Page 63 of When the Smoke Clears

“Hey, Doc,” I said, stepping into a guest bathroom and closing the door behind me. “You got something?”

“I’ve got the results of Gretchen Tanner’s autopsy,” he said. “Thought you’d want to know as soon as I did.”

“Thanks for getting to it so fast,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay level. “What’s the official cause of death?”

“Heart failure.”

A sigh sagged out of me. “I figured. Years of hard living…”

“I agree,” he said, hesitation cutting under the words. “But there’s something that’s bothering me.”

My hand tightened around the phone. “What is it?”

“She had a small puncture wound behind her ear,” Doc said. “I almost missed it. I was wrestling with her earring, and that’s when I saw it.”

Adrenaline spiked. “Like an injection site?”

“That’s exactly what it looks like. And in all my years, I’ve never seen anyone inject themselves behind the ear.”

The room shrank. I braced my hand on the sink.

“I can’t classify this as a natural death until I get the tox back,” he went on.

“What are you thinking, Doc?” I asked, even though I already knew what he was about to say.

Silence crackled on the line for a few seconds. “I can’t say for certain, Luke,” he said finally, “but it could very well be a homicide. For now, I’m logging it as ’unknown’.”

The words hit center mass.

I hung up a minute later and found Sav and Dalton near the food. “Hey,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Can you guys do me a favor? Thank Mom and say goodbye for me.”

“What’s going on?” Sav asked, reading my face.

“Something came up at the office.” Not a lie, nor the whole truth. “I have to head out.”

They shared a look. Dalton clapped my shoulder; Sav squeezed my arm, the way she used to when we were kids and Dad was ranting.

Then I was out the door, dialing Gabe before I even hit the driveway.

By the time I reach my place, my nerves feel like live wires under my skin. I kill the engine and spot Gabe’s car out front. Good.

I step inside.

Isla’s on the couch, posture tight, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding everything in by force. Her thumbnail is caught between her teeth, worrying the corner raw. She looks up the second the door clicks.

Her eyes find mine and linger, like she’s checking for visible damage. I feel that look everywhere.

Gabe stands a few feet away, hands on his hips, like he’s been pacing and only just stopped. “What’s going on?”

My gaze automatically returns to Isla. She looks smaller somehow, but there’s a crackle in her eyes that says she’s not broken. Not yet.

“Isla,” I say, keeping my voice soft. Calmer than I feel. “I asked Doc Stevenson to expedite your mom’s autopsy.”

Her fingers tighten on the throw pillow in her lap. “Why? “Did you…Suspect something?”

I shake my head. “No. At first, I just figured you’d want to leave town as soon as you could, and I didn’t want the autopsy or paperwork holding that up.”

The words taste different now. Leave town. The idea sits wrong in my throat.