Nancy Bush's Nowhere Bundle: Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide & Nowhere Safe. Nancy Bush

      An hour earlier, D’Annibal had received the call. Neither George nor Wes had been available while Gretchen and September had shown up by mutual agreement to go over the Zuma case. Gretchen wanted to interview Camille Dirkus and September had offered to go along.

      But then the call came in and they were sent out after the hikers called 911.

      Now it was September’s turn to gaze past the body and over the dry, yellow field grass that ranged north from their large copse of mixed oak, fir and pine trees. This too, could be the county’s problem; this crime was right on the city line, but the dispatcher had called Laurelton PD.

      D’Annibal had apparently claimed rights to this case, or maybe county was simply bowing out. Somewhere along the line, a guy from county named Jernstadt, since retired, had royally pissed off the lieutenant according to remarks she’d heard around the squad room. The result was nobody wanted to go head-to-head with D’Annibal, involving whatever he decreed, and therefore there was no strict protocol on jurisdiction. If the lieutenant wanted a case that could be considered county, the prevailing thought was to let him have it. So, though September and Gretchen were already working hard on the Zuma Software case, Laurelton PD was on this one, too. County might complain about it, but they would acquiesce. D’Annibal did things his own way and his attitude was, if county didn’t like it, they could just go screw themselves.

      Said attitude didn’t exactly foster warm and fuzzy relations, but such was the way of things.

      Gretchen dragged her gaze away from the body and shook her head. “Learn anything from those phone records, Nine?”

      September shot a look at her partner who’d apparently detached from the scene around them. “Yes,” she said. She’d been scouring Kurt Upjohn’s phone records and had discovered several numbers that had yet to be identified from the myriads that he’d placed to friends, family and business associates. “I was hoping maybe Camille Dirkus could shed some light.”

      “Yeah, whenever that interview takes place,” Gretchen grumbled.

      “I was thinking about giving the list to George.”

      Gretchen snorted. “Good idea. He’s bound to be back in the squad room now. He just always misses the calls to the field. Weasel’s on something else, drugs and gangs, like your brother was.”

      Was being the operative word, September thought.

      “I’m not stopping on Zuma. This has gotta be somebody else’s, or we need some serious help.”

      “Yeah.” September gazed down at the body again for another moment, unsettled. “I wonder who she is.”

      “We’ll check missing persons.” Gretchen made a face. “I wonder who he is,” she added, meaning the killer.

      Bronson shot her a look as a hot breeze caused the oak leaves and fir and pine needles to dance lithely, as if waving at the victim and the group of bystanders. Victims left in fields . . . something tickled the back of her brain.

      “Get her covered and outta here before the fucking newspeople show up,” Gretchen ordered the techs.

      “You do your job, we’ll do ours,” Bronson said. “The ME’s on his way.”

      “Don’t get all testy on me, Bron.” Gretchen offered a humorless smile. To September, she added, “Maybe this second body will make our letter carver easier to find and we can get back to Zuma.”

      September had her doubts, but she kept them to herself.

      Waiting proved more difficult than Liv had anticipated. They went to a small café and Liv ordered an omelet that she moved around her plate as the morning dragged slowly by. For all the talking they’d done, all of a sudden it felt like she and Auggie had run out of things to say to each other. As they got up to leave he really struggled with the fact that she was picking up the tab, but what could he do? She wanted to suggest they go back to Bean There, Done That and see if someone had turned in his wallet, but she couldn’t.

      “I can’t afford for us to get pulled over,” she said, to which he answered, “Okay,” and the subject appeared to be closed.

      Now, back at his house, they were both sitting at the table, lost in their own thoughts, when his cell phone suddenly rang, surprising them both.

      He swept it up quickly and got to his feet. “Hello?” he answered as Liv’s pulse began to race. He shot her a look. “Ah, yes. Talia’s right here . . .”

      Carefully, he handed Liv the cell and she said, “Dr. Yancy?”

      “Yes,” the doctor answered cautiously.

      Liv could visualize the woman in her mind: small, birdlike, with short, dark hair and narrow glasses that she looked over the top of. “I was just wondering if you could maybe help me with remembering a few things.”

      Dr. Yancy’s voice said, a bit uncertainly, “Did Hathaway House give you my number?”

      “No, I took a chance on F. Yancy. I knew your first name was Fern. I—um—”

      “You’ve been having dreams,” Auggie whispered. “About the doctor . . .” He moved his hand in the “go ahead” signal.

      “I’ve been having dreams,” Liv said. “About a doctor . . . at Hathaway House. I feel like it’s important somehow.” Auggie was nodding at her. Good. Good. Keep going, he mouthed. “A visiting doctor, maybe? He wasn’t there all the time. He kind of—stalked, if you know what I mean.”

      Dr. Yancy didn’t answer immediately. “Have you spoken to anyone else at Hathaway House about this?”

      “I wanted to talk to you first,” Liv said.

      “You know I’m retired?”

      “You helped me.”

      “But I wasn’t your personal doctor, Talia.”

      Liv swallowed hard. She’d forgotten that. “I always trusted you,” she stated honestly. “Do you know the doctor I mean?” she asked urgently. “Do you remember him?”

      “I think you mean Dr. Navarone.”

      Navarone!

      “Dr. Navarone,” Liv repeated for Auggie’s benefit. “He wasn’t one of the regular doctors.”

      “He was on staff at Grandview Hospital during that time,” she said. “He came to Hathaway when he could. We were always short-staffed.”

      Liv felt her senses swirl. “Grandview,” she said faintly.

      “You know the hospital’s no longer in existence,” Dr. Yancy went on. “Loss of government funding. Grandview’s now an elder-care facility.”

      “Oh . . . no, I didn’t know,” she murmured.

      Auggie was eyeing her with concern. She could imagine what she looked like: white face, pale lips, shadowed eyes. And she felt like she was going to faint. Gripping the receiver harder, she said, “I’d like to reach Dr. Navarone. Do you know where he is now?”

      “I’m sorry, I don’t.” A pause. “Are you all right, Talia?”

      “Fine.”

      “I know Hathaway House is for teens, mostly, but if you’re looking for a recommendation, I could give you some names, or make some calls—”

      “No, no . . . thank you, but no . . . I’m . . . I’ve got that handled. I just wanted to find Dr. Navarone.”

      She said slowly, as if thinking over her words, “I don’t know quite why you’re so interested in him, but he might not be the right doctor for you.”

      “Oh?”

      “His methods were unorthodox, and he was . . .”

      When she paused long enough for Liv to worry