Expecting to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Where had she been going?

It appeared she’d thought she was meeting Kywin, but where?

What had happened?

Was the crash really the result of a single car accident?

What had made her lose control of the car?

Had she swerved to miss an oncoming vehicle? Or an animal?

Had she been forced off the road?

Had anyone been in the car at any time during her drive?

Did anyone else know where she was going?

And on and on. It all seemed so useless.

She’d driven Pescoli back to the reservoir to pick up her car. It was nearly noon, and the place was a beehive of activity. The crew was setting up for the coming night’s shoot, and the word about another attack by Big Foot had been circulated to the press. There were two news vans, one from Missoula, another from Spokane.

“Looks like Grizzly Falls could be trending,” Pescoli had observed, then said, “Oh, for the love of God, Lucky’s here. What the hell?” She let out a long, slow breath as she eyed her ex, who was sipping water from a bottle and chatting up some of the grips. “He’s just so into this thing, like because Bianca is involved in the whole reality thing, and now Michelle, too, he’s somehow stumbled on a pot of gold.”

“She’s here, too,” Alvarez said, spying Luke’s current wife approaching him. “Uh-oh.”

“What?” Pescoli’s eyebrows drew together as Michelle, in shorts, a tight T-shirt, and strappy, high-heeled sandals, strode to Luke and said something sharply to him. His lips thinned and he snapped back.

Alvarez couldn’t hear the words being tossed at each of them, but they were both angry, and pointedly so. Michelle had jabbed her finger at Luke’s chest. He caught her wrist, pulled her around the trailer that had been parked on the property, and disappeared from sight.

“Trouble in paradise?” Pescoli shook her head. “Maybe that pot of gold isn’t so gilded after all. They’ve been married for years, and I’ve never once seen them get into it, which says a lot about Michelle. Luke and I? We fought like cats and dogs from the get-go. Huh.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll meet you back at the station.”

A reporter had recognized her as she stepped out of Alvarez’s Subaru. “Detective Pescoli? Can I have a word? Your daughter, she’s in the show, right? And she was rumored to have been attacked by a Big Foot.”

Alvarez saw her partner’s back stiffen as she said a few quick words to the bird-like blonde and nearly dove into her Jeep this time. Hitting the gas, she reversed to a wide spot in the road and quickly turned around, leaving the reporter to watch the dust pluming behind her. Before she was seen, Alvarez took off as well. She didn’t have the personal connection for an intriguing story about the filming that her partner did, but she was a detective investigating the case, still trying to connect the dots between the two girls’ deaths, and she’d been in a rush to interview Kywin Bell, the most likely of suspects, anyway.

Though Kywin had shut her down, there was still a long list of others who knew more than they were saying.

* * *

“My advice,” Dr. Peeples said as Regan sat on the end of the examination table in the clinic, “is that you consider starting your maternity leave soon. You’re partially effaced, about thirty percent, and that baby’s coming.” Ramona Peeples, a slender African-American woman, had been Regan’s OB-GYN for the past ten years. Her offices were attached to Northern General Hospital and now, standing in a white lab coat worn over slacks and a magenta blouse, she was staring hard at her patient.

“I know,” Pescoli agreed, anxious to get out of the small examination room. Pictures of babies hung on the beige walls, and other than the padded table on which she was now seated, there was only a rolling cart and cupboards, a counter with a glistening sink.

“Before you start coming up with excuses, all very valid, I’m certain, think about your health and the baby’s,” Peeples advised. “I know all about the cases you’re investigating, so I understand that your job is very high stress. Hence the elevation in your blood pressure.”

“Slight elevation,” Pescoli said. “Your own words, ‘slight elevation.’”

“But worth noting. Especially given your age.”

“My age? Geez, it’s not like I’m ancient. I’m not even forty.”

“But soon,” the doctor said, eyeing her chart. “In less than a year. And watch your salt intake.” She held a clipboard over her chest. “It’s just a little while longer, and I don’t like to take any chances.”

“Okay, me neither.”

The doctor gave her a small smile. “Consider hanging up your holster, Detective, just for a little while. Some of the world’s problems might wait, even if you’re not on the job. I’ll see you next week.”

With that, she was out the door and Pescoli reached for her clothes. The world’s problems might wait, but she wasn’t so certain about her investigations, here in Grizzly Falls. And she was tired of people acting like s