Page 22 of Lost Kingdom

“Is it Eli’s birthday or something?”

“Wait…” Fletch latches on toanythingexcept the decay in the room. “Your brother? I thought he already had his birthday this year. You asked me about gifts and shit.”

Pursing her lips, Aubree hooks a thumb toward her homicide detective bestie. “He listens when I speak. That’s such a rare and special trait in a man.”

“Ohhhhh… his wedding!” Fletch preens under Aubree’s praise. “Holy shit. That’s this weekend. That came up so quickly.”

“So that’s why your mom was calling,” I murmur, folding my arms. “She’s harassing you because you didn’t do something you were supposed to do.”

“She’s harassing me because I accepted the invitation without a plus one. My parents want me to bring a date, though I assured them that wasn’t necessary. I’m in the bridal party, so any date I bring will sit alone most of the day, and if I brought someone, they would be subjected to the Spanish inquisition.Where did you meet our sweet Aubree? Isn’t she just the loveliest thing? When will you ask her to marry you? We’re waiting for these grandbabies, and we’re not getting any younger, you know?’”

“Good lord,” Fletch chuckles. “I was gonna offer to be your date. But if that’s the treatment I’ll get?—”

“I don’t want a date! I want to be left the hell alone. And I want my transport van to get here already! Jesus. Why is it taking so long?”

“Something about watching a pot boil.” I take out my phone and quickly type up a reminder to call Mr. and Mrs. Emeri and introduce myself.It’s time we mesh some worlds.“You said you were going to their place for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yep. I don’t need a plus one for that, either.” She snags a thick, black bag, and snaps it out to its full size. “Let’s get her packed up so we can move her when transport arrives. I want to be back at the George Stanley within the hour.”

“So you can start your formal autopsy?”

She slides her eyes my way and firms her lips. “So I can work, knowing security will keep you out of the building, mostly.”

“Ouch.” Fletch swaps his gloves for a fresh pair and grabs his towel, carefully wrapping the thick fabric around the woman’s melting ankle. “If I throw up after this, I expect you all to mind your damn business.”

8

AUBREE

I LOVE MY FAMILY. I LOVE MY FAMILY. I LOVE MY FAMILY.

The next night, after ruling Mrs. Shoemaker’s death natural causes and preparing my reports so a certificate can be given to the next of kin, I arrive at my parents’ house about a fifteen-minute drive from the central business district where I live.

Except, I don’t have a car. So I have to catch a bus, then a second bus, and then I have to walk ten minutes from the bus stop to my parents’ house, which turns fifteen minutes into fifty. And though I hardly mind the trek, my oversized purse weighs heavily on my shoulder, a bottle of wine tucked somewhere in the depths.

My gift.

My hope is to get my mother tipsy, which will hopefully dull her spooky insistence on being completely and overbearingly up in my business and asking unnecessary questions about my love life.

Non-existent as it is.

I trudge up the front stairs of my childhood home, a half dozen cars parked in the driveway and on the street, which means everyone is here. Eight grown Emeri children, two Emeri parents, a handful of girlfriends and boyfriends, one husband, my sister’s two kids, my brother’s wife, and the family Golden Retriever, Barney.

Noise floods the house like a battering ram that, honest to God, feels like a hammer slamming against my chest.

Coming home is comforting and exhausting at the same time. It’s loveand intolerance at once. Because Emeris are nosey people, and when you’re me, a twenty-seven-year-old doctor for the dead, having never brought a man home to meet the family, and your siblings are already in the throes of marriage and having children, discussions can become tense.

That tension is enough to make me wish for a lobotomy.

“Aubree!” The door swings wide and Eli, my older brother and the groom-to-be, surges through, grabbing my arms kind of how Tim does when he wants to control me. His eyes shimmer with mischief, and perhaps, a little panic. Then Curtis, his future husband, follows. Just as energized. Scandalized, even. “We have to talk!” Eli drags me through the door and lobs me into the front living room, the one no one ever enters, and once upon a time, had plastic covers on everything to save the fancy furniture from eight rambunctious kids. With fast steps, he follows me in and grabs the door, then he waits for Curtis, grinning when the second fixes his bowtie.

Because I guess family dinner is a formal affair.

“What the hell are you doing, Eli?” I push the straps of my bag back onto my shoulder. “You don’t have to be sobigall the time.”

“Sissy…” He leaves his fiancé by the door and grabs my hands, holding on tight even when I try to pull away. “What did you do?”

“What? I don’t know what you mean.”

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