Becoming a Cavanaugh. Marie Ferrarella
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Damn but he missed his old partner’s monotone, straightforward voice. When Castle talked, it wasn’t in circles. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Jaren held up the book she’d found.
“The Vampire Diaries” Kyle read and then scoffed. “Who reads trash like that?”
His reaction to the book didn’t surprise her. “Apparently, enough people to put this on the New York Times bestseller list for several weeks.”
Few things caught him off guard, but she’d scored a point. “You’re kidding me.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to kid you,” she added when he eyed her curiously. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not kidding. The Vampire Diaries has been on the list for close to five weeks now.” She flipped some of the pages. “Not a bad story, as far as things like that go.”
Kyle stared at her as if she’d just announced that she was an extra terrestrial, sent down to conquer Earth. “You read it?”
If he was trying to embarrass her, he was going to have to do a lot better than that, Jaren thought wickedly. “Yes, I did. I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I like leaving myself open to new experiences—like getting along with a partner who acts as if he’s constantly got a bur under his saddle.”
Kyle didn’t appear to hear her, or, if he did, he was ignoring her comment and focusing on what she’d said before that. He circled the dead man, taking the body in at all angles.
“Vampires, huh?”
Jaren shrugged. “Some women find fantasizing about vampires romantic.”
He laughed shortly, letting her know what he thought of that. “Some women marry prisoners who have no chance of getting out.”
“Takes all kinds,” she agreed. “Besides,” Jaren quipped, “the woman who marries a lifer always knows where he is at night.” He looked at her. “And before you ask, yes, I’m kidding.”
“You guys mind taking this to the next room?” asked a tall, gangly man wearing what looked like paper scrubs over his regular clothing. He was one of three crime-scene investigators who had been sent to go over the doctor’s office, preserving it just as it had been when the receptionist found Barrett.
“No problem. We need to ask Carole for a list of the doctor’s most recent patients,” Jaren told the investigator agreeably. She leaned over and extended her hand. “I’m Jaren Rosetti, by the way.”
“Hank Elder,” the investigator responded, shaking her hand.
“Carole?” Kyle asked as they exited the doctor’s study.
“The receptionist,” she told him.
He stopped short of the woman’s desk. “I don’t recall her giving us her name.”
“That’s because she didn’t,” Jaren told him. “She’s wearing a name tag.”
He’d been too interested in the weapon used to kill the surgeon to notice all that much about the woman who had called the murder in.
“I tend not to look at a woman’s chest area,” he said. “Avoids problems.”
“It’s okay, that’s what you’ve got me for.”
Kyle suppressed another sigh. “Knew there was a reason.”
Carole obliged them with an extensive list of the names of the neurosurgeon’s patients in the last six months.
“When did this man sleep?” Jaren wondered out loud as she scanned the names.
“I don’t think he did,” Carole confided. “According to what I heard, the doctor was burning the candle at both ends.”
Kyle took the list from Jaren and folded it, putting it into his pocket. “Was he married?”
The receptionist pushed her glasses up on her nose before she shook her head. “Divorced. Twice.”
Kyle nodded as if he’d expected to hear something like that. “We’ll need his ex-wives’ addresses, as well,” he told the receptionist.
Carole caught her lower lip between her teeth. She was obviously thinking.
“I’d have to get in touch with one of his colleagues at the hospital to get those for you. Dr. Barrett doesn’t have that kind of information accessible on his computer.” Her expression was apologetic. “He is—was—extremely private that way.”
Jaren looked toward the study. The three crime-scene investigators had left the door open. They were combing the area but all she could see was the body on the rug.
“Could be a crime of passion,” she speculated. She turned back to Carole. “You wouldn’t know if Barrett had any current girlfriends, would you?”
Carole’s short brown hair swung from side to side as she shook her head. “Like I said, Dr. Barrett was very private.”
“That’s okay, we’ll ask around. And if you can think of anything else—” Jaren reached into her pocket to give the young woman her card, then stopped. She flashed an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have any cards printed up with my cell number on them yet.” She turned toward her partner. “O’Brien?”
“Yeah, I got one.” Reaching into his pocket, he took out a card and handed it to the receptionist. Despite the gruesome scene in the other room, Carole smiled up at him. For a moment, she seemed to forget about the circumstances that had brought them together.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Guess I’m due for a hearing test,” Kyle commented as they walked out of the office several minutes later.
“Excuse me?” Jaren asked.
“Well, I’m obviously not hearing as well as I should be.” Reaching the elevator bank, he pressed the down button. “Because if I were, I would have heard Barone say that you were primary on this.”
The elevator arrived. She stepped inside and turned toward the front. They were the only two people in the car. “Sorry. I tend to be a little enthusiastic.”
He laughed as the doors closed again. “Is that what you call it?”
She knew she was going to hate herself for this. “What would you call it?”
“Being a pain in the butt.”
The best way to deal with things was through humor. She reverted to it now. “Potato, po-ta-to,” she replied with a quick shrug of her shoulders. She saw him taking the list that Carole had given them out of his pocket. She nodded at it. “So, how do you want to do this?”
What he wanted to say was alone, but he knew that wasn’t going to get him anywhere. She apparently had the sticking power of super glue. Still, he decided to give it one try. “We could divide the list between us.”
“I’m still new here,” she reminded him. “I would have thought that, since you’re primary on this,” she deliberately emphasized, “you’d want to question these people together—to make sure I don’t mess up.”
He wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm. “Rosetti, I don’t want to do anything together,” he told her, “but it looks like I have no choice.”
The elevator came to a stop and they got out on the ground floor. She followed him out of the building. “Tell me, is it just me who sets you off, or is it having a partner in general?”
“Yes.”
The single word hung in the air. Jaren took a breath. This had the makings of one hell of a long day. “Okay,” she declared, as if she knew where she stood.
And she did. Barefoot in hell. But she’d survived