Page 8 of Taken by the Ripper (Time for Monsters #9)

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ne didn’t truly understand what they’d lost until it was gone. And yes, that meant Clara’s morning coffee.

Little by little, what had been left of their stash of coffee beans in the pantry had dwindled until it was gone entirely, and she couldn’t justify the expense of purchasing it any longer when she needed to choose food over alertness.

But what she wouldn’t give to have it today.

For good measure, she opened the pantry for the eighth time and searched in vain for a container of coffee beans as if it might magically appear in front of her eyes.

It didn’t.

And now she was going to be cranky and exhausted and running on a few hours of sleep for the rest of the day. She had to meet with the detective to examine the body, so she regrettably added shadows around her eyes to the lengthy list of what was about to make her terrible company.

She rubbed her aching, tired eyes after she finished checking on the infant.

He was stable, and his fever had disappeared in the wee hours of morning.

The police were scheduled to pick him up in a few hours to take him to the orphanage.

There was little else Clara could do for him that those running the orphanage couldn’t do themselves.

Despite the vampire mishap last night, she was grateful she’d gotten the medicine to the child in time. Even if he now had to live without a mother or father to love him and ensure his care.

Handing the child off to Norma and her patients now resting after receiving care, Clara changed from her regular blue dress and white apron to a gray long-sleeved blouse tucked into a dark gray plaid skirt.

The only pop of color she allowed was a dark red belt matching the ribbon flower pinned to her bonnet.

Only at the door did she realize that the gray likely enhanced the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

The first step outside blinded her as the piercing rays of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead and offered an immediate headache.

Still, she was grateful for the light. Venturing into the city with nothing other than darkness to follow in every waking footstep was not high on her to-do-again list. In fact, it made it on her to-never-do-again list entirely.

Taking a deep, exhausted breath, she exited the gates, only to freeze as clomping hooves alerted her to the carriage pulling up to the estate.

Instinctively, she backed up until her shoulders brushed against the bars of the gate, and she slowly reached into her basket filled with medical supplies until her fingers grasped the scalpel hiding within.

She refused to be taken off guard by vampires without a good fight.

However, as the carriage rolled to a stop, Detective La Cour stepped out. Her defenses fell as a relieved sigh, and her hand dropped to her side.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “I’m supposed to meet you.”

“I’m not entirely rude, Miss Thompson.” His mouth twitched as if he found his statement amusing. “I’m not about to make you walk the entire way to the morgue.”

“Not entirely?” She raised an eyebrow, never breaking eye contact as she stepped into the carriage as he held open the door for her.

Only when he joined her, closed the door, and pounded on the top of the carriage to signal for the driver to move did she say, “So you admit you’re a little bit rude then. ”

“I admit nothing.”

The carriage lurched forward, and in her state of exhaustion, she lost her balance and braced her hand on La Cour’s knee across from her. She quickly snatched it back, her eyes wide with mortification.

“I apologize.”

“No harm done.” He pulled out his small notebook, and she swore it looked even more battered and bruised than only yesterday.

Teacups and teacakes, had it only been yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago.

In the dim light of the carriage, she noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes, his rumpled hair, the wrinkled clothing. Almost as if he’d slept at his desk rather than changing into a new pair of clothes the next day.

“You look tired,” she commented.

“ I look tired? You look like you were up with patients until dawn.” He chuckled and ran a hand over his face.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was buried in paperwork and charting the case.

” He took a sip from a canteen, and the aroma of coffee hit her like a ton of mouthwatering bricks smashing into her senses at full force.

Unfortunately, he noticed her perk up.

“You need it more than I do.” He handed his canteen over, and in her state of exhaustion, she shamelessly took a sip of the hot, bitter liquid.

She sighed in relief when her mind instantly became alert, if only for the promise of the caffeine within.

It was much better than tea to keep her going today, that was for certain.

With brows furrowed, the detective flipped through his notebook and rubbed a hand over his chin. For a moment, she studied the sharp angles of his face and the strand of hair flopping over his eye. Only yesterday, she’d thought him in need of an asylum.

