Free Gone and Done It by Maggie Toussaint Page A

dirt away and the object came into view.
    A hand.
    A woman’s hand.

C HAPTER 12
----
    I wanted to bolt, but I couldn’t move. Time slowed to a crawl, thrusting my thoughts into overdrive. Hands didn’t spontaneously occur. They were attached to arms. Which were on bodies. This one was on a dead person.
    Dread mounted. I’d found another body.
    Only this one wasn’t two-hundred some-odd years old. This person hadn’t been in the ground long. I’d planted this
Podocarpus
ten days ago.
    The body wasn’t here then.
    I’d have noticed.
    My temperature soared and plummeted. Blood ripped through my system as if chased by the denizens of the deep. Pressure built in my lungs until I forced in a breath of air.
    I fell backward in a clumsy tangle of limbs, swatting at a thicker cloud of white flies, gagging on the smell of decay. I vomited. Moisture trickled behind my ears. My breath came in pants.
    I crawled away on hands and knees, drained of energy, with the single-minded purpose of getting far away from that person. Leaning against the nearest palm tree, the irony stuck me hard. This was what psychic consultants did. They found bodies. How could I do this on a regular basis?
    No answers came to mind.
    Instead, dread whispered through my pores, inoculating me with a near lethal dose of fear. I couldn’t worry about all the what-ifs in the world of police work. My here and now was horrific enough.
    With trembling hands, I dialed the emergency number and summoned help. I tried to pull myself together. Not an easy task, when the dead woman commanded my attention. The thought of uncovering more of her or taking another look prompted another bout of retching. I was definitely not a natural fit for this type of work.
    A brisk sea breeze swept the scent of my vomit and her decay away. Overhead, dark clouds thickened, and in the distance, thunder rolled. A storm was coming. Mama had been right with her weather prediction. Only, was the storm a meteorological event or a portent of something more sinister on the horizon?
    I’d discounted the divination of signs and symbols along with my extrasensory talents, but in hindsight, I realized I’d made another mistake. There were intangible connections to things seen and unseen. My enhanced senses were proof of that. Even so, the new and improved Baxley Powell didn’t know much of anything.
    Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. Rain splatted. I let it wash over me.
    “I thought you had sense enough to come in out of the rain,” Sheriff Wayne Thompson growled.
    He’d plunked me in the front seat of his SUV upon arriving. That was positive. He could have cuffed me and tossed me in the back of Virg’s patrol car. Or allowed Virg to tase me again. Instead, he showed me mercy and ordered his uniformed deputies to erect a tent over the hand.
    Though my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, I welcomed the cozy fleece blanket around my shoulders. Wayne’s woodsy aftershave permeated the space, but instead of my usual revulsion, his familiar scent lent comfort. I wasn’t interested in the sheriff, not in the way he wanted me to be, but I trusted him to sort this mess out.
    I shivered. “Sorry. After I found the body, I kind of lost it.”
    “I see that.” He stared at me. Wipers squeaked across the windshield. Hot air blasted from the heater. “You want a Coke or somethin’?”
    I grimaced at the thought of putting anything in my queasy stomach. “No, thanks.” Water dripped from my ball cap brim onto the navy blue blanket. I was probably soaking through the blanket and drenching his seat, too.
    “I have to question you,” he said. “Why were you here?”
    “Carolina Byrd said she wouldn’t pay me until I got that cherry tree planted near Misery Road. She made it clear that the landscaping was my responsibility until the job is completed. The irrigation system isn’t working, so I watered with the hose. The rear stake from the
Podocarpus
was out, and the tree leaned at an odd angle.