The Surgeon: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel: With Bonus Content

braless teenage magnificence, nipples poking against sleeveless tee shirts. Dean Hobbs was getting an eyeful, and Rizzoli wondered if he’d already forgotten she was there.
    The story of my life. Pretty girl walks in; I turn invisible.
    She left the grocery store and went back to her car. Just that short time in the sun had baked the interior, so she opened the door and waited for the car to air out. On Lithia’s main street, nothing moved. She saw a gas station, a hardware store, and a cafe, but no people. The heat had driven everyone indoors, and she could hear the rattle of air conditioners up and down the street. Even in small-town America, no one sat outside fanning themselves anymore. The miracle of air conditioning had made the front porch irrelevant.
    She heard the grocery store door tinkle shut and saw the two girls stroll lazily out into the sun, the only creatures moving. As they walked up the street, Rizzoli saw curtains flick aside in a window. People noticed things in small towns. They certainly noticed pretty young women.
    Would they notice if one had gone missing?
    She shut the car door and went back into the grocery store.
    Mr. Hobbs was in the vegetable aisle, cunningly burying the fresh lettuce heads at the back of the cooler bin, moving the wilted heads to the front.
    “Mr. Hobbs?”
    He turned. “You back again?”
    “Another question.”
    “Don’t mean I have an answer.”
    “Do any Asian women live in this town?”
    This was a question he had not anticipated, and he just looked at her in bafflement. “What?”
    “A Chinese or Japanese woman. Or maybe a Native American.”
    “We got a coupla black families,” he offered, as though they might do instead.
    “There’s a woman who may be missing. Long black hair, very straight, past her shoulders.”
    “And you say she’s Oriental?”
    “Or possibly Native American.”
    He laughed. “Hell, I don’t think she’s any of those.”
    Rizzoli’s attention perked up. He had turned back to the vegetable bin and began layering old zucchinis on top of the fresh shipment.
    “Who’s
she
, Mr. Hobbs?”
    “Not Oriental, that’s for sure. Not Indian, either.”
    “You know her?”
    “Seen her in here, once or twice. She’s renting the old Sturdee Farm for the summer. Tall girl. Not all that pretty.”
    Yes, he would notice that last fact.
    “When was the last time you saw her?”
    He turned and yelled: “Hey, Margaret!”
    The door to a back room swung open and Mrs. Hobbs came out. “What?”
    “Didn’t you drop off a delivery at the Sturdee place last week?”
    “Yeah.”
    “That gal out there look okay to you?”
    “She paid me.”
    Rizzoli asked, “Have you seen her since, Mrs. Hobbs?”
    “Haven’t had a reason to.”
    “Where is this Sturdee Farm?”
    “Out on West Fork. Last place on the road.”
    Rizzoli looked down as her beeper went off. “Can I use your telephone?” she asked. “My cell phone just died.”
    “It’s not a long-distance call, is it?”
    “Boston.”
    He grunted and turned back to his zucchini display. “Pay phone’s outside.”
    Cursing under her breath, Rizzoli stalked out again into the heat, found the pay phone, and thrust coins into the slot.
    “Detective Frost.”
    “You just paged me.”
    “Rizzoli? What’re you doing out in Western Mass?”
    To her dismay, she realized he knew her location, thanks to caller ID. “I took a little drive.”
    “You’re still working the case, aren’t you?”
    “I’m just asking a few questions. Not a big deal.”
    “Shit, if—” Frost abruptly lowered his voice. “If Marquette finds out—”
    “You’re not gonna tell him, are you?”
    “No way. But get back in here. He’s looking for you and he’s pissed.”
    “I’ve got one more place to check out here.”
    “Listen to me, Rizzoli.
Let it go,
or you’ll blow whatever chance you’ve still got in the unit.”
    “Don’t you see? I’ve already blown it! I’m already fucked!” Blinking away tears, she turned and stared bitterly up the empty street, where dust blew like hot ash. “He’s all I’ve got now. The Surgeon. There’s nothing left for me except to nail him.”
    “The staties have already been out there. They came up empty-handed.”
    “I know.”
    “So what are
you
doing there?”
    “Asking the questions they
didn’t
ask.” She hung up.
    Then she got in her car and drove off to find the black-haired woman.

     

twenty-six
    T he Sturdee Farm was the only house