Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(75)

“Focus,” she reprimanded herself. She’d deal with Higgins tomorrow.

She took a breath. Today she needed to talk to Forrest Bloom. He might be the only person who could tell her where Zee might have gone. She looked at the notepad by the phone, where she’d written down Hubbard’s phone number. Using her laptop, she used a mapping device to locate the farmhouse where the Blooms might still live. After writing down the address, she logged the street and city into her map app on her cell and left the house.





FORTY-ONE

Ben sat at the top of the metal bleachers overlooking the soccer field where Abigail was practicing with her team. He looked at his watch. Practice should have ended ten minutes ago. He had an appointment with the coroner, and he didn’t want to be late. The coroner who had signed off on Vernon Doherty’s autopsy report had since passed away. But Melissa Erickson had been trained by her predecessor and was willing to go over the report with him.

The coach called the players into a huddle, one arm around the goalie, the other around his daughter’s shoulder. Eyes narrowed, Ben stood, his gaze locked on the coach as he made his way to solid ground and walked by the other parents waiting for their children to come off the field.

The coach’s thumb brushed against his daughter’s neck. She didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to notice. The coach flashed a wide smile at Abigail before the team straightened and said in unison, “Go, Pink Panthers!”

The coach was giving the girls high fives by the time Ben reached Abigail. “Come on. Time to go.”

Abigail gave him the side eye. “The coach wants to talk to me.”

“No time,” Ben told her. “Grab your things.”

The coach came between them and offered his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Henry Rogers, Emily’s father.”

Ben had no idea who Emily was, and he had no interest in talking to the man. Bright eyes, phony smile. Instant dislike.

“Dad,” his daughter reprimanded when he didn’t move to take his hand.

Ben sighed and shook the man’s hand. “Gotta go. Late for a meeting.” As Ben turned away, he gave his daughter a stern look, a warning she knew well, which got her moving again.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” Abigail said the moment they were out of earshot.

“How long has he been your coach?”

“Ever since Mr. Jacobs had a stroke.”

“You need to be careful around him.”

She grabbed her things and then marched ahead to the car.

He slid open the van door.

Abigail angrily tossed her things into the back seat.

Once they were both in the van, he started the engine and waited for her to buckle her seat belt. Her face was red, and he wasn’t sure if it was from running around for the past hour or if she was truly angry. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Dad? You and Mom hardly speak anymore. You walk around in a weird daze half the time. And then you embarrass me in front of my friends and my coach. Are you and Mom getting a divorce?”

“What?” He backed out of the parking lot and then drove slowly to the exit. Abigail waved and smiled at her friends, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong.

He didn’t understand his daughter lately. His wife constantly reminded him that she was at that age. Hormones were raging. She’d be smiling one minute, moody the next. “Your mother and I are fine,” he tried to assure her. “We love each other, and we’re not getting divorced.”

“Well, that’s hard to believe, since you’re never home.”

“Your mother and I both work long hours every day to keep a roof over your head and to pay for that uniform and those new soccer shoes on your feet.”

“Mom stays late at the hospital because she’s helping to save lives, but what’s your excuse? You’re writing stories about dead people.”

He did his best to reel in his frustrations. “I’m going to let that one go, young lady.” He frowned as he kept his eyes on the road. “I want you to keep your distance from Henry Rogers until I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

“What does that even mean? He’s my coach. Why do you need to talk to him? Because he’s friendly? Emily will find out, and nobody will have anything to do with me.”

“He’s too hands-on with you girls.”

“Hands-on? Are you serious? That’s disgusting. If you talk to him, I’ll quit soccer and never talk to you again.” She crossed her arms and sank lower into her seat.

Less than fifteen minutes later, he was pulling into a parking lot outside of a one-story brick building.

“Where are we?”

“At the county morgue. I need to talk to someone. It won’t take long.” He climbed out of the van and told her to do the same.

“I’d rather stay in the car.”

“No can do.” He gestured for her to get out.

She pulled a face, then climbed out and stomped toward the entrance.

Inside, Ben was told his daughter would have to wait in the front area while he went to the back of the building. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Abigail plopped down into a plastic chair in the corner and grunted.

Ben’s footsteps echoed off the walls as he made his way down the corridor. The place smelled of antiseptics. He was offered a face mask but turned it down before he was led into the autopsy room, where Melissa Erickson was expecting him. The floor was tiled, and everything else was stainless steel. The room could be compared to a big industrial kitchen.