Free Murder on the Last Frontier by Cathy Pegau

family until a solution could be found.
    Michael nodded, his expression one of sorrow. “All right, stay. But keep your back to the table and let me know if you need to stop.”
    Her stomach threatened to rebel again. Charlotte pasted as much of a smile onto her face as she could and held up three fingers. “I will. Scout’s honor.”
    The remaining details of Darcy’s autopsy were far less jarring, though it would have taken quite a revelation to top what Michael had already discovered. Charlotte concentrated on taking notes rather than on what the words meant. Still, the ache in her stomach migrated into her head. By the time the autopsy was finished, it felt as if someone were squeezing her temples inward, trying to get them to meet within her skull.
    Michael touched her shoulder, making her jump. Gently, he took the pen out of her hand. “Go into my room and rest. I’ll fetch the undertaker.”
    Charlotte nodded. Deliberately ignoring the table, she entered his living area and pushed the door closed. It didn’t latch, leaving a gap like the one she’d spied through earlier that morning. Not that it mattered. She had no intention of watching the undertaker removing the body.
    She lay down on Michael’s bed, wishing she’d asked him for some aspirin or bicarbonate of soda. With her hands and brain no longer occupied by concentrating on dictation, Charlotte couldn’t force the thoughts and images out of her head.
    Though she’d seen other murder and assault victims, she didn’t recall being so affected by them. She was supposed to be a tough New York journalist, one who’d waded into the fray at more than a few protests.
    But it wasn’t the blood and bruises that had turned her stomach. It was the obvious rage of Darcy’s murderer. The merciless blows meant to kill, meant to convey how the person felt. Pregnancy—particularly one that was unplanned or unwanted—stirred up strong emotions. Darcy’s had clearly sent someone over the edge.
    Sudden tears burned Charlotte’s eyes and closed her throat. She curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her middle. Unexpected news like that could even change a lover into someone you hardly recognized.
    Like Richard.
    He’d been as shocked as she was after her doctor’s visit confirmed what she’d suspected. Dreaded. They’d been using birth control, but even Margaret Sanger had stated that nothing was 100 percent guaranteed. Charlotte’s immediate reaction upon learning her condition was that she didn’t want a child. Not yet, anyway. But when she told Richard her plans to seek an abortion, he’d been furious.
    Abortions were for poor, desperate women or prostitutes. Not for women of their social standing. She would marry him, he’d said, and have the baby.
    Charlotte had considered it for a few seconds, half a breath from accepting, until he continued. “After the baby’s born, you’ll stay home, of course.”
    She would become the wife and mother he’d need to maintain his family’s standing in the business community. No outside pursuits like a career to distract her from her real duties.
    Charlotte had been stunned into silence. He’d been a staunch supporter of her efforts to tell important stories about women’s rights and equality until then. At least while they were attending lectures and dances, or as they fell into bed pulling at each other’s clothes. Equality was fine for everyone except whomever he married.
    The bastard. The lying, self-centered bastard. How had she not seen the truth of him?
    But it was the truth within herself that caused her the most anguish.
    The outer door squealed open, interrupting her thoughts. Heavy footsteps and the rattle of the door closing again followed.
    â€œI’ve cleaned her up as best I could.” Michael’s voice carried in from the exam room.
    A pang of guilt went through