But today?

She couldn’t help but wonder just how much of his claims were true.

She cleared her throat to distract from her discomforting thoughts. “What will I be looking for at the morgue?”

He shrugged one shoulder and glanced briefly at her before returning his attention to his notebook.

“I don’t know. Anything. I cannot make heads or tails of the damage.

The coroner is pathetically useless. Even I can tell he had no idea what he was doing after the autopsy for the second victim.

I cringe to think what kind of damage he might have caused with the third. ”

“Surely, it can’t be that bad.”

This time, he set his notebook in his lap to give her a pointed look. “He sliced a lung and the heart attempting the feat. Even a drunkard off the street would be more competent than this imbecile.”

Clara quickly ducked her head and covered her mouth with a hand to keep herself from laughing. Yes, the detective might be rude, but he had an amusing sense of humor.

“Ah, here we are,” he murmured moments before the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the morgue.

It was as if a cloud passed over the sky, sending the world spiraling into a morbid sense of darkness.

A murder of crows perched in a tree above the building, likely drawn to the smell of death and decay.

The detective produced a handkerchief from his pocket with a flourish and handed it to her, also finding one for himself. “The smell isn’t too bad. But better to be safe. Just in case.”

She gratefully accepted it from him. “I assure you, the things I have smelled at my infirmary pale in comparison to a decomposing body.”

He stopped on the step down from the carriage and studied her over his shoulder. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

He shook his head, stepped to the ground, and held out a hand to help her out of the carriage. “It’s nothing. Only that you continue to surprise me, Miss Thompson.”

This time, she couldn’t help but laugh as she accepted his strong hand, his long fingers momentarily wrapped around hers.

“Is it so surprising that a young lady might have an interest in the macabre?” Well, she wasn’t quite as young as she used to be and was considered a spinster to the upper-class society, but she did not feel like an old maid. Yet.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “A young lady, such as yourself, should be interested in courtship and marriage, babies and sewing. Instead, your eyes light up at the very mention of human dissection.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Which is why I’m not married. Any such husband would forbid me from practicing my craft. I won’t give it up for anybody.”

“And if your husband supported your craft?”

Her gaze snapped toward the detective, and suddenly she found her hands stealing the moisture directly from her mouth. It dried while perspiration only seemed to grow colder on her palms.

His expression remained blank, and his intentions entirely unreadable. Therefore, she opted for more humor. “The poor sap would be thoroughly wrapped around my little finger if that were the case. Anyway, we’re here.”

They reached the door of the building, and the strong scent of chemicals and decay hit her nose like a hammer to the skull. From previous experience, she knew after a few minutes, she would become desensitized to the smell. But the first few breaths were always the most difficult.

“D-d-detective,” a short man with a patchy beard said as he rushed forward.

But as La Cour pushed past him as if he confidently knew where he was headed, the shorter man kept up at his side like a dog obediently following its master.

“The body is ready for…” He trailed off and stared at Clara as if he’d never seen a woman in his life.

However, the prolonged staring became uncomfortable, even more so when his mouth dropped open and he was dumb with silence.

“Eyes ahead, Coroner,” the detective barked. “We all know she’s beautiful, but it’s rude to stare.”

At first, surprise jolted through her body at the man’s words. But then a scowl pulled on her mouth, and she clutched her basket tight to her chest. Was he trying to belittle her? What was his game?

The coroner showed them the prepared body lying on a table, and Clara immediately went to work as she set out her tools on a nearby table. The short man retreated to a dark corner while La Cour remained by her side, a little too close for her liking.

The moment the silence stretched a bit too long, she murmured, “There is no need to mock me.”

“Mock you?” He reeled back as if she’d struck him in the face.

“Do you even realize at least half of your patients who were conscious followed you with their lovestruck gazes when you weren’t watching?

I assumed you knew you were a beautiful woman.

” He paused and pressed his lips together. “It seems you don’t.”