Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I’m just telling you what my dad said.”
“Well … he’s lying,” I murmured with my back to her, and my heart pounding against my ribs the way it did when I thought I was in trouble or when I jumped off the high diving board at the pool. It made it hard to breathe, and it felt painful and a little scary.
I was too young to understand, or maybe I didn’t want to think about what that meant. “I have to go home.”
“Don’t tell your dad I told you. I don’t want him to be mad at my dad or at me.”
My unpredictable relationship with Josie should have prepared me for that moment—the one where things that seemed upright were actually upside down. Where the sky was green and the grass was blue. It was like Josie breaking up with me then kissing me. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to understand everything; I just needed to nod and accept it. Whatever it was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What’s up with you and the detective?” Alicia, one of the morgue techs, asks me as we change into our PPE in the locker room.
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
She smirks. “I heard he calls and always wants to talk to you, not Dr. Cornwell. And I saw the two of you having lunch outside the other day.”
“We weren’t having lunch outside. I was trying to eat my lunch outside, and he insisted on ruining it by asking me questions about an autopsy I haven’t performed.”
“You sound angry.” She laughs. “I take it you don’t care for him?”
“Astute observation. We went to school together.” I tie my black apron.
“I see. Childhood archenemies?”
“Not exactly. The enemy part came after we graduated and went our separate ways. For the most part, we were … friends growing up.” Who am I kidding? We were more than friends. I would have been fine saying goodbye to my friend Colten Mosley after we graduated, but we were a lot more than friends. Or maybe that was a miscalculation on my part.
“What happened?” Alicia pulls her booties on over her tennis shoes and all the way up her legs, close to her knees.
“It’s a long story.” I lie. It’s a rather short story. With the grace of a dirty bomb, he obliterated my heart and wished me good luck at college. There were a few pathetic moments that I blamed his dad. Had his dad been a better role model, maybe Colten would have known how to treat someone you supposedly love.
Maybe his dad didn’t really love his mom, just like Colten didn’t really love me.
“We should get a drink sometime, and you can tell me all about your long story.”
“I don’t drink alcohol.” I shut my locker door.
“Why? You’ve seen too many ugly livers?”
I laugh. “Ironically, no. That’s not it. I’ve just never had any desire to drink alcohol.”
“Ever?”
I shake my head.
“Were either one of your parents an alcoholic?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t drink in college? At all?”
“Nope. Cough syrup and kombucha is the extent of my alcohol consumption.”
“That’s … crazy.” Alicia follows me to the autopsy suite.
“I know. But it’s true.”
“Well, I’ve seen you eat, so we’ll talk about your juicy past over greasy onion rings and two virgin margaritas.”
“Deal.”
I half expect to see Detective Mosley waiting for me in the autopsy suite because my first case today is another body missing its legs from what investigators believe was likely a saw. That makes three. By the end of the morning, we might officially have a serial killer on our hands.
Before I take lunch, I make a courtesy call to Detective Mosley.
“Circular saw. Red handle. Six-foot cord. Am I right, Dr. Watts?”
“Something like that.” I roll my eyes and plop down into my desk chair, shaking my mouse to wake up my computer screen.
“Do I get brownie points for waiting for your call instead of visiting you?”
“I don’t know, Detective. Are you a Girl Scout?”
“Just a do-gooder. Run-of-the-mill nice guy who happens to catch killers and put them in prison to keep citizens like yourself safe.”
I should have left on my PPE; the shit’s getting deep.
“You might catch the killer with the help of me and my team, but you don’t put anyone in prison. I’m pretty sure that’s the DA’s job.”
“I don’t remember your ego being so sensitive, Watts.”
“I don’t remember your arrogance hogging all the credit, Mosley.”
He chuckles. “Okay. I’d love to spend the day flirting with you like this, but I have a job to do. Give me the rundown.”
I open my mouth to protest his ridiculous accusation that I’m flirting with him, but I, too, have things to do, so I get back to business and confirm everything he already suspects.
“Why cut off the legs if you’re not planning on burying it or transporting it?” he asks.
“Well, I’m a forensic pathologist not a forensic psychologist, but it’s possible that he or she had something happen to them in their past. If my husband beat me, kicked me repeatedly, and I decided to kill him, I might remove his legs.”