Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries) by Paula Boyd

was not just because the blessed air conditioner was blowing in my face. I was relieved I hadn’t been caught. I’d never stolen anything in my life—and my subconscious childhood programming was pretty sure I’d die if I even thought about it. Yet, here I was, totally guilty and feeling no remorse whatsoever. I’d have to think on that one later. Right now, I had to find somebody who knew what to do with the bootie from my medical malfeasance.
    With the blood sample on ice in the cup holder, I drove until I reached the entrance to the highway. Not knowing which way I might need to go, I pulled over at a gas station and called Jerry. When he finally picked up, all I could say was, “Hi.”
    “Hi, Jo. What’s going on?”
    Yes, that was a very good question. And while it had all made perfect sense a few minutes ago, the situation wasn’t sounding so great now that I had to explain it to Mr. Sheriff. “Hi, Jerry. What’s going on with you?”
    “Tell me what’s wrong.”
    The man could read me like a book, and while that came in very handy at times, it was a pain at others—like now. “Well, you know how we had plans for this evening?”
    “Really good plans,” he said in that deep rumbling voice that always sends delicious ripples through me.
    “Yes,” I said, although it came out more like a squeak. “And I still want to…”
    “However,” he said, his voice shifting to a more neutral tone, “I presume those plans have now changed.”
    This was so much harder than I thought it would be. I sighed heavily. “Well, something has kind of come up that I have to deal with. I didn’t mean for it to and I sure didn’t want it to, and I’m not even sure now how it did, and I don’t even know how long it might take, or even if anything can be done about it tonight anyway, but even if it can’t, well, it just brings up all kinds of other issues and”
    “Jo, you’re rambling. Just tell me what’s going on, what you’ve done and what you need to do.”
    He made it sound so simple, and it was anything but. The telling of it wasn’t so pleasant either. I took a deep breath and blurted out the facts. “I need someone to analyze a blood sample and decode the chemical composition of some pills I just took from the rehab center.”
    He didn’t say anything, and I bit my tongue to keep from filling the awkward void with chatter about why it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, particularly since it was—and probably even worse that I yet knew.
    After several long seconds—long silent seconds that seemed to drag on forever—he said, “Head for the morgue. I’ll call Travis and get him to meet you there.”
    “Thanks for not asking any questions, Jerry.”
    “Oh, there will be questions, Jolene. Lots and lots of questions. I’ll be there in an hour.”

 
    Chapter 10
     
     
    The drive to the morgue had only taken a few minutes, but I was met at the front desk by my stoic wisdom-quoting nemesis, Doctor-Doctor-Doctor Travis. I still couldn’t get over the discrepancy in how he looked and how he sounded, not to mention the incongruity of an obvious overachiever choosing to underachieve in Redwater Falls. He really did look like an Asian Mario Lopez, but that’s as far as the comparison went. “Quirky” wasn’t the right word for his unusualness, but it was the only one I could think of. I offered him a little cheers salute with my travel mug.
    “This way,” Travis said, his accent-free voice as precise and measured as he turned and walked away.
    I followed the young medical examiner down an unpleasantly familiar sterile hallway. Unpleasant images from previous unpleasant visits flashed into my head. “Well, at least this time I don’t have to look at a corpse,” I said, my nervous compulsion to chatter kicking in.
    Travis said nothing. The man was handsome, no doubt about that, but he had the personality of a rock. Just about everything that came out of his mouth sounded arrogant and condescending.