Fatal Hearts (2 page)

“So you and Josh were pretty much best friends, huh?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

“
Just
friends?”

“Yes, just friends.”

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Josh never . . . ?”

“What? Hit on me?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course he did.” Hayden smiled at the memory. “Until he figured out I meant it, about not dating. By then, we’d discovered how much we had in common and started hanging out.”

“He accepted that? He never tried again to shift it out of the platonic zone?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, we weren’t invisible to each other. I was perfectly aware he was a nice-looking guy, and I’m sure he noticed I had breasts, but it wasn’t weird or awkward.” She looked at Boyd’s face, but she had no clue what he was thinking. “For what it’s worth, I was a little skeptical too going into it. I’d never attempted that kind of close friendship with a hetero guy before. But it . . . worked. I loved him so much.”

Boyd made no reply, but regarded her steadily, his gaze still giving nothing away.

Poker face, indeed.

She sighed and rubbed her temple, suddenly conscious that the slight headache she’d been beating back all day had pulsed into full-blown life. “Josh said you worked in law enforcement. Is that silent routine a cop trick? Do people rush to fill the void?”

Again he said nothing.

She groaned. “Right. I just did it.”

The corner of his lips quirked in the smallest of smiles. “Sorry. That wasn’t intentional. Habit, I guess.”

That half smile made her stomach do a queer little flip. Which was weird. He looked like Josh.
Exactly
like Josh, to be precise. They were identical twins. And Josh’s smile had never done that to her. Maybe because a smile was practically Josh’s default expression. She had a hunch Boyd McBride didn’t smile so easily or often, even when he wasn’t grieving.

It made her happy to think she’d made him smile, maybe even made him forget his grief for a second. And because she didn’t want to dwell on that feeling, she started talking again.

“Josh and I met when he was working on a story that involved the hospital. I couldn’t really help him find the details he was looking for, but I enjoyed talking to him. Josh told me about some of the journalism jobs he’d had in Vancouver and Toronto. Of course, I just had to ask him why he’d leave a fantastic job at a big daily newspaper—a
national
one—to come here to work for a small paper. That’s when he first told me about searching for his birth mother.”

Boyd’s face tightened again. He probably wished his brother hadn’t followed that particular story. If he’d never come to Fredericton, maybe he’d still be alive . . .

“So that’s how you met. What kept you seeing each other?”

“There’s some overlap in our circle of friends, so we wound up bumping into each other once in a while.” She shrugged. “Living here in Fredericton—it’s very claustrophobic. Neither Josh nor I had been here very long and it seemed like everyone we knew was married. We were the only two who hadn’t settled down, and we didn’t really appreciate everyone trying to ‘encourage’ us to do the same, with each other or otherwise.”

“I know exactly how that goes.”

Hayden didn’t doubt it. Josh had described his brother as the classic confirmed bachelor.

“I guess we felt like natural allies. He was just easy to talk to, you know?”

“I do. Josh always had that way about him.” He cleared his throat, as if trying to hide the emotion that had crept into his voice. “So, what was the story he was working on? The one where you guys met?”

Hayden’s stomach lurched at the memory. “There’d been a suicide on the premises. A patient released from the ER, actually. He slashed his wrists out on the side lawn. By the time security found him, it was too late.”

Boyd’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. That must have . . . been traumatic.”

“Yeah.” She heard the emotion in her own voice.

Boyd must have heard it too. “Were you the doc who saw him?”

She sent him a narrow-eyed glance. “Did I cut him loose to kill himself, you mean?”

He just held her gaze and waited for her to continue.

“No, I wasn’t even working that night. But even if I had been, the decision to admit or release would have been called by the psych consult.”

“But it could have been you on duty that night, and that scares you.”

“Hell yes, it scares me.”

“Not much you can do when they present with such calmness and composure and assure you they’re feeling better.”

She shot him a look. “How’d you know that? Everyone assumed he begged to be admitted and we turned him away.”

