Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Cannel gestured toward a picnic table that was in the middle of the courtyard just beyond where we were standing. It was well lit and afforded me a great view of the entire area.
“No offense, but I don’t know you,” she said to me. “If you don’t mind, we’ll have to do it out here. Anything more private, and that will make me uncomfortable.”
I nodded in understanding. “That’s fine.”
She walked to the table, leaving at least four feet of space between us the entire way.
And when we reached the table, she sat down on the opposite side of me, making me smile at her wariness.
“What is it you’d like to ask me, Detective?” she asked in that husky drawl.
I couldn’t tell where her accent was from.
She may appear Greek, but that lovely drawl indicated that she was originally from a Southern state. Like South Carolina, or Mississippi.
“A couple of weeks ago you treated a patient by the name of Hester Greeson. Hester is suspected of killing her husband by poisoning him to death. When we spoke with the family, they told us that there was an altercation that led to the hospitalization of Hester. Can you tell me what went on? Do you know any information? Was she able to talk to you?” I asked.
The murder was fairly cut and dry. Hester poisoned her husband. Everyone knew that. We just needed to know the why of it, and Hester wasn’t talking.
Cannel looked fierce for a few seconds, her rage apparent, as if the suffering that Hester went through at her husband’s hands was somehow familiar to her.
“Hester came in with a broken jaw,” she said. “And a traumatic brain injury, or TBI. When she arrived on our floor, her jaw had been wired shut, and she was in a medically-induced coma due to the TBI.” She paused. “Her husband came every day like clockwork. Around five in the evening, stayed for a few minutes then left. It was as if he was scaring her with his presence into not talking. I just…” Cannel stopped for a really long time, making my eyes narrow.
“You just what?” I asked.
“I’m familiar with that look of panic,” she admitted. “I know it when I see it. When Hester woke up, she was so scared. So I gave her a notepad and a pen and asked her if there was anything she wanted me to talk to anyone about. And she asked me about my job…”
“And what kinds of drugs don’t show up in a system when you murder someone,” I guessed.
Cannel sighed. “That’s not exactly what happened. We were watching a show, or I was keeping her company because this particular day that I’m thinking about…she was really distraught. Her husband had come in, said something to her, and left. She’d been shaking, scared out of her mind, and so I sat with her after my shift was over and we watched a true crime show on her television. A particular one came on, and I made a mention of how insulin doesn’t show up on a tox screen.
“I wasn’t setting out to hand her that information to use to murder her husband,” she admitted. “We were just talking. I…” Cannel shook her head, and her eyes shimmered with frustration. “I was just trying to help her not be scared. It was an innocent comment that I never would have made had I thought she would use it like she did.”
I studied Cannel’s eyes.
Though her skin was nicely tanned to a golden hue, and her hair was as black as pitch in a French braid directly down the center of her head, the tail of which curled around her neck and fell between her breasts, it was her eyes that held my attention.
They were clear and light green, like the hint of a glass Coke bottle.
I’d never seen anything like them.
They were uniquely beautiful, and they really made me want to get a closer look.
“I believe you,” I said as I put my hand out for her to shake. “If you can think of anything else, will you be in touch?”
She hesitated in taking my hand, her gaze going to the large mitt in front of her and looking at it for long seconds, as if forcing herself to be courteous, before taking it into her own hand.
Her hand was tiny. Like, so small that I could crush it if I’d given it half an effort.
My large fingers curled around her smaller ones and shook once before immediately letting go.
The moment that my hand wasn’t in hers anymore, she immediately brought that hand to her body, and pressed it against her middle in a protective gesture that woke instincts that I’d never expressed before.
I stood up, and she scrambled up to her feet along with me.