Page 27 of Hell In A Handbasket
“How far are we from the remains?” Ignoring the rest of them, I bring my focus back to Sophia and slap the case file down. Whipping it open, I spread images across the counter. “You say they discovered her the day before yesterday, right? The scene pictures imply she’s out of town or something. Somewhere with minimal foot traffic.”
“Mmhm. Body’s about twenty minutes from here.” She looks up with a blinding smile and accepts an icy cold shake in a tall steel cup. “Thank you.”
“What has the current investigative team done so far? What specialists are involved?”
“Local police, I guess.” She brings the straw between her lips and sucks the thick liquid into her mouth. “Damn, that’s good. Babe.” She spins on the stool, bumping my thigh with her knees. “Jay. The shakes are amazing.”
“Fuckin’ A. I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since the airport.”
“Sophia?” I grab the strap of her bag and swing her back around. “What’s the status of the case?”
“Medical examiner from the next town over took a look.” She turns again, tilting her head to the side as Aubree finds a seat and settles in opposite Tim. “They’re not accustomed to this kind of stuff, so they passed the file on and asked for more experienced hands. Hence,” she studies Aubree’s eyes, but shrugs the shoulder closest to me. “You. It’s not like I have a bunch of medical examiners in my rolodex, and, considering I have the best one, I saw no reason to look elsewhere.”
Suspicious, Aubree narrows her eyes. “What’s going on, Sophia?”
“Food.” She spins again and slams her shake back to the counter. “They don’t have the same forensics technology out here, and the M.E. is more experienced with announcing death, not studying it. She’s about eighty years old and hasn’t brushed up on her textbook knowledge since the invention of the internet. The M.E,” she quips. “Not the dead body. I’m not sure what her job was yet.”
“Which brings me to my next point.” I tug out the image of the vic’s legs. “She’s had a total knee replacement.”
“Yeah?” Some people pretend to be smart and do a poor job of it. And then there’s Sophia Solomon, pretending to be dumb. And she’s just as successful as the former. “Huh. Guess I didn’t notice before.”
“What the hell do you mean you didn’t notice? It’s right there! The components are?—”
“Curly fries.” The server sets a bowl on top of my DB’s images and wanders around the counter with another bowl for Jay.
“Thank you!” Soph snags a piping hot fry and fast-passes it between her hands. “They smell delicious.”
I shove the bowl aside and tear my files out from beneath, snarling at the moisture ring already marking the dead woman’s tibia. “Dammit, Soph. Are youtryingto be a pain in my ass, or does it come naturally to you?”
“Well, shit.” On the other side of the diner, Cato bounds up from his chair, the legs scraping against the floor and silverware clattering when his thighs hit. Then he dashes across the room and plasters his face to the glass window. “She’s purrrrty.”
Frustrated, I turn and search the street outside. Considering how uninhabited this town is, it takes a mere second to find his newest infatuation in tiny denim shorts and a flowy tank top. The fact she’s young and fit and pretty doesn’t surprise me. But the blonde hair kinda does.
He typically leans brunette.
“Leave the locals alone,” Archer grumbles. “We’re only gonna be here for a day.”
“Exactly. A day to capture her heart and leave her wanting more.” He side-shuffles all the way to the door, then, slinging it wide, he stops on the threshold and cups his mouth. “Hey! You. You’re pretty.”
“Oh my lawd,” Jen guffaws. “Tell me that’s not how he usually plays the game? Because no self-respecting woman would respond to?—”
The pretty one stops in the street and shields her eyes, staring back this way.
And then she smiles.
“Welp…” Jen lowers onto Corey’s lap, humbled. “Guess the kids these days do things differently.” She shakes her head and cuddles against his chest. “I’m never breaking up with you, Popeye. I couldn’t date in this new, weird world.”
“Who are you?” The pretty one shouts. Since, of course, doing so in a small town is totally normal. “What’s your name?”
“Got her.” Cato glances back and brushes invisible dust off his shoulder. “The ladies simply cannot refuse me.”
“You already got laid today,” Fletch snickers. “You aren’t done yet?”
Cato shoots a fiery glare his way, then lifting his chin, he turns toward the street and steps through the doorway. “My name’s Cato. What’s yours?”
“How do you know he got laid today?” Jess asks. Then she wrinkles her nose. “Does he announce it? Does he talk about his dick a lot?”
“Blondie!”