“I’ve seen it. It’s easy to misread the calmness that comes over them. A peacefulness. It can seem like they’ve changed their minds, but sometimes it’s them coming to the final decision.”

He was right, of course. “And you know this how?”

“My years on patrol,” he said. “I’ve had occasion to try to talk suicides down while we waited for a trained team to arrive. I’ll never forget that first one. A jumper.” He looked down at his hands, adjusted the watch on his wrist. “The softening of his face, the relaxation of his posture . . . I thought I’d reached him. He didn’t look tormented anymore, you know?”

He glanced up but dropped his gaze quickly, no doubt at the sight of the sympathy she couldn’t hide. Part of her wanted to reach out and comfort him—and maybe get some comfort in return. Although she and Josh weren’t related by blood, he’d come to feel a hell of a lot like the big brother she’d always wanted. Finally there was someone here who might understand what she was going through having lost her best friend.

“He jumped?”

“Yeah.” His voice was grim. “Turned out it was just relief I was seeing. The relief of having resolved his conflict. He got all calm. Serene. I totally misread it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He rubbed his eyes wearily. “God, I must be more tired than I knew. I haven’t thought about that case in years.”

They were both silent for a few seconds. Boyd sat up straight and, in a much brisker voice, said, “So, Josh used to text you a lot.”

His shift of tone and direction stiffened her own back. Another characteristic Josh had told her about: the sudden subject change to avoid things getting too personal. His eyes were now cool and remote again, as though that moment of shared understanding had never happened.

“Yes, he did,” she said crisply. “He also used to meet me frequently for dinner and a movie. Sometimes he cooked for me, and sometimes he came over to my place, where we watched shows that I’d DVR’d. Once, I got him to take my car to the garage when it needed repairs to make sure I didn’t get highballed on the estimate. And once I cleaned and dressed a scrape he got on his calf from his bike pedal when he left the trail to avoid running over a pair of squabbling chipmunks.” She shook her head. “Why are you making a federal case out of my relationship with your brother?”

“I’m interested in all Josh’s relationships, not just the one you and he shared.”

“But
why
?” She frowned, trying to understand. “Josh is gone now. What’s the point? Why are you even here in Fredericton?”

“I’m conducting my own personal investigation into Josh’s death. I refuse to believe for a minute it was natural causes.”

Not natural causes? As in homicide? Someone might have
murdered
Josh?

Hayden shot to her feet, then realized her mistake as the world started to reel.

Boyd was on his feet instantly, easing her back onto the couch. Before she could do it herself, a big hand on her back pressed her forward, urging her head down toward her bent knees. “Take it easy,” he said. “Slow breaths.”

She pushed his hand away. “I’m a doctor. I know what to do.”

She kept her head down, regulating her breathing. It took just a few seconds to recover her equilibrium. Then she felt the cushions next to her depress with his weight, followed by the warmth of his hand on her back.

“Better?”

No, not better.
The sound of his voice, his scent, the comfort in his touch . . . It was almost as if Josh were right there with her. But he wasn’t. He was dead, possibly murdered. She sat up, forcing herself to do it slowly this time, and raked her hands through her mass of hair. “Sorry about that. Obviously, I jumped up too fast. Didn’t give my blood pressure a chance to compensate.”

“Of course.” He got up and filled a tiny paper cup with water from the cooler in the corner. “Here,” he said, pressing the cup into her hand. “Drink.”

His thoughtfulness had her throat suddenly aching. That was something Josh would have done.

No, Josh would probably have sat down beside her and pulled her into a massive bear hug. For a brief moment, she tried to imagine this man, who looked so like his brother, doing the same thing.

He wouldn’t do it. She was sure of it.

And if he
did
put his arms around her, she doubted it would be platonic. Not that he’d put moves on a distressed woman; she felt confident about that too.

There had been something about Josh that said “protective big brother.” But nothing about the way Boyd threw her off center felt brotherly.

“Thank you,” she managed.

She drank the cold water, letting it soothe her emotion-tightened throat, then put the empty cup on the coffee table. “So, about Josh . . . I thought it was cardiac arrest? You think there was some foul play involved? That he didn’t die from natural causes?”

