Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

ringleader, backed up by her princesses. The only one who regarded Claire with any obvious sympathy was Bear the dog, who rose from his usual place at Julian’s feet and trotted over to her. She slipped him a morsel of meat under the table and blinked away tears when he gave her a grateful lick on the hand. Dogs were so much kinder than humans. They accepted you just the way you were. She reached down andburied her hand in Bear’s thick fur. At least he would always be her friend.
    “Can I sit at your table?”
    She looked up to see Teddy holding his dinner tray. “Be my guest. But you know what’ll happen if you do.”
    “What?”
    “You’ll never be one of the cool kids.”
    “Never was anyway.” He sat down, and she looked at his meal of boiled potatoes, brussels sprouts, and lima beans.
    “What are you, a vegetarian?”
    “I’m allergic.”
    “To what?”
    “Fish. Shrimp. Eggs.” He used his fingers to count down his list of allergies. “Wheat. Peanuts. Tomatoes. And maybe, but I’m not sure, strawberries.”
    “Geez, how do you not starve to death?”
    “I’m as carnivorous as you are.”
    She looked at his pale face, his matchstick arms, and thought: You are the least carnivorous-looking boy I’ve ever met.
    “I like meat. Yesterday, I ate the chicken.” He paused, and his cheeks suddenly suffused with pink. “Sorry,” he murmured.
    “I didn’t kill Herman. No matter what they’re all saying about me.”
    “They’re not
all
saying that.”
    She slapped her fork on the table. “I’m not stupid, Teddy.”
    “Will believes you. And Julian says a good investigator always avoids snap judgments.”
    She glanced at the other table and caught Briana’s sneer. “Bet
she’s
not defending me.”
    “Is it because of Julian?”
    She looked at Teddy. “What?”
    “Is that why you and Briana hate each other? Because you both like Julian?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Briana says you’ve got a crush on him.” Teddy looked at Bear, who wagged his tail, hoping for another morsel of food. “And that’s why you’re always fussing over his dog, to make Julian like you.”
    Was that what everyone thought? She gave Bear a sudden shove and snapped, “Stop bothering me, stupid dog.”
    The whole dining room heard it and turned to look at her as she stood up.
    “Why are you leaving?” said Teddy.
    She didn’t answer. Just walked out of the dining hall, out of the building.
    Outside it was not yet dark, but another lingering summer twilight. The swallows were whirling and looping in the sky. She walked the stone path around the building, halfheartedly scanning the shadows for the telltale flashes of fireflies. The crickets were chirping so loudly that at first she did not hear the clatter overhead. Then something tumbled down and thudded right at her feet. A chunk of slate.
    That could have hit me!
    She looked up and saw a figure perched on the edge of the roof. Silhouetted against the night sky, arms spread wide like wings, it seemed poised to take flight.
    No, she wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her throat.
No
.
    The figure leaped. Against the darkening sky, the swallows continued to circle and soar, but the body plummeted straight down, a doomed bird stripped of its wings.
    When Claire opened her eyes again, she saw the black pool spreading on the path, widening like a corona around Dr. Anna Welliver’s shattered skull.
    T HE CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER in the state of Maine was Dr. Daljeet Singh, whom Maura had met years earlier at a forensic pathology conference. At every conference since then, they’d made it a traditionto meet for dinner, where they’d discuss odd cases and share photos of vacations and family. But it was not Daljeet who emerged from the white SUV with the ME placard; instead a young woman stepped out, dressed in boots, cargo pants, and a fleece jacket, as if she’d come straight from a hiking trail. She strode past the Maine State Police vehicles with the confident gait of someone who knew her way around a death scene, and walked straight toward Maura.
    “I’m Dr. Emma Owen. And you’re Dr. Isles, right?”
    “Good guess,” Maura said as they automatically shook hands, although it felt strange to do so with another woman. Especially a woman who looked scarcely old enough to have finished college, much less a pathology fellowship.
    “Not a guess, really. I saw your photo in that article you wrote last year in
Journal of