The Lovebirds. B.J. Daniels
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He caught a look pass between Mitzy and Oliver.
‘‘We’re not going anywhere, Sheriff,’’ Oliver said impatiently.
Jack turned his attention to Tempest, anxious to talk to her alone. She was already on her feet, no doubt eager as anyone to get away from this pair. ‘‘If you have a few minutes....’’ He motioned toward the foyer.
She nodded and followed him out to where the coroner was just getting off the elevator.
‘‘Damn,’’ Lou Ramsey said, scowling down at the body, then at Jack. ‘‘You bring this kind of stuff with you from the big city?’’
It did feel as if he’d brought something back with him, more old baggage than even he’d realized. ‘‘I can’t believe you’re still alive—let alone still the coroner,’’ Jack said to the cantankerous old veterinarian/councilman/ coroner.
White-headed, stooped-shouldered and more temperamental than a de-hibernated grizzly in spring, Ramsey guffawed, then put down his bag. ‘‘I’m really looking forward to working with you,’’ he said. ‘‘Yeah, right.’’
Ramsey asked Dobson if he’d shot the scene as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves from his bag. Dobson nodded. Jack sent Deputy Reed to keep the Sanderses company and make sure they remained in the living room until they could have their foyer back.
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