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Bloody Bones :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 29 из 272Larry sat beside me in his wrinkled blue suit. The cops wouldn't mind his cheap suit. My outfit, on the other hand, might raise a few eyebrows. There aren't many female cops out in the boonies. And fewer who wear short red skirts. I was beginning to really regret my choice of clothes. Insecure: who, me?
Larry's face was shiny with excitement. His eyes sparkled like a kid's on Christmas Day. He was drumming his fingers on the armrest. Nervous tension.
"How you doing?"
"I've never been to a murder scene before," he said.
"There's always a first time."
"Thanks for letting me come along."
"Just remember the rules."
He laughed. "Don't touch anything. Don't walk through the blood. Don't speak unless spoken to." He frowned. "Why the last? I understand all the others, but why can't I talk?"
"I'm a member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. You're not. If you go around saying golly gee whiz a dead body, they may catch on."
"I won't embarrass you." He sounded insulted; then a thought occurred to him. "Are we impersonating police officers?"
"No. Keep repeating I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad."
"But I'm not," he said.
"That's why I don't want you talking."
"Oh," he said. He settled back into his seat, a little of the shine dimming around the edges. "I've never actually seen a freshly dead body before."
"You raise the dead for a living, Larry. You see corpses all the time."
"It's not the same thing, Anita." He sounded grumpy.
I glanced at him. He had slumped down as far into the seat as the seat belt would allow, arms crossed over his chest. We were at the crest of a hill. A band of sunlight fell like an explosion over his orange hair. His blue eyes looked translucent for a moment as we passed from light into shadow. He looked all scrunched and sulky.
"Have you ever seen a dead person outside of a funeral or a freshly raised zombie?"
He was quiet for a minute. I concentrated on driving, letting the silence fill the Jeep. It was a comfortable silence, at least for me.
"No," he said at last. He sounded like a little boy who had been told he couldn't go outside and play.
"I'm not always good around fresh bodies either," I said.
He looked at me sort of sideways. "What do you mean?"
It was my turn to scrunch into the seat. I fought the urge and sat up straighter. "I threw up on a murder victim once." Even saying it very fast, it was still embarrassing.
Larry's face was shiny with excitement. His eyes sparkled like a kid's on Christmas Day. He was drumming his fingers on the armrest. Nervous tension.
"How you doing?"
"I've never been to a murder scene before," he said.
"There's always a first time."
"Thanks for letting me come along."
"Just remember the rules."
He laughed. "Don't touch anything. Don't walk through the blood. Don't speak unless spoken to." He frowned. "Why the last? I understand all the others, but why can't I talk?"
"I'm a member of the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. You're not. If you go around saying golly gee whiz a dead body, they may catch on."
"I won't embarrass you." He sounded insulted; then a thought occurred to him. "Are we impersonating police officers?"
"No. Keep repeating I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad, I'm a member of the Spook Squad."
"But I'm not," he said.
"That's why I don't want you talking."
"Oh," he said. He settled back into his seat, a little of the shine dimming around the edges. "I've never actually seen a freshly dead body before."
"You raise the dead for a living, Larry. You see corpses all the time."
"It's not the same thing, Anita." He sounded grumpy.
I glanced at him. He had slumped down as far into the seat as the seat belt would allow, arms crossed over his chest. We were at the crest of a hill. A band of sunlight fell like an explosion over his orange hair. His blue eyes looked translucent for a moment as we passed from light into shadow. He looked all scrunched and sulky.
"Have you ever seen a dead person outside of a funeral or a freshly raised zombie?"
He was quiet for a minute. I concentrated on driving, letting the silence fill the Jeep. It was a comfortable silence, at least for me.
"No," he said at last. He sounded like a little boy who had been told he couldn't go outside and play.
"I'm not always good around fresh bodies either," I said.
He looked at me sort of sideways. "What do you mean?"
It was my turn to scrunch into the seat. I fought the urge and sat up straighter. "I threw up on a murder victim once." Even saying it very fast, it was still embarrassing.