Page 10 of Her Dying Secret

Gretchen bit off half of it and chewed. After gulping it down, she said, “You saw nothing.”

Josie laughed. Then, feigning seriousness, she said, “It doesn’t feel right to keep secrets from Paula.”

Gretchen, now in her late forties, had had her twins in her early twenties and then given them up for adoption. At the time, she’d been caught up in a bad situation and felt it was the only way to keep them safe. Years later, both children had come back into her life. Her adult daughter now lived with her and had talked her into following a strict diet and exercise routine. Paula wanted her mother around as long as possible, and Gretchen didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Plus, as a detective, her schedule wasn’t always conducive to healthy habits. Still, Josie knew Komorrah’s pecan croissants were Gretchen’s weakness.

In fact, Gretchen stared at the rest of the croissant like it was her lover. “It’s bad enough she’s still got me jogging every damn day.” With one hand she pinched the skin at her waist. There was considerably less now than in all the years Josie had known her. “Look at this. I’m wasting away to nothing. She’s slowly cutting back on our sugar intake. Soon I won’t even be able to put sugar in my coffee. She’s been tracking my A1C like a bookie at the racetrack.”

Josie laughed. “I thought grad school was time-consuming.”

“Not enough that it keeps her from being my in-house nutritionist.” Gretchen popped the rest of the croissant into her mouth, chewing more slowly this time. Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored the pastry.

“You couldn’t talk her out of criminology, I guess.”

Gretchen opened her eyes, swatted some crumbs from her chest, and grabbed one of the coffee cups, handing it to Josie. “I’m just glad she didn’t want to join a police department. I’m not thrilled about criminology, but at least she’ll be behind a desk. Better to be an analyst than to be in the field. I never want her to see the things we’ve seen—not up close.”

Josie opened the lid of the paper cup, letting the steam waft up over her face. “Is this a flat white latte?”

Gretchen arched a brow. “I’m insulted you’d even ask. How many years have we been working together?”

“Almost eight.” Josie took a long sip, feeling a wave of anticipation as she waited for the caffeine to hit her system. “Don’t ever leave me.”

Gretchen chuckled. “I promise.” She pointed at one of the glass-fronted trauma rooms directly across from the nurses’ station. “My shooting victim is in there. He’ll be fine. Already got the shooter. It was a neighbor. Dispute over a tree. I wish you had called me as soon as Turner asked you to come in. I could have saved you all this trouble. I know you’ve got the home study tomorrow.”

“I can still make the home study,” Josie said.

“Tell me about this one and I’ll take it from here.”

Josie took another long sip of her latte. “I can take the lead.”

“It’s not a problem for me,” Gretchen said. “Do what you need to do at home.”

She thought about what Noah had said about making adjustments in their lives if they were to adopt a child—that couples with full-time jobs raised kids all the time. “Thanks, but I can do it. I can handle this and things at home.”

Gretchen narrowed her eyes. “Is this about the woman you think you lost at the retreat last year?”

Josie lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t think I lost her. I did. If I had chosen differently, she’d still be alive. But it’s not that. Not entirely.”

For a moment, Gretchen looked like she was going to argue with Josie. Again. But she let it go. “You have a bad feeling about this one.”

“I have a bad feeling about all of them.”

“You know what I mean.”

As they waited for someone on the staff to update them on Mira Summers, Josie filled Gretchen in on the details of the case and finished by showing her the photos she’d taken at the scene. Gretchen did a far better job than Josie had at hiding her emotion when she saw the message asking for help and the condition of the passenger. “Jane Doe should be in the morgue now,” said Josie. “But Anya probably won’t have the results of the autopsy until tomorrow.”

“Where is the child who drew the picture?” Gretchen asked, immediately zeroing in on the most alarming detail, the thing that was currently burning a hole right through the lining of Josie’s stomach.

“Exactly,” Josie said. “Jane Doe wanted someone to find that drawing. Even with a weapon still inside her body, she held onto that picture.”

“In a literal death grip,” Gretchen muttered. “What can we tell about this kid from the drawing? Anything? There’s a flower. I don’t want to stereotype or be sexist but that could be an indicator that we’re looking for a little girl.”

“It could, but we shouldn’t rule anything out. Honestly, the drawing raises more questions than it answers.” Josie slugged down the rest of her latte and tossed the empty cup into a trash bin nearby. “I also think, based on Jane Doe’s appearance, that she was held somewhere and possibly tortured before being stabbed.”

“Well, that’s terrifying,” Gretchen muttered, sipping her coffee. “But the ‘help’ makes a lot more sense in that context.”

Josie heard footsteps behind her and turned to see the emergency department’s attending physician, Dr. Ahmed Nashat, walking toward them. He smiled. “Detectives, a pleasure, as always, though I do hate meeting under such distressing circumstances.”

“You’re in a good mood,” Gretchen said.

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