Free A Deep and Dark December by Beth Yarnall Page A

watched them wheel out Greg’s, then Deidre’s body. He knew well the path his friend’s body would take, what the autopsy photos would show, how he’d look pale and waxy on the table, a Y incision carved and stitched into his flesh. Greg should’ve grown old, died old. If anyone had asked Graham which one of them would be the first to stand over a grave, Graham would’ve said it would be Greg standing over Graham’s. He’d taken risks—too many risks—and survived when more deserving others hadn’t. As usual his thoughts drifted to Patricia. Another person who should’ve grown old and died old. Another grave Graham had to stand over. Another person he’d let down.
    Graham shook those thoughts off. That was a bad road to go down, especially now when there was so much work to do.
    He turned to Pax. “Did you get the name of Deidre’s doctor from the prescription bottle?”
    “I did. I Googled him. His office is in San Luis Obispo.”
    “Where she lives now.” Something nagged at Graham, but he couldn’t put his finger on what he was missing. “What’s your take on this, Pax?”
    Pax puffed up a little, adjusting the weight of his belt. “From the witness’s statement and appearances, Greg’s death was self-inflicted. Deidre’s… it’s too soon to tell yet, but my gut says murder/suicide. I’d sure like to know more about why they were getting a divorce. You know, other than what my wife tells me she overheard at the beauty shop.”
    “What’d your wife hear at the beauty shop?”
    “You aren’t serious. That’s just a bunch of gossiping wives and girlfriends.”
    “Sometimes there’s truth in gossip.”
    “Well…” Pax began. “Not that I listened or anything, but the talk was that Deidre had plans, was bragging about coming up in the world. And if you tell anybody I passed on rumors from the Clippity-Do-Da, I’ll sock you in the teeth.”
    That jived with what Erin had told him about her vision of the killer.
    Graham chuckled. “Hey, man, sometimes police work is dirty work.” He clapped Pax on the shoulder. “Keep your ear to the parlor door. I’m counting on you.”
    “Yeah, right. Next thing, you’ll want me to go down and get a permanent wave so I can record the gossip for you.”
    Graham pretended to consider it.
    “No way I’m stepping foot in that cackle house.”
    He winked at Pax. “We’ll keep that option open just in case. Did the crime scene techs get all the samples I asked for?”
    “Yeah. There was one thing they noticed when they moved Deidre’s body.” He motioned for Graham to come closer. “Deidre had a tattoo right here.” He pointed to a spot over his heart. “They said it looked new, still scabby. It was two hands holding a heart.” Pax pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I took a picture of it. Thought you’d want to have a look.”
    He brought up the photo and handed the phone to Graham. The tattooed design was of a red heart with a crown on top held on either side by hands.
    “The Claddagh,” Graham said. “Good work.”
    “The what?”
    “An Irish symbol of love, friendship and loyalty. Guys often propose to their girlfriends with a Claddagh ring. My mom has one. How big was the tattoo?”
    “About as big as a quarter or half-dollar, why?”
    “Just want to put things in perspective. Text me the photo, will you? We’ll want to find the shop that did the work. Maybe someone there will remember her and why she got the tattoo.”
    “Sure.”
    While Pax worked on sending the text, Graham took another look around the kitchen. The stack of papers on the table and Deidre’s purse were gone. “When you bagged Deidre’s purse and the papers on the table, did you move the furniture?” he asked Pax.
    Pax looked up from his phone at Graham and then at the table and chair set. He frowned. “No. I only touched the things I bagged. Why?”
    “Deidre’s purse was on the floor next to the chair on the other side of the table. The divorce