What the River Knows by Katherine Pritchett Read Free Book Online Page A

interview Trish.”
    Scott barely heard him before the door slammed. He ran to his truck, and was halfway across the parking lot before he had the seatbelt fastened. He paused at stop signs and slid askew into his parking space. He dashed up the stairs; Rica opened the door as he reached for it.
    The look she gave him said it all. He’d heard it often enough, she didn’t need to say it. “Sorry.” He brushed past her, stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes as he trotted to the shower. He heard the door open just as the water hit the right temperature.
    “What was it this time?”
    “Got sidetracked looking up leads while we waited on a witness to come into the station.” No way he could come up with a lie that would sound any better—or worse.
    “Don’t you have an alarm on your cell phone you could have set?” Before he could answer—it really was a good idea—she spoke. “I have your clothes laid out on the bed. If you hurry, we can be just fashionably late.” She let out a big sigh, as if she had more to say, then the door closed. He shut off the water.
    ****
    “Rica!” Dr. Ambrose held open the door for them, a big smile creasing his mocha latte face. “And you must be Scott.” He offered his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
    Complaints, I’ll bet. Scott returned the handshake. As expected for a surgeon, Ambrose had a long, slender hand with fingers to match. Ambrose and Rica introduced him around, though he had trouble remembering the names they tossed toward him. He just knew that they were all doctors and their spouses, except for an anesthesiologist and his receptionist.
    “Would you like a drink, Scott?” Ambrose asked.
    Maybe a drink would let him relax and be more social. “Maybe one.”
    Ambrose led the way to a bar off the patio. “What’ll you have?”
    “Beer?”
    “Heineken or Bud Light?”
    “Let’s go with the Bud.”
    “Bud it is.” Ambrose set the cold bottle on the bar. “Rica tells me you’re working on the murder case.”
    Scott took a long swallow. The beer felt good going down. “Yeah.”
    “Any leads?” Ambrose smiled when Scott shrugged. “Or nothing you can talk about?”
    Scott shook his head. “Just nothing concrete yet.” He took another hit on the beer. “It doesn’t work like on TV.”
    “Neither does surgery.” Ambrose came out from behind the bar, carrying his own glass of wine and one for Rica, who was talking to a woman in the family room.
    Scott raised his bottle to the doctor. It seemed they had some common ground, after all. Scott followed as Ambrose took the wine to Rica.
    “Rica here is my best nurse.” Dr. Ambrose threw an arm around Rica. Scott knew he needed to stifle the surge of jealousy. Ambrose looked down at Rica, and she gazed up at him with admiration in her eyes. He tossed back another slug of beer. She used to look at him that way.
    “You make it easy, Bryce.” Rica made no move to get away from Ambrose, and when they started toward the patio, his arm stayed around her shoulders. Ambrose only let go of her when he had to tend the steaks.
    Scott had drained the beer, working on peeling off the label, when he realized Ambrose was standing in front of him, speaking. “Scott, how do you want your steak?” Many sets of eyes watched; Ambrose must have had to ask him more than once.
    “Medium, please.” He searched the crowd for Rica and saw her beside the grill, still nursing the original glass of wine, her brows forming a storm cloud above her eyes.
    “There’s more beer in the cooler by the pool,” Ambrose turned back to his cooking. “Help yourself.”
    “I guess I’ll do that,” Scott muttered, so low he could barely hear himself. He wandered over to the cooler, and stood between the anesthesiologist and the wife of one of the doctors, but their conversation was about people he didn’t know. Though he listened for ten minutes, he could find no way to jump in. He tried another group, gathered