Love you to Death by Shannon K. Butcher Page B

knew from experience that separating them from the rest of the body made identification much more difficult and time-consuming for the police.
    Gary was enjoying himself too much to allow the police to find him.
    He’d just lifted the body to carry it up from the basement when his cell phone rang.
    Gary pulled off the surgical gloves, dug under the disposable plastic poncho, and retrieved the buzzing annoyance from his pocket.
    It was his brother.
    “Hello, Lawrence,” he answered.
    “Care to tell me what you’ve been up to?”
    Gary knew what he meant, but he found it more amusing to pretend ignorance. “Work, mostly. You?”
    “Stop playing dumb. I heard about the woman you met at Sally’s.”
    “I meet a lot of women there.” Among other places. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
    “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” asked Lawrence in a whisper.
    “Doing what?” he asked, just to get a rise out of his stuffy brother.
    Lawrence made a strangled sound of frustration. “You’re going to ruin everything. I have a business to run. I can’t have my brother behaving in such a deviant manner.”
    “Deviant? Some would say playing with dead people was deviant.”
    Gary could practically hear his brother’s spine straighten, each vertebra clicking into place. “I do not
play
with them. I perform an invaluable public service.”
    “You burn and bury corpses. It’s not curing cancer.”
    “I have a reputation to maintain, and you’re going to destroy it. You’re going to destroy everything I’ve worked for.”
    “Only if I’m caught,” said Gary. “And that’s not going to happen, is it?”
    “Well, I’m certainly not going to report you, if that’s what you mean.”
    “If you’re so worried, then you could always help me. Like you used to.” Getting rid of bodies was a lot easier when his brother cremated them. No muss, no fuss, no evidence. Too bad Lawrence had put his foot down a few months ago.
    As if that was going to stop Gary from finding all those women and bringing them home. He’d almost found enough pieces to finish stitching together the perfect body for Wendy to replace the one that had been crushed in the accident. The leg in his refrigerator was one of the last bits he was going to need. Just a few more pieces, and he’d be done. Wendy would be whole again.
    Then he could start all over. Give Wendy a sister to keep her company. Or a daughter. She’d always wanted a child, and now he could give her one.
    The thought made his heart pound as he gripped the phone tighter.
    “No,” said Lawrence. “I run a legitimate business. I won’t risk it for you or anyone else.”
    “That’s not what I hear,” said Gary. “I hear you’re working for one of the families, helping them the way you used to help me.”
    Haughty indignation rang in Lawrence’s tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Yes, you do. But I don’t mind. The more the merrier, right?”
    “Stop it, Gary. I mean
now
. No more.”
    “Or else what? What do you think you could possibly do to me? Have me offed by your new Mafia friends?”
    “Don’t tempt me.”
    “You won’t do it. It’s too late for that. You’re an accomplice now,” said Gary, just to goad his brother.
    Lawrence was terrified of prison. He was homophobic to the point of paranoia, and convinced that if he went to jail, he’d end up as some con’s plaything.
    There was a long stretch of silence on the line before Lawrence spoke. “You’re getting sloppy. People are asking questions. It’s only a matter of time before your depravity is uncovered.”
    Depravity. Gary had often wondered if there was something wrong with him—if his need to take these perfect, beautiful creatures apart made him sick. It wasn’t as if he’d sought out this passion. It had landed in his lap—literally—the night Wendy died.
    It was a gift she’d given him as she departed. A way for them to stay connected even beyond