CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sun was barely above the horizon when Reece entered the surgery to find Doc Turner, shoulders sagging, eyes downcast, slumped in a chair, staring into space. He turned and blew out a sigh. “Sheriff has gone, Reece. Dead. I have been sitting here trying to work it out but nothing I can think of gives me an answer.”
Stepping over to the table on which Fieyn lay dead, Reece drew in a long breath. “You’re sure he didn’t … you know, just die?”
There was no reply.
Reece moved closer, pulled up another chair, hard-backed and somewhat past its prime. It creaked as he sat. “Doc? How did he die?”
“Not from heart failure, that’s for sure.” His head came up, his eyes piercing. “And don’t question my credentials or my ability to—”
Instantly, Reece swung up his hands, “Hey
