Page 121 of White Raven
Wren narrowed her eyes at the good doctor, sizing her up. It couldn’t have gone any better if she’d planned it. Flag planted.
“My thoughts exactly,” Wren spat, smirking right back. “Isn’t exactly as comfortable as his apartment.” One of the nurses was flushing pink with the effort it was taking not to look up from her computer. Dr. Ambrose didn’t seem flustered enough.
“Or the elevator?” she fired back.
Cunning wee bitch.
Brent turned five shades of red. “How did you—”
“How did you think you got back to your floor?” Dr. Ambrose laughed, crossing her arms, and tucking a clipboard under one of them.
“That was you?” Wren asked, suddenly realizing who the kind soul was that hit the button.
“Mmhmm. I can accept shame and defeat. Moment of weakness. Can we bury this hatchet now? I’ve since shelved the pom-poms.”
Well…Ambrose-1, Wren-0…
“Parlay,” Wren smirked, dipping her chin. Brent shifted uncomfortably next to her.
“You can follow me,” Ambrose chuckled, and turned to lead them down a hallway on the other side of the desk. It was hard not to feel some level of pity for Brent as he nervously dragged his hand through his hair. However accustomed he was to having a couple of chicks fighting over him, he seemed like he was getting his comeuppance for what had transpired that day, and the new Brent Stratford was clearly waving the white flag. Wren grabbed his hand, interlocking their fingers, and squeezed. He finally relaxed when Dr. Ambrose sat them down across from the desk in her office and scooted a thick file towards them.
Something he knows.
“So, everything’s in here. The victim, like I said, didn’t have any next of kin, and her instructions were very clear in her will. The medical examiner was nice enough to send these over so you wouldn’t have to go to his office. I told him I knew someone who could help.”
I bet you did.
Her snide mental tongue lashing would have to wait. She wasn’t pushing the file towards Brent…she was pushing it towards Wren. Wren lowered her brows.
“Why are you giving this to me? He’s the lawyer,” she said, poking a thumb his way.
“See for yourself.”
Wren reached forward, and pulled the folder into her lap, opening the front. After reading a few lines, her stomach dropped, and her heart along with it. Nell had left everything she owned toher.
“Oh my—Oh, my God…”
“You must have been really close. I’m sorry for your loss, Wren.”
Brent peered over to look at them, and she handed everything over to him so she could reel in her shock, and confusion. “This has to be a mistake. We’ve only known each other for a fewweeks.”
“Nope,” Dr. Ambrose said, shaking her head. “No mistake. That paper on the top is proof of that.”
“It is,” Brent agreed, still reading over it. “She had them notarized. As legal as an eighteen-year-old.”
“Gross, Brent.” She didn’t even look at him, even as Dr. Ambrose snorted at her remark. All she could do was stare forward…blankly. “Nell…”
“You just need to sign these, Wren. All the tabbed pages, and then I can take them up to the courthouse and get them filed for you.”
“I don’t understand this. Why would she do this for me?”
“Maybe it’s in here?” Brent said, handing her a sealed envelope with her name on it. It felt heavy in her hands. Wren figured it was the weight of all the wrong surrounding Nell’s death, and the grief she felt after only knowing the woman a short time. Maybe it was that grief that was proof of why Nell would leave her anything at all. Some mutual understanding, and common ground with a youngster that cared more about the simpler joys in life. The pieces of human history that would outlive any tech. Wren raised her head to see Ambrose staring at her.
“What was her cause of death?”
“Umm…hold on,” she replied, sorting through a few more papers. She adjusted her glasses and held one close to her face before speaking from behind the page. “Looks like, according to this, Anelle Kincaid suffered from atrial fibrillation—um…you probably know it as‘AFib’…she also had signs ofangina, and that’s commonly a symptom of something bigger, like coronary artery disease.” She lowered the paper and gave Wren a sympathetic look. “Cause of death was listed as a massive heart attack. Probably a long time coming, really…but the situation must have scared her out of her wits. Or caught her off guard.”
Brent placed a gentle hand on her forearm, and the doctor seemed like she was trying not to notice the gesture. “So…Foley was right. Sykes didn’t murder her.”
