Free Spirited 1 by Mary Behre

vinyl skirt encasing the body of a woman, mostly buried beneath the garbage, came into view.
    Hairs rose on Seth’s arms.
    Jones stood to his full height, which only made him appear slightly shorter than a giant since he stood on a mountain of rotting food, and glared at Gareth. “Did you allow anyone else in here?”
    “Of course not!” Gareth answered through clenched teeth, his hands fisted at his sides. “I didn’t let her in! Besides, this isn’t even part of the crime scene.” He pointed to the yellow taped area. “That’s where I was told the crime scene was. What the hell is going on?”
    “Never mind,” Seth interrupted, waving the young officer into silence. Turning back to Jones, he asked, “Is she fresh?”
    “She’s cold,” Jones answered at the same time Gareth asked, “Is who fresh?”
    Gareth abandoned his post near Jules and peered into the Dumpster. His eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”
    Indeed.
    “Get back to your post.” Seth dismissed the soon-to-be meter maid. He focused on activity within the bin. “We can still limit the damage to the crime scene. Provided no one else contaminates it. Jones, radio Harmon and get him to bring more tape. Tell ’im to call in the ME.”
    Jones nodded, made a quick radio call, then dropped to his haunches. He poked at the area surrounding the body, clearing away some of the debris. “Looks like she’s been in here awhile. Rigor’s already set in. Need the ME to know for sure how long.”
    Behind them, Gareth yelled, “Wait!”
     • • • 
    T HE WORLD SPUN around her as Jules’s vision ended. Man, she hated that feeling. What was with the ghost sending her the awful memories of the murder, again ?
    It had been identical to the vision she’d had last night. The trunk of the Buick—although, come to think of it, she had no idea how she knew it was a Buick—was the same, just like every other second of the dream.
    Didn’t the specter have someone else to haunt? Like the murderer? Why couldn’t she go stalk him?
    And why couldn’t the visions come without the intense physical need to . . . A spasm of warning ripped through her rebellious stomach and sweat beaded on her face.
    “Arrggh.” She bolted upright.
    “Wait!” Officer Chaz Gareth reached for his gun.
    Gasping in surprise, she pushed to her knees and nearly stumbled again. She clutched her belly. “Excuse me.”
    The patrolman grabbed her arm, none too gently.
    “Lady, you need to wait right here. You’re a—” He cut himself off.
    He must have seen the look on her face because he practically shoved her away and sidestepped to clear her path.
    Jules raced back to the florist shop. With one hand over her mouth, she tried to stave off the inevitable. As long as no one else slowed her down, she’d make it to the bathroom without mortifying herself by yakking all over the loading dock.
    Behind her, shoes slapped the pavement in rapid staccato taps. Someone was chasing her. Assuming it was the young patrolman, she kept going.
    “Hey,” a familiar voice called out. “Stop running! Juliana . . . Jules, we need to talk.”
    Seth the Cop’s voice penetrated her brain at the same time the normally delicious aroma of sandalwood battered her senses.
    Dang and darn!
    The scent intensified her need to hurl. Bile rose in her throat. Another spasm wrenched her stomach.
    She flung open the back door. The door buzzing swept relief through her system because she was going to make it.
    Then he caught her by the shoulders, pulling her to a shuddering halt.
    She spun, pushing at the cop’s chest. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes were dark with concern and agitation. She shook her head and gulped uselessly.
    Oh, no! Please, God, spare me just a little dignity.
    “I’m gonna be—” was all she managed to say. She tried to turn away, but he caught her by both arms this time. She flung her hands against his chest to keep some distance between them, hoping it would be enough.
    It