Diana Anderson - Entering Southern Country 01 - Famous in a Small Town by Diana Anderson Page B
Authors: Diana Anderson
Ads: Link
see why.”
“Why can’t you just tell me? I don’t read romance novels.”
Janie shook her head in frustration. “Son, it’s not just about romance. Look, you’re the sheriff, and if you want to know more about the Neals and what all went on in that trailer when she was growing up, you’ll read the book.”
“I thought you said this was a romance novel.”
Janie rolled her eyes.
29
Gaylene Peterson stood in the basement of the morgue with her arms wrapped around herself. From the moment she’d walked into the room, she hadn’t stopped shivering. The cold radiated off the pale green cinderblock walls as it did the concrete floor. One of the fluorescent lights overhead flickered and buzzed. The smell of formaldehyde was in the air.
She eyed the young attendant with curiosity and wondered how anyone could work in such a place. She noticed that he didn’t seem to be bothered by it—the smell, or the cold.
Strange , she thought, and he’s such a fine lookin’ young man .
She’d guessed he was about her age, forty-one. His hair was cropped short and was as black as his horned rimmed glasses.
“Why y’all gotta keep it so gall darned cold in here for?” Her dark brown eyes scanned the covered body on the gurney. She shivered hard. “You could hang meat in here.” She reached for her ponytail, and grabbed two handfuls of auburn hair, and stretched it to tighten the grip of the elastic band. She folded her arms around her middle again and looked up at Cal. “Can we get this over with? I’m missin’ my soaps.”
Cal nodded to the attendant. The man pulled back the linen sheet just enough to reveal the head of the body.
Gaylene covered her mouth. “Oh my g … !” Her face turned pale. She closed her eyes and jerked her head away.
“Are you okay, Miss Peterson?” Cal asked.
She nodded. “I just never saw a dead body that wasn’t all made up, or … fixed. He’s gotta big hole in his forehead.”
“I’m sorry to have to put you thorough this, but we need an ID on this guy. Do you recognize him?” Cal asked.
She forced herself to turn back and have another look. She swallowed hard. “I guess he was shot in the head, huh?”
When nobody replied. She nodded. “That’s him.” She looked away.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes, but he’s not so handsome anymore. It’s hard to believe by lookin’ at him now that he ever was.” She shivered hard again. “Can I go now?” She covered her mouth and then bent at the waist. “Oh, no.”
Cal reached to steady her. The attendant grabbed a nearby waste can and slid it in front of her.
When she had emptied her stomach, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That is so embarrassin’.”
“Don’t think a thing about it, Miss Peterson. You’re not the first person,” Cal said.
She straightened up and took a deep breath. The smell of formaldehyde and other chemicals caused her stomach to roll over again.
“Are you are okay?” Cal asked.
She nodded.
“Is this the man that was signed in at the Inn?” he asked again.
“Yes, that’s Jorge Ramirez. Well, that’s what his signature said anyways. He’s the one who always paid the bill. Paid in cash.”
“Listen, Gaylene, I need you to keep quiet about this.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”
He ran a hand over his chin and looked away. “We ask anyone who ID’s a body to not say anything until after we can locate the next of kin.”
She nodded. “Sure. No problem.”
Even a white lie, left a bad taste in Cal’s mouth, but he felt in his gut that the Neals’ murders were connected to the Ramirez murder.
* * *
Cal sat at his desk and read over the autopsy report of Virgil and Wanda. He shook his head. He couldn’t understand how anyone could be so cold and brutal. Since he’d been in law enforcement, he’d not seen anything like it. They had been beaten, and stabbed multiple times, and then the bullets ended their
“Why can’t you just tell me? I don’t read romance novels.”
Janie shook her head in frustration. “Son, it’s not just about romance. Look, you’re the sheriff, and if you want to know more about the Neals and what all went on in that trailer when she was growing up, you’ll read the book.”
“I thought you said this was a romance novel.”
Janie rolled her eyes.
29
Gaylene Peterson stood in the basement of the morgue with her arms wrapped around herself. From the moment she’d walked into the room, she hadn’t stopped shivering. The cold radiated off the pale green cinderblock walls as it did the concrete floor. One of the fluorescent lights overhead flickered and buzzed. The smell of formaldehyde was in the air.
She eyed the young attendant with curiosity and wondered how anyone could work in such a place. She noticed that he didn’t seem to be bothered by it—the smell, or the cold.
Strange , she thought, and he’s such a fine lookin’ young man .
She’d guessed he was about her age, forty-one. His hair was cropped short and was as black as his horned rimmed glasses.
“Why y’all gotta keep it so gall darned cold in here for?” Her dark brown eyes scanned the covered body on the gurney. She shivered hard. “You could hang meat in here.” She reached for her ponytail, and grabbed two handfuls of auburn hair, and stretched it to tighten the grip of the elastic band. She folded her arms around her middle again and looked up at Cal. “Can we get this over with? I’m missin’ my soaps.”
Cal nodded to the attendant. The man pulled back the linen sheet just enough to reveal the head of the body.
Gaylene covered her mouth. “Oh my g … !” Her face turned pale. She closed her eyes and jerked her head away.
“Are you okay, Miss Peterson?” Cal asked.
She nodded. “I just never saw a dead body that wasn’t all made up, or … fixed. He’s gotta big hole in his forehead.”
“I’m sorry to have to put you thorough this, but we need an ID on this guy. Do you recognize him?” Cal asked.
She forced herself to turn back and have another look. She swallowed hard. “I guess he was shot in the head, huh?”
When nobody replied. She nodded. “That’s him.” She looked away.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes, but he’s not so handsome anymore. It’s hard to believe by lookin’ at him now that he ever was.” She shivered hard again. “Can I go now?” She covered her mouth and then bent at the waist. “Oh, no.”
Cal reached to steady her. The attendant grabbed a nearby waste can and slid it in front of her.
When she had emptied her stomach, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That is so embarrassin’.”
“Don’t think a thing about it, Miss Peterson. You’re not the first person,” Cal said.
She straightened up and took a deep breath. The smell of formaldehyde and other chemicals caused her stomach to roll over again.
“Are you are okay?” Cal asked.
She nodded.
“Is this the man that was signed in at the Inn?” he asked again.
“Yes, that’s Jorge Ramirez. Well, that’s what his signature said anyways. He’s the one who always paid the bill. Paid in cash.”
“Listen, Gaylene, I need you to keep quiet about this.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”
He ran a hand over his chin and looked away. “We ask anyone who ID’s a body to not say anything until after we can locate the next of kin.”
She nodded. “Sure. No problem.”
Even a white lie, left a bad taste in Cal’s mouth, but he felt in his gut that the Neals’ murders were connected to the Ramirez murder.
* * *
Cal sat at his desk and read over the autopsy report of Virgil and Wanda. He shook his head. He couldn’t understand how anyone could be so cold and brutal. Since he’d been in law enforcement, he’d not seen anything like it. They had been beaten, and stabbed multiple times, and then the bullets ended their
Similar Books
