Free Picture Them Dead by Brynn Bonner Page A

the club tonight. I want to see everyone, especially Jaaa-ack,” she said, reaching over to poke me in the ribs.
    I slapped her hand away, concentrating on a lane switch. Dee was the only one I’d confided in about my feelings toward Jack. “I can’t take any teasing about that right now,” I warned her. “Not after last night.” I told her about our interrupted conversation.
    â€œSophie, you’re torturing yourself,” she said. “You’ve lived in this in-between long enough. You need to just put it out there and see what happens.”
    â€œAnd what if he doesn’t feel the same way? Then it will be all awkward. I’m not sure we could ever get back to being just friends. It would be horrible.”
    â€œWell, you can’t go on like this forever, either,” Dee said, digging her sunglasses from her bag. “There’s got to be tension.”
    â€œYeah,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve got tension, anyway. I’m not sure anyone else is aware of the situation.”
    Dee gulped a laugh. “Everyone else is aware, Sophie, everyone in the club and probably half the town. You know how Morningside is. And speaking of which, what is all this drama over that grave? A glass coffin? That’s so creepy weird.”
    â€œAnd it just keeps getting weirder,” I said. “When’s the last time you talked to Marydale?”
    Dee frowned. “Must have been night before last. Why?”
    I told her about finding the body at River’s place.
    â€œOh, my God, Sophreena, that must have been awful,” she said.
    I nodded. “On a scale of one to ten, it was about a seventeen,” I said.
    â€œDid you know her? Is it somebody from Morningside?”
    â€œNo, no clue who it is.” I gave her a rundown on the facts, which didn’t take long. “No identifying marks except a rose tattoo, and that’s certainly not very unusual these days.”
    â€œA rose tattoo?” Dee asked.
    â€œYeah, on the shoulder. Only a butterfly would be more of a cliché, right? But at least she went for a more distinctive color, her rose was yellow, not red.”
    â€œSoph, I think I know who it is!”

seven
    I asked Denny to meet us at my house; I didn’t want to bring the taint of a murder investigation into the happy wedding kerfuffle at Marydale’s. He pulled up at the curb as Dee and I were getting out of my car. I was relieved to see that Jennifer wasn’t with him—I had enough stress in my life at the moment.
    All of us automatically gravitated toward the kitchen, the room with the coffeemaker. I set a pot to brew while Denny talked with Dee.
    â€œSo you knew this woman?” Denny asked, pulling out his trusty notebook and clicking his ballpoint.
    â€œMaybe,” Dee answered. “I can’t be sure and I wouldn’t know her today if I met her on the street, but that tattoo, I can’t imagine there would be that many women her age with a yellow rose tattoo who would have some connection to that place.”
    â€œHer name?” Denny prompted.
    â€œSherry. Sherry Burton. At least that was her name when I knew her. I don’t know if she ever married.”
    â€œAnd when and how did you know her?” Denny asked, which was a question I wanted an answer to as well. Dee and I had known mostly all the same people when we were growing up, and I didn’t remember anyone named Sherry Burton.
    â€œWhen I was in middle school. I didn’t know her well, but I met her a few times.”
    â€œI didn’t know her at all,” I said, and realized it came out like an accusation.
    Dee frowned. “I don’t think you ever met her. She was the granddaughter of the old woman who lived there, the one who was like a hermit. I’ve forgotten her name.”
    â€œLottie Walker,” I said.
    â€œYeah, that sounds right.”
    â€œHow did you meet Sherry and I