset, or drunk. This was the former—any pleasant tipsiness from the wine at dinner was long gone after the lawyer’s disconcerting visit.

“Let me see.” He went to her, pulled her into his arms. She was right; it was just a scratch, no worse than a paper cut. The bleeding had all but stopped. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the wound. “Better?”

Her shoulders began to shake. He thought there might be tears, but she was laughing quietly. She was back, pulled from the edge by his touch. She nodded.

“I’m fine. If you’d offered to kiss my boo-boo, I would have smacked your bum.”

“I might have enjoyed that. Seriously, are you okay?”

She kissed him, quick and hard, then pulled away and shut off the lights. She turned toward the stairs, let the wrap fall to the floor. “No, I’m not. Help me forget, Xander.”

And he did.

Chapter

7

SAM’S CELL PHONE rang at 10:30 p.m. Fletcher. She extricated herself from Xander’s sleeping form to answer the call. There was still something weird about being naked with Xander and talking to Fletcher. She grabbed the blue cotton button-down Xander had been wearing earlier, snuggled into it and went into the bathroom so she wouldn’t wake him, though she’d learned that as light as he slept, only an actual emergency would rouse him. Years of military training. She wished she could follow suit.

She shut the bathroom door, anyway. “Hey. You have news?”

Fletcher sounded tired, a certain weariness in his tone she understood completely. “Yeah. Did I wake you? I know you go to bed early.”

Some nights earlier than others.

“No, I’m awake. You don’t sound like you’re getting any beauty sleep, though.”

He laughed. “You know how it is. Things are popping, multiple cases, lots of craziness. Listen, I got a call back from the Lynchburg police. They say the dude, Timothy Savage, was a suicide. Took them a day to clear the air enough to retrieve the body. Detergent suicide isn’t deadly only for the victim, but for anyone else who might inhale it, accidentally or otherwise. It’s not a pretty death.”

“I know. Hydrogen sulfide gas is quite lethal. I assume asphyxiation was the cause of death?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t post him. It’s a small town, just a coroner on hand. They sent the chemicals in for testing, but he didn’t see the need for an autopsy. Apparently it was quite clear what had happened. There were warning signs on the windows, and a note, the whole shebang.”

“Lazy of them. All they needed to do was send the body to Richmond. Where is Mr. Savage now?”

“In the cooler at the mortician’s place.”

“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” She leaned against the sink, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her dark hair was wild, sticking up all over, and her lips were swollen. She smoothed her hair down, thinking hard. Why had Timothy Savage drawn her into his mess?

“Sam? You still there?”

“Yes. My turn for show-and-tell. I had an interesting visitor tonight. Creepy lawyer from Lynchburg. Apparently Savage named me executrix of his estate, and demanded I do an autopsy on him. He left me a key, too, though I have no idea to what. This is getting weirder and weirder, Fletch.”

“Are you going to do it?” He sounded intrigued.

“No. No way. This is a job for the police, not me. I’ll recommend his body be sent to the OCME in Richmond, and ask my friend Meg Foreman to handle the case personally. But that’s as far as I go. I already declined the legal aspect. I just want to prep for my classes and get the semester under way.”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Sam. You’re totally on the hook.”

She looked herself in the eye. Spoke to the woman in the mirror, as much as to Fletcher. “I most certainly am not.”

“Yeah, you are. Sleep on it. If you still don’t want to be involved in the morning, I’ll back off. But if you’re in, I’ll go with you down to Lynchburg. It won’t kill you to post the dude.”

Permission granted, ma’am.