Fatal Hearts (7 page)

Okay, that last part was definitely the more bizarre.

What would Josh think to see her worked up like this over his twin?

Her laugh emerged as more of a sob. He’d probably think it was hysterical.

No, he’d have warned me away.

The truth of that thought resonated deep within her. That’s exactly what Josh would have done. Well, eventually, once he noticed her normal immunity to masculine charms was absent. Josh had clearly loved and admired his twin, but he’d once told Hayden he despaired of Boyd ever settling down with one woman.

Boyd had said it himself. He was no Josh.

For that matter, Sylvia Stratton had seen it too, on first sight. What had she said?
You’re a harder customer than our Joshua, unless I miss my guess.

And, yes, Hayden had seen it for herself. It was impossible to look into those gold-brown eyes and not see the walls, the reserve. Oh, she was sure there was good reason for that distance. As a cop in Toronto, it was probably safe to say he’d seen some horrific things.

Unlike Josh, she suspected he’d have no problem compartmentalizing the pieces of his life. Job, family, sex. A woman would have to fit into one of those neat compartments and be content to stay there. Definitely not an attractive quality in a man.

Not that she was looking for a man. God, no! But if she were, she’d know enough to leave
this
one alone. Men like Josh were more her speed. Well-adjusted, emotionally mature, stable. If she were looking for a romantic relationship, she’d pick a guy just like Josh. Well, hopefully one she was more sexually attracted to. She’d seen friends go into relationships where they had great compatibility on almost every front but not much chemistry. They hadn’t been much more successful than the ill-matched ones who had nothing
but
chemistry going for them.

So why did her stomach drop when she thought about spending tomorrow evening with Boyd?

“Duh. Because he thinks someone might have deliberately caused Josh’s death, that’s why. Of course you’re unnerved.”

Hearing her own words reassured her. That was totally it.

Feeling better, she turned left onto Regent. In about seven minutes, she’d be letting herself into her Priestman Street apartment. Ten minutes in a hot bath to raise her body temperature followed by twenty minutes to let it plummet—her favorite nonmedicinal trick for sleep inducement. Then it would be sweet oblivion.

After learning Josh might have been murdered—and meeting his unsettling twin—she needed it.

CHAPTER 5

Boyd woke to the sound of birds chirping. He tried to ignore their insistent cheerfulness, burrowing deeper into the covers, but then it struck him—he never heard birds singing in his eighteenth-floor condo.

He jerked upright, scanning the unfamiliar room. Memory flooded back. Josh was dead, and Boyd was now occupying Josh’s rented room at Sylvia Stratton’s bed-and-breakfast.

Jesus, when would this stop? Every night, sleep wiped the grief away, and every morning he woke up blank but knowing somehow that a shoe was going to drop.

Throwing the covers off, he swung his legs to the floor. For a moment he just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Grief had its own inertia, he’d discovered. It was a hundred-pound weight he had to carry, every moment of every day. His frail, aging parents had been crushed by it. In the wake of Josh’s death, Boyd had had to push himself to do what needed to be done. The shock, the unreality of it, had protected him in the initial days.

But the insulation hadn’t lasted. He dragged a hand through his hair and stood up.

Even though they hadn’t seen each other in person in more than three months, Josh had been very much a part of Boyd’s everyday life. A phone call at least once a week, and oh, God, those infernal text messages. Boyd had often bitched about Josh’s talkativeness, textually speaking, but what he’d give to be peppered by them now.

Josh had also phoned their parents once a day, every day. By contrast, Boyd had been in the habit of calling them once a week. Sure, he visited them a couple of times a month, to take care of any odd jobs his father needed done around their old brick home in Glen Park, or at their lake cottage, but it was Josh who’d brought joy into their lives on a daily basis. When he got back, he’d have to start spending more time with them and calling them more often. Of course, the latter he could start doing now. He hoped to God they could spring back from this. They’d been fairly socially active up to now and still had a few longtime friends whose families had grown up beside each other in middle-class suburbia. Good friends who hopefully would help draw them back into their routines.

Pushing those thoughts away for the moment, he glanced around the room. Missing Josh was something he couldn’t do anything about. And he certainly couldn’t bring him back from the dead. But he could—and he
would
—get to the bottom of what happened. But first, he needed to eat.

Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed in fresh jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, he headed for the breakfast room. Sylvia Stratton was there when he arrived, seated at the table reading the newspaper. She glanced up.

“You look better this morning. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.” And he had. Well, once he’d given the room a first cursory search. He’d known the notebook wouldn’t be in an obvious place. If it had been, he’d have found it the first time around. He’d started in the bedroom, checking all the drawers, looking for false bottoms or backs, and checking to make sure nothing was taped to the undersides. Using his shaving mirror and a flashlight, he’d examined the undersides and backs of the other furniture—the bed frame, the night table, the wardrobe. He’d moved on to other obvious places in the living area of his suite—behind the big flat-screen TV, down the sides of the couch with its oversize cushions. Hell, he’d unzipped the cushions themselves and examined the interior.

Yes, his search had felt a little bit like something out of a 1980s crime movie, but he knew his brother was particular as hell about his personal journals. Having a twin meant having almost no privacy. Not that Boyd was a big snooper, but neither twin was above rifling through the other one’s stuff if it was left lying around. And after Boyd had given Josh holy hell for his “feelings” notebook, his brother had sworn that Boyd—or anyone else—would never get his hands on it again.

It might be a stretch that Josh was still
Mission: Impossible
about hiding his stuff, but Boyd wasn’t taking anything for granted. Not if it meant bringing a murderer to justice.

Eventually exhaustion had caught up with him. He’d crawled in between the sheets and went to bed, more frustrated than he’d been when he’d arrived.

“Help yourself to breakfast, Detective.” She gestured to a sideboard, where several stainless steel chafing dishes gleamed, the kind caterers used to keep food warm. “The live-in staff have already eaten, but there’s plenty left.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that,” he said. “But there’s no need for the ‘Detective’ business. I don’t have any standing here.”

“Oh, but there’s every need. I doubt you stop being a detective just because you’ve left your jurisdiction, any more than I stop being a physician when office hours are over.”

“If you prefer.”

“I do,” she said. “I believe I called you Mr. McBride last evening, though, and for that I apologize. Put it down to tiredness. Your brother mentioned your occupation a number of times. He was very proud of you.”

Shit.
Just like that, emotion tightened his throat. “Well, the feeling was mutual.” His voice came out sounding amazingly normal. “We couldn’t have been prouder of Josh.” He looked around for something to sip to ease the ache. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“I’ll pour it for you while you get your breakfast ready.” She stood.

“Don’t let me put you out. I can get it myself if you just show me where to find the mugs and the coffeepot.”

“Very well.” She subsided into her chair again. “The coffee urn is on the other side of the refrigerator. Mugs in the cupboard up above.”

He poured the coffee into a bone china mug, added a couple of creamers, and carried it back to the table. Gesturing to the elaborate place setting, with bowl, saucer, and plate stacked on a woven charger, surrounded by silverware and juice glasses, he asked, “That for me?”

“Of course, Detective.”

“Very fancy.”

“Merely civilized.”

She got up to refill her own mug while he helped himself to breakfast. Fresh cut-up fruit, fluffy scrambled eggs, and a heap of hash browns that looked to be made from scratch with fresh potatoes. By the time he sat down at the table, he was actually hungry.

She placed her refilled mug on the table. “You need fruit juice,” she remarked, looking at his breakfast. “What’s your preference? I can recommend the orange juice. It’s fresh squeezed.”

That sounded like heaven, and Boyd said so.

She took his glass and went to the refrigerator. A moment later, she placed the juice in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She glanced at his breakfast again, and, seemingly satisfied he had all the food groups covered now, she went back to her crossword.

He ate quickly, until he felt Sylvia Stratton’s gaze on him.

“What?”

“You really aren’t much like your twin, are you?”

“Excuse me?”

She gestured to his plate, which was all but empty now. “Josh took a more leisurely approach to his meals.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said, smiling at the memory. “Meals were events for him, whereas food is pretty much just fuel for me. Yes, I appreciate the high-test fuel if it’s there,” he said, nodding toward the food-laden sideboard, “but regular does nicely too.”

“I see. Well, you’re going to be running on high test while you’re here. See if a few weeks of organic, non-GMO, antibiotic-free, nutrient-rich diet doesn’t improve your sense of well-being.”

