CHAPTER FIVE

George let herself in through the mudroom, the coffee going lukewarm in her hand. Daniel had returned to the kitchen and was microwaving something of unknown origins.

“Hey.” She set the keys back on their hook.

Daniel had his arms folded as he watched the microwave. “How’d it go?”

“Someone from Augusta should be arriving this afternoon to do the exam,” she said finally. “I told Sheriff Patel to call the second they get here.”

“Ryan’s a good egg.” He kept an eye on the spinning plate in the microwave.

George gravitated to the spot on the counter.

“Lisa’s got eyes on her,” she said.

Daniel’s jaw worked for a second. “Good. That’s good. Lisa’s good people.”

George watched him carefully. “Practically climbed over the desk to hug me.”

“Fifteen years, that woman,” he said quietly. “Your mother would’ve been lost without her.”

The timer dinged and he pulled whatever it was he was heating out of the microwave and set it on the counter, while simultaneously waving his fingers in the air to cool them down after touching it. He grabbed a spoon from the island drawer and dug in. Blowing on the food to cool it off with varying success. It was these moments when George saw why Bryan Cranston was cast.

“Hate to dine and dash on you, but I’ve got meetings with the publishers and my agent. I’ll be back down in a while.” Daniel articulated through bites, and he headed back upstairs. George didn’t have time to move before the mudroom door slammed.

“Hey,” Callie called, quieter than the night before. “It’s just me.” She crossed the kitchen and pulled George into a hug, tighter than the one from the night before. “How are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” George let herself be held for a second longer than she normally would have. “Ask me again later.”

Callie pulled back, crossed to the counter, poured herself coffee into the mug Daniel had set out for Vivian, and carried it to the table.

George caught it and then let it go.

“Where’s Dad?” Callie asked.

“In meetings.” George gestured toward the ceiling.

“What’d you find out this morning? Anything?”

George sat and laid her legs out across the breakfast nook bench seat. “Someone from Augusta should be here soon to perform the exam. Since Mom was the town’s medical examiner they had to bring in outside help.”

Callie by this point had curled her long legs into a ball on her chair, coffee tucked in close. “Then what?”

“Hopefully once the examiner gets here, I can try and ask for access using my credentials, see if they’ll let me consult, though they may view it as a conflict of interest since I’m her daughter. The sheriff said he’d let me know the second they show up.”

“Conflict of interest?” Callie was quiet for a moment. “Mom died of natural causes. Dad says she just went down.”

“He’s probably right. She more than likely fell and hit her head on the way down. But we don’t actually know anything right now, Cal, so until it gets ruled as definitive natural causes they have to keep the chain of custody tight. I deal with this all the time. Usually within 24 hours we’ll have answers and be able to see her.”

Callie took a sip from her mug. “Did Dad tell you about the rest of the family? Uncle Rich, Aunt Susan, Aunt Irene?”

“Yeah. He said he called everyone yesterday before I arrived. Told them that she was gone and we’d be in touch with more details on her memorial.”

Callie nodded again, her soft brown bangs falling into her eyes. Then, seeming to remember something, she sat up a little. “Can she wear slippers? At the morgue? Is that a thing you’re allowed to send? She always said it was so cold there. She got these really soft ones from Nate for Christmas. Sherpa, I think, the fuzzy kind. It’s probably a stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid,” George consoled. “But unfortunately until the investigation is over, nothing can be touched. She’s got Lisa, and she’s comfortable. Mom spent all her time there, and you know there is no place other than with us, she’d rather be.”

All of a sudden George’s phone buzzed hard against the table, then Callie’s, their screens relighting again and again faster than either of them could read a single notification. They heard Daniel’s footsteps already coming down the stairs before either of them had said a word.

“That’ll be the press release,” he said, holding his iPad and thumbing through a few apps. He tapped something and the screen went quiet. “Peter pushed it live.” He set the iPad face-down on the counter.

Callie stared down at her phone, still lighting up, one notification stacking on top of the next almost faster than the screen could render them. Callie’s phone buzzed again in her hand, it was Nate.

“Hey,” she answered. “Yeah, I know. Dad said the family statement about Mom just went live.” She listened for a second, glancing at Daniel. “He wants to know how you want him to handle it.”

Daniel reached a hand out, and Callie passed the phone over.

“Nate.” Daniel’s voice settled into something steadier. “Don’t respond to any of it. Apologize to your front desk, and let them know anything real comes through my publisher.” A pause, listening. “I know. It’s a lot. Come over, Callie and George are both here. We’ll order pizza or something.”

The afternoon dissolved into formlessness. The younger generation moved to the family room, and Daniel retreated to his study. Callie sat with her knees pulled up on one end of the couch; George had ended up leaning against her. Somewhere between commercial breaks, she’d fallen asleep to TV playing a competition show about people renovating houses they had no business renovating, the sound low and constant.

George’s phone buzzed, waking her. It was the Popham Harbor Sheriff’s Department. She answered groggily.

The voice on the other end was Lisa. “Hi honey, sounds like you got some rest. Sheriff Patel wanted me to let you know that Augusta’s examiner just got here.”