Free Cavanaugh or Death by Marie Ferrarella Page A

them.”
    Moira shook her head. “Never carry one,” she said just before she felt a handkerchief being put into her hand. Surprised, she looked to her left and saw that Gilroy was giving her the one he’d taken out of his pocket.
    â€œDon’t you want it?” she asked him.
    Davis’s expression remained solemn as he shook his head. “I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I did, would I?” he asked her tersely.
    The man was a total puzzle to her. “Thanks,” she murmured just as Riley and Conrad, the other CSI agent, succeeded in prying open the coffin lid.
    The stench that first greeted them was overwhelming and, for a moment, Moira thought the coffee and bag of corn chips she’d consumed in lieu of breakfast this morning was going to be coming up.
    Mind over matter, Moi. Mind over matter , she counseled herself, thinking the words over and over again like a mantra until she finally regained control over her cramping stomach muscles.
    â€œWhat were you hoping to find?” Riley asked them, setting the lid to the side.
    â€œA reason why the grave was disturbed,” Davis replied.
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cavanaugh nod her head, agreeing with his response. He noted that the color had drained ever so slightly from her face. He wondered if she was the type to faint and so positioned himself closer to her, just in case he had to move quickly to catch her.
    â€œYou okay?” he asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” she answered a little too quickly and a little too tersely, even to her own ear. “Thanks,” she added, her voice a little more subdued.
    Riley examined the coffin’s contents more closely. And then he shook his head, indicating that he didn’t find anything amiss.
    â€œMy guess is some kids playing a prank, or maybe this was a frat initiation that didn’t quite gel. In any case, nothing seems to be missing. Body’s in the coffin,” the man reported. “You want us to take it to the lab, or just put it back?” he asked her. “Your call.”
    Moira had just gotten herself to look into the coffin. Wearing plastic gloves, she started to conduct her own review of the coffin’s interior when she heard the groundskeeper shout.
    â€œPut it back!” Weaver ordered, walking toward the emptied gravesite.
    The groundskeeper was getting on her nerves. Moira turned to look at the gaunt man. “I thought you had a burial to prepare for.”
    â€œI do—just as soon as I get you people the hell off the cemetery’s property.” Now that nothing had apparently been found to be amiss, he had grown bolder in his attitude. “You got what you came for. You opened up that poor woman’s grave and disturbed her eternal rest. Now put her coffin back in, fill up her grave and leave,” he ordered. “Or this time, I will start legal proceedings against the police department—and you two in particular,” he snarled, glaring at both of them.
    â€œIt is just me, or did his grammar just get better?” Moira asked her faux partner.
    Davis would have preferred to not take a side but, given the choice, he picked hers. Especially since she was right and the groundskeeper had gotten on his nerves right from the start.
    â€œDefinitely better,” Davis agreed.
    â€œI’ve got the cemetery’s lawyer on speed dial,” Weaver announced, taking out his cell phone and holding it aloft as if it were some sort of detonation device he intended to use.
    â€œGood for you,” Davis said in a low, even voice that was definitely not friendly. “Now put that damn thing away before someone makes you swallow it.”
    Weaver grew paler than he already was and took a shaky step back from the tall detective he was obviously afraid of.
    â€œYou can’t threaten me like that,” Weaver cried angrily.
    â€œHe didn’t,” Moira pointed out. “Detective Gilroy said