He doubted a few breakfasts were going to mitigate the effects of a cop’s diet, but he smiled. “I’ll drink to that.” Picking up his glass of OJ, he raised it in a toast to her, then drained it. Then he stood and stacked his dishes, intending to stow them in the dishwasher or carry them to the sink, at least.

“Leave them,” she instructed. “Mrs. Garner will be in to clean up after us as soon as we vacate.”

“Suits me.” He put the dishes back on the charger. “Look, I thought I’d go out for a jog, and I was thinking I’d like to try some of Josh’s routes. Can you tell me where he liked to run?”

She blinked at him. “I couldn’t say.”

“You know he died after jogging on a wooded trail in Odell Park, right?”

“Of course. But he also jogged a lot closer to home, on trails he could reach without getting in his car and driving to them.”

“Such as?”

She waved a hand. “I don’t know. Along the Green, I imagine.”

“The Green?”

“The strip of land running along the river. He could have gone west or east once he hit that. You’ll find there are a lot of walking and biking trails in the city, Detective. I suggest you go to city hall and pick up a map. In fact, if you decide to run upriver, it’s really not that far. You could probably duck in and get one.”

He thanked her for the suggestion, but he knew where he’d be heading this morning. He was going to Odell Park. The last place Josh had run. The place where he’d died, in his car in the parking lot.

He would start learning more about his brother’s life at the very place where that life had ended.

CHAPTER 6

Boyd climbed out of his car and looked around. He could hear the trickling of a small stream in the tree-shaded area west of the parking lot. He turned on his heel, taking in the expanse of neatly mown green grass, the duck pond, and, to the east, the caretaker’s house and a horse barn and paddock. His gaze swept over the driveway and parking lot until he’d turned full circle.

He’d been here before, on his first trip to claim Josh’s body. He’d felt compelled to see for himself where Josh had died. Now, as then, all he could think was what an incongruously beautiful place it was to die.

Pushing the thought away, he did a few cursory stretches, then loped off toward the first trail he spotted. As soon as he started running, he stopped consciously thinking. That was the best thing about running—switching off his conscious mind. When he ran, there was nothing but the breath sawing in and out of his lungs and the burn of muscles doing what they were meant to do. Nothing but the pound of his footfalls and the scents that wafted up from the sunny meadows and the more mysterious scents lingering in the shadowed forest.

He ran the first kilometer at an easy jog, then stepped it up. He wanted to keep his heart rate elevated. But not too much. Even the mental decluttering of running couldn’t dislodge from the back of his mind the memory of what had happened to Josh.

Then he caught the train of his thoughts. Jesus, the heart doctors had worked him a lot harder than this on the freaking treadmill. He’d passed every test they’d thrown at him with flying colors. He damned well wasn’t going to drop dead if he ran his usual pace. He’d keep it shorter than his usual run, though. A nod to the doctor’s advice not to run any marathons. And it would better simulate what Josh had done on his lunch hour.

He cranked it up a little more. His breath came hard on the uphills and his shins felt the impact on the downhills, but he pressed on. He didn’t even pause to admire the deer he spotted in their penned area, and only slowed periodically to drink from the water bottle he carried.

A little over fifty minutes later, he’d run twelve kilometers of the park’s sixteen-kilometer trail—a good seven and a half miles—which he figured had to be nearly twice as far as Josh could have run that day on his lunch-hour jog. Not his best time by a long shot, but not an easy jog either. By the time he got back to his car, he was beat, but the normal kind of post-workout beat. His legs were tired, he was breathing hard, and he was ready for that second big bottle of water he retrieved from the car. Leaning against the rental, he drank deeply. In a few minutes, his breathing normalized and his heart rate came down.

Well, he had his answer. No goddamned way did Josh jog a much shorter distance, over the same terrain, on an even cooler day, then climb into his car and die behind the wheel. Not without help.

After running considerably farther and with a minute’s rest, Boyd had no distress at all. All he felt was runner’s euphoria. And wasn’t that fucking awesome? His brother was dead, and here he stood, his blood pumping, giddy with endorphins.

Grimly, he capped the water bottle. There was nothing more to be learned here.

It took him fifteen minutes in light morning traffic to get back to the B&B. Finding no sign of Sylvia, he went in search of Mrs. Garner. He located her in the walk-in pantry off the kitchen. She started when he spoke, but he wasn’t sure whether he’d just surprised her or whether she’d mistaken him for Josh again.

