Frozen Stiff by Annelise Ryan

widower. He has a daughter named Patricia Nottingham who lives across town.”
    “Does he have a shitload of money?”
    I shrug, as does Izzy. “I doubt it, based on the way he was living,” I say, “but even if he was rich, the daughter doesn’t strike me as the killer type.”
    Richmond looks amused. “Considering that Hurley was nearly done in thanks to your supposed ability to recognize a killer, you’ll understand why I might want to reserve judgment for now.”
    If looks could kill, Richmond would be heaped on one of the autopsy tables right now, assuming we could find a skid loader to hoist him onto it.
    “Poisoning is typically a pretty personal method of killing someone,” Richmond goes on, ignoring my glare. “Know of anyone else in his life who was close to him?”
    Izzy and I both shake our heads. I stop glaring at Richmond and turn away so he can’t see the expression on my face. Richmond might be irritating and semiretired, but I’ve heard that he’s also a decent detective and that means he’s good at reading people. I don’t want to give him any opportunities to read me.
    “We just got this case last evening,” Izzy explains in our defense. “The gentleman was brought into the ER as a PNB and had a cardiac history. We thought initially is was a natural death.”
    “But there’s no indication his heart was the cause?” Richmond asks.
    Izzy shakes his head. “Nope, absolutely none.” He gestures toward the partially dissected brain on his side of the table. “And this was the last place I had to look for an alternate cause. There is no evidence at all at this point that any natural disease process led to this man’s death.”
    Richmond frowns. “How soon can you confirm the cyanide theory?”
    “We have a rapid test we can do here. If it’s positive it will be enough combined with the history and symptomology we’ve obtained for me to make a presumptive call. But the rapid test can give false positive results on rare occasions, so to get a definitive answer I’ll have to send samples off to Madison for testing. It will take a couple of days to get those results.”
    A grumbling sound emanates from Richmond and I’m not sure if he’s vocalizing something, or if it’s just his stomach rumbling. “So how long is this rapid test gonna take?” he asks.
    “Give me five minutes and I’ll have an answer for you.” Izzy takes a sample of the stomach contents and leaves the autopsy room. Richmond is right on his heels, leaving me alone with Minniver’s body. I look at him lying there, his body flayed open, his scalp turned inside out and pulled down over his face, his brain pan empty. It reminds me of what I said to his daughter, about how an autopsy is a dignified process, much like a surgery. I can’t help but wonder what she would think if she knew the reality.
    I finish collecting and labeling my samples and both Izzy and Richmond return just as I’m finishing.
    “The rapid test was positive,” Izzy announces.
    Richmond nods. “I had dispatch call this Nottingham woman. She’s at home so I’m going to go over there and talk with her, see what I can dredge up. You want to come along to let her know the results?” Richmond asks Izzy. “I already delivered a death notice to the Dunkirk woman’s family this weekend and I don’t relish having to do it again.”
    “I’ll do it,” I offer. When Izzy shoots me a surprised look I add, “Well, I spoke with the daughter last night so I already have a rapport with her. Plus it is part of my job description.”
    “Is it something you’re comfortable doing?” Izzy asks.
    I shrug. “Those kinds of discussions are never comfortable, but I’ve done it enough times as a nurse that I’m used to it.”
    Izzy nods and says, “Okay then. I’ll close up Mr. Minniver here and finish the paperwork.”
    Richmond blows out a huge sigh that fills the air with the faint scent of fried onions. I can’t tell if he’s miffed that I’ll