“I…didn’t call anyone. I didn’t think you’d actually come. You can just leave her…”
“Where?”
“Well…” Where could he leave her? “Just give me a minute to get changed and I’ll get her.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.
“It’s going to take more than a minute to get your head stitched up.” He edged her backward.
“I’m not planning to have it stitched up.”
“Shelby, will you please just let me get this done?” Jarrod asked, exasperated and not even trying to hide it.
“Fine.” She walked back to the exam table, dropped her clothes and the coat on the chair beside it.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to feel this first stick, and then you won’t feel a thing.” Jarrod leaned toward her, the needle pointed straight at her face, and she felt every bit of blood drain from her head.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Ryder put a hand on her shoulder.
“That would be preferable to the alternative.”
“Which would be?”
“Staying conscious for the entire horrifying procedure.”
Ryder laughed, the sound rusty and gruff. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
“I guess that depends on which side of the needle you’re on.” Shelby winced as Jarrod shot her with the anesthetic.
“That’s the worst of it, Shelby. Let’s give it a minute to take effect. So—” Jarrod turned his attention to Ryder “—were you at Maureen’s, too?”
“Yes.” Ryder didn’t offer more than that, and Shelby wondered if Jarrod would take the hint and stop asking questions.
He didn’t.
“You work at the bakery with Shelby?”
“Why would you say that?” Ryder asked, and Jarrod frowned.
“Shelby said she was making a delivery when Maureen’s house exploded.”
“Shelby was making a delivery.”
“And you were with her?”
“Is there a reason you want to know, Doctor?” Ryder asked as Jarrod lifted a needle and bent close to Shelby’s head.
“Just curious. I was shocked to hear about the explosion and Maureen’s death. I’m just trying to figure out how everything went down.” Jarrod had the good grace to flush, his neck and cheeks going deep red.
“That’s the job of the police and fire marshal. It may take a while for them to figure it out. The house is pretty much rubble. I’m not sure how easy it will be to piece together what happened.”
“Did they find Maureen’s…Maureen?” Shelby asked, and Ryder nodded.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Poor Maureen.” The tears Shelby had thought were completely dried up began again, slipping down her cheeks as Jarrod worked.
“If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t suffer. If the initial explosion didn’t kill her, the smoke overcame her so quickly, she didn’t have time to be scared,” Ryder offered, patting her back as Jarrod continued his slow, methodical stitching.
“Dead is dead. She should be flying to New York right now, celebrating with her friends. Not lying in a morgue,” Shelby said, taking a tissue Ryder shoved toward her.
“She’s celebrating in a different way.” Jarrod’s easy platitude did more to irritate Shelby than it did to comfort her. She knew Maureen was a Christian, but that didn’t make her death any less tragic.
“I think, if given the choice, she’d rather be on the plane.”
“Right,” Jarrod conceded, stepping back. “Okay, you’re all set. I’m going to send a nurse in with aftercare instructions. See your personal physician tomorrow. The stitches will need to come out in ten days.”
“Thanks.” She stood on wobbling legs, grabbing the closest thing to her, which just happened to be Ryder’s arm. She jerked back, the spark of electricity that shot through her palm an unwelcome surprise.
What was it about the man that made her heart race every time she looked in his eyes? That made heat shoot through her when she touched his arm?
It certainly wasn’t his winning smile or charming personality. The guy looked like a carved statue of a Roman centurion, all hard angles and cold calculation.
“I need to get changed,” she mumbled, turning away.
“I’ll be right outside.” He stepped into the hall and closed the door.
Alone, Shelby dressed quickly, pulling on her white polo shirt and the faded jeans that were just a little looser than they’d been when she’d broken up with Andrew. Ten pounds lost so she could fit into a fancy black dress. It all seemed futile now, the worry, the wondering if she’d look beautiful enough to make Andrew regret his lying, cheating ways, a waste of time.
She sighed as she tied her lilac apron. Just Desserts’ insignia emblazoned on the front, it was the only uniform she required for people working at the bakery. It was Beulah’s favorite color and a nod to the grandmother who’d provided the funds to open the shop. Today, Shelby’s normally immaculate apron was soot marred and grass stained, splotches of blood mixing with the green-and-black mess, a modern painting that spoke of chaos and tragedy. She’d have to throw it away. No way would she ever get the stains out, and she couldn’t imagine wearing it without crying.
Someone knocked on the door, and she pulled it open, expecting Ryder to be standing impatiently on the other side.
“Hold your horses, big guy. I’m almost…” Her voice trailed off as she looked into the face of a stocky, middle-aged man.
“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She glanced down the hall, surprised at how disappointed she was to see it empty.
“Mr. Malone is speaking with the sheriff. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I’m Fire Chief Timothy Saddles, Spokane County Fire Marshal. How are you feeling?”
“Okay. All things considered.”
“It’s been a rough morning. I’m sorry to say your friend lost her life in the fire.”
“Ryder…Mr. Malone told me you’d found her remains.”
“We did. They’ve been sent to the medical examiner and will be released to the family once he’s finished.”
Medical examiner? That made Maureen’s death sound less like an accident and more like…
Murder?
Shelby’s pulse jumped, her thoughts spinning back to those moments before she’d rung Maureen’s doorbell, back to the man with the sunglasses jogging away from Maureen’s street.
“Is that common procedure? I thought the medical examiner only made rulings on suspicious deaths.”
“Not really, ma’am. His job is to determine cause of death when an examination by a physician can’t determine it. In this case, we’re assuming the explosion killed the deceased, but assumptions don’t make for good investigations. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“Mr. Malone said you were making a delivery to the deceased’s—”
“Maureen.”
“Pardon?”