“I don’t know what to think.” A muscle leapt in his jaw, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Come on, Boyd. You can’t drop a bombshell like that on me and then hold back the rest.” When he remained silent, she added, “Josh was like family to me. I’m
heartbroken
that he’s gone. If there’s anything about his death that you think is suspicious, I need you to tell me. For God’s sake, I’m a doctor. That makes me a good person to test your theories on, right?”

His tight expression eased, and she knew she’d gotten through to him.

He sighed. “I’m concerned the coroner won’t find anything obvious and will call it natural causes, and the cops will close the file. We already know there was nothing remarkable about the hospital toxicology tests.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And, yes, I know a standard hospital tox screen doesn’t mean a whole helluva lot and it’s the forensic toxicology report that’ll tell the tale. But even so, it seems like folks are getting cozy with the idea that this was natural causes. Maybe that’s paranoia on my part,” he allowed, “but I’ve had almost two weeks to try to swallow this, and it’s still not going down.”

His hand went to his chest as though the coroner’s probable ruling were literally lodged there in an indigestible lump. Hayden suspected the gesture was purely unconscious.

“But why do you think someone would want to kill him?”

“I think he stirred something up, discovered something someone didn’t want brought to light.”

She was about to ask which investigation when he hit her with a question.

“What about you? What was your first reaction—your
gut
reaction—when you heard the news? What did you think had happened?”

“As a friend or as a doctor?”

“Both,” he replied.

“Congenital defect.” She leaned back into the cushions. “I figured he must have had some kind of abnormality, a rhythm or conduction disorder that had gone undiagnosed. Unfortunately, tragedies like this happen more often than you’d think. Sometimes the first symptom the patient has is sudden death.”

“Yeah.” Boyd shifted beside her. “But I’ve been researching medical journals and online articles and, from what I’ve read, if that was the case, it should have shown itself earlier. Much earlier. Did you know Josh played hockey through high school and university?”

She frowned. “He did?”

“Yes. He was a forward. A right winger. That kind of activity, requiring sudden, intense bursts of exertion, should likely have uncovered a problem. How could he survive competitive hockey without a blip, then drop dead in his car right after completing an easy noon-hour jog?”

He was right. The kind of anaerobic activity involved in hockey should have disclosed any such problem.

“You’re right. He jogged almost daily too. It’s not like he was a couch potato who got a wild impulse to run a half marathon. I even joined him sometimes when my schedule allowed, and I saw no sign of anything.” Grief engulfed her afresh at the memory. “I mean, he slowed his pace for me, I imagine, but still . . .” Hayden paused briefly. “You know, if Josh had a congenital issue, there are medications that can exacerbate it,” she said. “Maybe he was taking something that—”

“You’re thinking long QT syndrome? And that he might have been taking antihistamines or antidepressants or even antibiotics to trigger the event?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You
have
been doing your research. Except I never saw him take medication, ever, for anything. No, that’s not true,” she corrected herself. “He did take amoxicillin once for a strep throat infection a few months after he arrived here. But other than that, I don’t think he was on any meds.”

“That bears out what I found,” Boyd said. “When I came down here the first time to see to things, I cleared out Josh’s room at the bed and breakfast, boxed it all up to take home. My line of work, it’s second nature to look for drugs, so I paid attention. But nothing really stuck out as I packed up his stuff. After the funeral, I dug the boxes out and gave everything a hard second look. I can confirm he took a few supplements—vitamin D and fish oil—and he had some regular-strength ibuprofen on hand. That’s it. There were no other medications or supplements in his room, and the cops didn’t find anything in his car or at his office.”

“So not drug induced then.”

“Unless someone doped him up somehow.”

Her stomach knotted. “You think someone helped induce the arrest?”

“That’s my theory. And before you ask, yes, I’ve been checked out by a gaggle of heart specialists. I’ve submitted to all the tests, and they can’t find any evidence of cardiac issues, anatomical, electrical, or otherwise.”