Free Bigfoots Don't Do Mini Coopers (Kate Storm Book 1) by Meredith Allen Conner Page A

missing by the time the elections roll around if not before.”
    I simply have not been around enough murder scenes to really  consider all the potential down falls involved in dumping bodies.
    I see a dead body and my mind immediately wants to shut out the sight and situation. I ’d say I would work on it, but frankly, I’d much rather the dead bodies quit showing up on my doorstep.
    “ Right. A senator.” I eyed the short wooden flagstaff impaling either side of his neck. “You would think that would be foremost in my mind at the moment.”
    Morgan laughed. “ No. I know you better than that, Kate.”
    A small stream of warmth invaded my body, flowed through my veins, wound its way over my muscles and bones and finally settled into the pit of my stomach.
    Yeah. We ’d get through this.

     
    10. The Plan.
     
    “ I’ll go grab my supplies.”
    “ You brought supplies? What kind of supplies?”
    There are supplies for moving bodies? Do they come in kits? Maybe I should get one too.
    Morgan didn’t answer. She had already disappeared. Vamps are really fast.
    We hadn ’t needed any supplies the last time. Morgan had picked up the body and flown it to the woods. I’d followed on my broom. A shirt trek across a field, one hastily dug grave and sunlight had incinerated the rest of the evidence.
    I didn ’t know whether to be horrified or impressed that Morgan had the forethought to bring whatever items might be necessary on the off chance this body was different than the last one.
    “ Ya can’t just stuff the body into a garbage bag and cart him out to the dumpster, Doll.” Al tsked me. “Number one, he won’t fit into one bag and chopping him up would take too much time and the mess is just not worth the trouble. Number two, the smell will alert someone before they pick up the trash next Friday. We’re gonna have to dump him somewhere far away from here and we’ll need to clean up the blood so we don’t leave any evidence.”
    I ’d grabbed my trashcan the moment he’d said chop. My stomach tossed about, but I’d already emptied its contents earlier so it settled down in a fairly short time.
    “ I’m going to go wash this out. I’ll be back in a minute, Al.”
    I dumped my breakfast and l unch into the toilet bowl. Luckily, I’d taken out my trash the day before and hadn’t needed to use the fuchsia cylinder since. I didn’t have to worry about crumbled papers clogging things up as I flushed. They pick up the trash in this neighborhood every Friday afternoon.
    Under the sink I found my disinfectant and paper towels and went to work. The menial job helped.
    It disturbed me - feel free to insert a screaming case of the heebie-jeebies here - that my Chihuahua found the task of dismemberment to be messy and just not worth it.
    How many times had he done it? Scratch that. I did not want to know. Not a single detail.
    I returned the trashcan to its place next to my desk and went outside to join the dead body relocation party going on.
    Morgan had laid a b lue plastic tarp on the ground, outside of the pool of blood. She’d put on plastic gloves and was in the process of wrapping the senator up. The flag had been snapped off and stuck in between two of the buttons on his shirt.
    I saw her point, the tip of the flag could easily penetrate the plastic, create a hole and allow for blood, hair or other traceable bits of evidence to escape.
    On the other hand it seemed a touch blasphemous. Especially for a politician. Then again, he ’d already been stabbed through the neck with it. And I’m not fond of politics.
    I checked “ how to move the body” off my mental list of Things To Be Concerned About.
    Morgan finished her wrap job then used leopard print duck tape to seal the seams. When she was finished it had the odd look of a large, lumpy, horrible birthday present.
    I hadn ’t known duck tape came in leopard print.
    All that remained was the dark, dark red stain. I scowled. Each business that backed