Free Prime Cut by Diane Mott Davidson Page B

this Monday."
     
     
"What?
     
     
Sheila's laugh was earthy and much-practiced. Working with Sheila, Tom had always told me, you developed a sense of humor or you died. Coroner joke. "I'm serious," she went on. "Monday is always the worst day at the morgue. You've got work from the weekend, unidentified bodies piling up, it's a mess."
     
     
"Ah," I said, sympathetic. "I see." Not that I really wanted to. "I've been wanting to treat the staff." Was she trying a bit too hard to sound cheerful? Her words came out in a rush. "So I was wondering if you'd like to cater a lunch for us? Monday? Here at the morgue?"
     
     
Tom had always had enormous respect for Sheila O'Connor. Now I did, too, as she wanted to give me work. She must know about Tom's suspension without pay. "Sure," I said, "I'd love to."
     
     
"About fifteen dollars a person sound good? We have a soft drink machine, so it could be sandwiches, burritos, whatever you want. Plus dessert. The six of us usually eat around noon."
     
     
"Sounds perfect. Listen, Sheila, what's going on with Andy Fuller?"
     
     
"Fuller's a problem," she replied tersely. "He doesn't know how to build a real case. Yesterday was a perfect example."
     
     
"But... will he get Cameron Burr convicted?" She snorted. "Unlikely." She hesitated. Then she added, "I'm sorry about Tom," and hung up.
     
     
So was I. I amended my calendar for Monday, August twenty-fifth. Lunch for Six, Furman County Morgue. A catered coffee break at the site of a murder and a lunch at the morgue. Things were looking up.
     
     
6
     
     
The doorbell rang. Through the peephole Marla Korman's lovely, wide face grimaced grotesquely at me. I swung open the heavy door, then stared.
     
     
For the start of the IRS audit, Marla had apparently decided on a poverty-stricken look. Ordinarily, twinkling barrettes would have held her brown curls in place. Now her hair resembled an ostrich-feather duster. Not a dab of makeup covered her creamy complexion. Instead of the usual rhinestone-studded designer sweatsuit and sprinkling of precious-gem jewelry, she wore a drab gray housedress. The huge dress featured gleaming white buttons, an uneven midcalf hem, and a tear along the shoulder seam. She'd shunned her handmade Italian shoes and stuck her wide feet with their perfectly manicured toe-nails into hot-pink plastic thongs. Her bright eyes regarded me merrily.
     
     
"Marla - " I began.
     
     
She gestured for me to stop with empty-of-sapphires fingers. A telltale white line striped her tanned right forearm: no Rolex. I sniffed appraisingly and realized she wasn't wearing any deodorant.
     
     
She said, "So you didn't like the prosecutor."
     
     
"Don't."
     
     
"I'm starving and I want to hear all about it. I'm telling you, Goldy, I dated Andy Fuller. I didn't even jump on him."
     
     
"I appreciate your sharing that, Marla. So, how are the IRS guys?"
     
     
"Sons of bitches, they went to a Denver steakhouse. Made a point of telling me about an expensive five-star restaurant on the way, where they could drop me off. I the IRS only audited poor people." She swept down our hallway, headed for the kitchen. "They never did mention what a good person I was, doing fund-raising m my spare time.
     
     
"I don't think they care about charity work," I said as I followed her. "Especially since you didn't join the committees until you got the audit notice."
     
     
She snorted self-righteously. "Well, guess what? From the moment I left their office my cellular has been ringing. Seems the whole town knows about your mauling Fuller."
     
     
I refused to be drawn in. "Did you drive the Mercedes over here?"
     
     
She flopped into a chair. "Yes, but the IRS henchmen didn't see it." She gave me a rueful look. "Word is that Tom's not going to be paid for a while. With Litchfield on the prowl, I tried to hustle up more assignments for you."
     
     
"Thanks."
     
     
"Don't thank me yet," she said matter-of-factly. "How's your cash