Close to the Bone (Widow's Island #1)(10)

“They’re lucky you were on the island.”

“I’m sure Tessa could have handled everything.”

“She can’t access the FBI’s information.”

“True,” Cate admitted. “I’m going to work from home. There’s no point in working out of the sheriff’s office in North Sound. They have two desks in a space smaller than your dining room. I’ll just be in the way.”

“I have a meeting with my circle today. Let me know if we need to get the word out about anything.”

Cate nodded. Jane was the head of the Widow’s Knitting and Activist group. Thirty years ago the group had taken its name from the island, but now—oddly or creepily—all the women were widows. The fact was amusing to most of the islanders but not funny to several of the married island men. The group would knit while discussing projects to improve life on the island. The topics ranged from recycling to domestic abuse to the island’s rampant drug problem. The group set lofty goals and got shit done.

“We finally got a doctor,” Jane said. “I haven’t met him yet, but all the gossip has been positive. His nurse is a cute little thing from Oregon—Julie something. She’s engaged to our newest deputy. Perhaps one of them could look at the remains and give their opinion—something to at least point you in a direction.”

“I met Dr. Powers last night,” said Cate, focusing on her cinnamon roll. “He’s also the county coroner.”

“Hmmm. Well, that’s good. What did he think?”

With her mouth full, Cate looked up. Jane’s blue eagle-eyed gaze was fastened on her granddaughter. Cate recognized that intense look from her childhood. It meant she or Logan was in trouble, or else Jane had come up with a mission. Since Cate and Logan were now adults, she assumed Jane had stumbled across a new task for her group.

“He said it was female and possibly a teenager. He asked to see the dental records today and wants another look in better light.”

Jane massaged her hands, eyeing the lanky, bony fingers. “My arthritis has acted up this winter. Knitting is getting harder and harder. I wonder if he’d have some suggestions to help with the pain. I should make an appointment.”

Cate studied her grandmother’s hands, remembering how they could knead dough or whip through skeins of yarn. The knuckles were more pronounced than she remembered, and the skin was looser. Jane still sat straight as a pole and held her head proudly. Cate’s heart swelled with love. Jane had raised her and Logan. Their mother was flighty. Cate’s father had died soon after she was born, and Jane said her mother had never recovered. When Cate was ten, her mother had left her children behind and moved to Arizona for year-round sun.

Long ago Jane had said, “Don’t be angry with your mother. She never felt she belonged here. The islands never spoke to her heart; they aren’t for everyone. She needed to leave for her own mental health.”

But a small amount of resentment still simmered in Cate’s gut. What kind of mother abandons her kids? An immature one who acted like a rebellious teen instead of a responsible adult.

She suspected that Jane had stepped in and insisted that the children stay behind. She and Logan had grown up in a warm, loving home thanks to Jane.

“I didn’t realize your hands hurt,” Cate said.

“It’s nothing.” Jane tucked her hands under the table. “How’s that shoulder and head of yours healing?”

Cate shrugged her good shoulder, and Jane’s eyes narrowed. “You taking your pain medication?”

“When I need it.”

“Stay ahead of the pain,” Jane said sternly, but her expression softened. “In a way I’m glad this case landed in your lap. It will distract you . . .”

Distract me from Stephen’s death.

Cate closed her eyes. The door. The shots. The blood. A dark void swirled in her brain and sucked the air out of her lungs.

“Cate!”

Panic shot up her throat, and her lids flew open. Jane had stood and was leaning across the table, worry etched across her forehead. “I thought you were going to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Cate said automatically as her heart pounded out of control.

“Mmph.” Jane slowly sat, her attention never leaving her granddaughter. “No one who has been shot is fine. It takes work to heal emotionally from that.”

“I already talked to the psychiatrist.”

“I know. But two sessions aren’t enough.”

“It wasn’t helping. I just need some time alone.” Cate’s brain walled off the past, protecting her thoughts. If three weeks ago is considered the past.

Jane reached across the table and took Cate’s hand with a gentle smile. “I’m glad you’re home. You’ll heal here on the island. Give it time to work its magic.”

“That’s why I’m here.” She gave a flat laugh. “But I hadn’t planned on working.”

“I think it will be a good part of your healing process. You aren’t the type of person to sit around and relax all day.”

“True.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“Shower, make some calls, and read up on Becca’s case.”

“Why don’t you get some air first?”