“That’s all right,” Faith said. It wasn’t worth arguing about right now. “We’ll take care of the interviews. Do you have contact information for the families?”
“I do,” she replied. “They had to identify the bodies. Let’s see… Here. I have an Isabel Montgomery and a Darlene Jeter. Both the spouses of the deceased. You ready for their numbers?”
“Shoot,” Faith said.
Dr. Heath repeated the numbers, and Michael jotted them down. "Wonderful," Faith replied. "Have you heard anything from the State Patrol about more bodies?"
“They’ll call you before they call me,” Dr. Heath reminded her.
“Right. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Dr. Heath disconnected, and Faith looked up to see Michael smiling at her. She colored slightly. "What?"
He shrugged. “It’s nice to see you back on your game.”
A smile of her own crept across her face. “It’s good to be back.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Isabel Montgomery looked nothing at all like her late wife. Where Gemma was tall and statuesque, Isabel was squat and husky. Where Gemma had the flawless bone structure of a model, Isabel had the rough-cut features that suggested a long lineage of people who worked the soil. Gemma exuded beauty. Isabel exuded strength. They were, Faith decided, a perfect match.
Which made the devastation on Isabel’s face perfectly understandable.
Despite the redness in her eyes and the generally exhausted manner in which she carried herself, she managed a smile and a firm (veryfirm) handshake when Faith introduced herself.
Faith managed not to wince when Isabel’s fingers nearly crushed her still sensitive right hand. She made a mental note to find another form of greeting until she healed. “Thank you for taking the time to see us, Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Call me Izzie,” Isabel replied. “Mrs. Montgomery is a mouthful, and it makes me sound like the evil rich neighbor.”
“Very well, Izzie,” Faith replied. “You can call me Faith.”
“Michael,” Michael offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Izzie.”
“And who’s this little guy?” Isabel asked, beaming down at Turk.
“That’s our K9 unit,” Faith replied. “Turk.”
Turk, not used to being referred to as “little guy,” cocked his head to the side and offered a tentative bark in greeting.
“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Turk,” Isabel replied. Her smile faded somewhat, and the heartbreak returned to her eyes. "Gemma always wanted a dog. I told her she should get one, but she wanted to wait until she hired a few more doctors for her practice and she could take more time to spend with it.” She shook her head, and when she spoke again, her smile was gone. “I always used to tell her, ‘Make the most of the time you have. You never know when it will be gone.’”
She fell silent, and after a brief pause, Faith said, "I'm sorry for your loss."
Izzie sniffed back tears and said, “Yeah, well, that’s life right? Come on inside. I’ll make you some cocoa and tell you all about Gemma.”
Izzie’s house was small but well-appointed and tastefully decorated. The furniture was an array of soft grays and browns that contrasted well with the bright walls and generous expanse of natural light through a large bay window in the living room. Faith looked at the carefully arranged flower vases and jars of potpourri and decided that Gemma had been in charge of decorating.
Confirming her suspicion, Izzie said, “Gemma did the house. She always had an eye for decorating. When we started dating, I asked her why she spent so much time arranging furniture and buying flowers and vases and picture frames and knick-knacks. ‘Gemma, why do you spend so much time making a house look pretty when you spend most of your time here sleeping?’ She said to me, ‘The more beautiful you make your space, the more beautiful your frame of mind.’ I always dismissed that as more psychobabble crap—not to her face, of course—but damned if she wasn’t right.”
“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Michael said.
“She was,” Izzie agreed. “She was by far the best woman I ever laid eyes on.”
She smiled wistfully, and Faith's heart ached for her. She thought of David, hiding from a man who was possibly the most dangerous criminal she'd ever faced. She thought of Michael, lying next to that killer's ex-wife for the past year, never knowing how close to death he lurked.
“Izzie,” Michael began gently. “This is a tough question, but I have to ask…”