“Mr. McBride.” She came out of the pantry, holding what was obviously a grocery list in her hand. “I hope you’re not looking for lunch. Breakfast is the only meal we set for guests. Although I suppose I could—”

“No worries. As fantastic as breakfast was, I’m not looking for you to feed me. I know you have your hands full, running this house.” He gave her his most dazzling smile, and she blushed. “I was just wondering where Dr. Stratton might be found?”

“Not here, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Garner said. “She keeps office hours Monday through Thursday. Shall I tell her you’d like a word with her tonight when she gets home?”

“No, that’s fine. It’ll wait until morning. I presume she’ll be here for breakfast again?”

“Every morning, like clockwork.”

That was good to know. With another smile, he thanked her, then headed for his room. At the kitchen doorway, a thought stopped him. He turned. “Mrs. Garner?”

She stepped out of the pantry again. “Yes?”

“Are there any other places in the house where my brother might have spent time? Besides his room, I mean?”

Her eyebrows soared.

“It’s been tough letting go,” he said before she could ask why on earth he’d want to know something like that. “Josh was my only sibling, my twin. I just want to find some peace with that. I’m hoping that being here—here in Fredericton, here in the place where Josh lived—might help me to find it.”

Her face softened. “I can only imagine how hard it’s been. Your brother was a very nice young man, and the shock of him going so suddenly . . .” She stroked the back of one hand with the other, he noticed, an unconscious self-comforting gesture. “I do hope you find your peace, Mr. McBride, but you’ll have to find it in your brother’s room. Guests are not permitted to wander. Apart from the kitchen, where he took his breakfast, he wouldn’t have been anywhere else in the house. Well, except for Dr. Stratton’s den when he was newly arrived in town, and the parlor, where they had a glass of sherry, but that was before he took up residence.”

Well, that probably eliminated the other rooms in the house. Josh would never hide his notebook someplace he couldn’t easily retrieve it. And not where it could be found by the diligent Mrs. Garner.

“Of course. Thanks, Mrs. Garner. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“No trouble.”

Boyd climbed the stairs to his room, his legs heavy from the earlier exertion. First stop, a hot shower. Deciding to skip the shave, he stood under the high showerhead and let the steaming water beat down on tired muscles. Out of nowhere, he flashed on Hayden Walsh. Naked in the shower with him, naturally.

She was a damned good-looking woman. Even the lab jacket and scrubs couldn’t hide that fact. He’d bet there were a lot of handsome doctors who’d like to score with her. Except Dr. Walsh didn’t date, as Josh had discovered too late, after he’d fallen for her.

And oh, God, here he was fantasizing about the woman his brother had loved.
Jesus.
Well, that killed the mood quicker than a jolt of cold water could have.

Poor Josh.
When his brother had confided his predicament, Boyd had agreed it would suck to be in love with someone who saw you as a friend or a brother. But that was before he’d seen Hayden. Now he knew “sucked” didn’t come close.

Boyd knew he could never have a platonic relationship like that with Hayden Walsh. Though she seemed completely oblivious of it, she was a walking sexual charge. It would be a damned lucky man who found himself on the receiving end of that pent-up sensuality when she finally decided she was ready to unleash it.

After showering and dressing, he resumed his search of the room. He worked quietly, searching each quadrant carefully and methodically. By lunchtime, he was reasonably confident there was no notebook hidden there. He’d stripped the bed and examined the mattress from every angle, checked every floorboard and wide windowsill. He’d felt under the wardrobe and examined every square inch inside it. The desk and chair got a similarly thorough treatment, as did the vanity in the small bathroom. And, yes, he popped the top off the toilet tank to make sure Josh hadn’t sealed the notebook in plastic and dropped it in there. He’d felt the hem of every curtain and taken down the valances to inspect them. And although he could see there was nothing inside the floor vent, he unscrewed the cover and felt the walls of the air duct to make sure they were solid. All he got for his trouble was dusty hands.

He sat back on his heels and looked around the room. There
had
to be a notebook. There just had to be. But where was it? Had someone here at the house removed it before he’d arrived in town and secured Josh’s belongings? Doubtful. Never in a million years would Josh leave it somewhere it could be found by a cursory search.

It might have been in Josh’s car.

Jesus.
He’d been fighting that thought, but couldn’t hold it off any longer. Josh’s phone had disappeared somewhere along the line, presumably from the vehicle. Why not the notebook too? Except, dammit, if that was the case, it would have been shredded into a million pieces or reduced to a pile of ash by now. He felt his stomach lurch at the idea.

On the other hand, maybe Josh had stashed it somewhere at work. Yes, he normally kept his journal on or near him, but he’d been heading out for a lunch-hour jog. Why drag it with him, only to leave it in his car where it might get stolen?

His laptop had been left at work after all, and that was something he carried to and fro between home and work. If he hadn’t dragged the laptop with him to the park, maybe he hadn’t taken the journal either.

The cops had been to the newspaper early on, during Boyd’s first visit. Morgan had interviewed Josh’s editor about the types of investigations Josh had been involved with recently, to make sure there was nothing particularly dangerous among those assignments. He’d talked to some coworkers, as well, with the editor’s blessing. But considering Boyd had already turned over the mother lode of notebooks he’d found in Josh’s room, odds were they hadn’t looked very hard for another notebook.

He pulled out his cell phone and called the paper. In a matter of minutes, he had an appointment with reporter Dave Bradley, a colleague of Josh’s.

Instead of putting his phone away, he found himself thinking about calling Hayden. Except he had no good reason to. And she was probably working. His call would just go through to her voice mail. And he was going to see her tonight anyway.

Of course, if he could reach her, she could save him some time . . .

Hayden pushed the remains of her chicken salad wrap away and picked up her phone again. No new texts. No messages. Not that she’d really expected any. Josh was gone, and all the friends she had left in Fredericton were right here at the hospital. They could pretty much find her anytime they wanted to. She didn’t even know why she bothered to power the phone up for her lunch break anymore. She was just about to hit the “Kill” button when a call came in.

Boyd McBride.
Her pulse leapt. “Hi, Boyd.”

“Is this a good time? I don’t want to take you away from anything.”

“I’m on my lunch break still, so we’re good. What’s up? Have you learned something already?”

“I learned there’s no notebook hidden in Josh’s room, but that’s about it.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping you’d find it straight off.”

“Thanks. I guess I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, huh?”

She pictured the wry curve of his mouth and smiled. “Things seldom are.”

There was a brief silence. When it started to get awkward, Hayden filled it. “So, what now? What’s your next move?”

“I’ve got an appointment to see Dave Bradley, at the paper.”

“The reporter,” she said. “I know him. Actually, I think I’ve met all of the reporters Josh worked with, if you count having after-work drinks with them as ‘knowing.’ I’ve seen more of Dave than the others, though. I think he must live in one of the apartment complexes close by.”

“What’s your impression of the guy?”

She closed her hand around her tea mug. “I don’t know him well enough to say.” Though not for lack of trying on his part. The man had attempted to strike up a conversation every time their paths crossed, which had seemed to be happening way more often than coincidence could explain. She’d suspected he’d been working up the courage to ask her out. When Hayden had mentioned it to Josh, he’d immediately volunteered to have a heart-to-heart with the guy, but she’d vetoed that idea. She could handle Dave Bradley, or anyone else who put the moves on her. She’d had a quiet word with him about her strict no-dating policy, and that had been the end of it. He’d stopped popping up everywhere she went. Hayden didn’t tell Boyd any of that, though. She didn’t want to negatively influence him, and, really, she couldn’t blame a guy for trying. It had even been a bit flattering. “He did seem to idolize Josh, but so did most of the crew up there. Josh was a mentor of sorts, I think.”

“Detective Morgan said something like that too,” he said. “I gather his wife works at the paper.”

“That’s right. Grace Morgan. I really love her work.”

He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you sure this place isn’t growing on you? Reading the local rag, following a columnist?”

“She’s good, and I have to read
something
with my supper. Plus you can often predict the volume and type of traffic you’re going to get in the ER based on what’s happening in the community.” She pushed away the mug of cooling tea. “Frosh Week at the two universities? Alcohol poisonings, hazings gone wrong, drinking-related accidents. High school graduation parties? More of the same, with some fights mixed in, plus a major trauma or two from motor vehicle accidents. I like to be plugged in.”