Free Exhume (Dr. Schwartzman Series Book 1) by Danielle Girard

out her notebook. “You’re doing great, Mama. Just a few more questions.”
    “Of course.”
    “Did you come straight over after Kimberly called?”
    “No. I tried calling Frances first. Tried her home a couple of times, then her mobile. She never has that thing on, so the call went straight to voicemail. But she usually answers her home line when I call. When she didn’t, I decided to come over and check on her.”
    “When did you arrive?”
    “I was here by ten to nine. Saw her straightaway and called the police. They called you.”
    Harper scratched a few notes, then waved one of the patrol officers over. “I’ve got to work, Mama. Andy will take you home.” To the officer, she said, “On the way, will you swing by the Tattooed Moose? Daddy is there playing cards, and I don’t want Mama at home alone.”
    “Sure thing, Detective. I’ll do it straightaway.”
    “Thanks.” Harper gave her mother a tight hug. “I’ll call to check on you a little later.”
    Her mother glanced back up at Frances Pinckney’s house. “I can’t believe you have to go in there and see her like that, Harper.”
    “It’s my job, Mama. I’ll be okay.”
    “Dear Lord, I don’t know how you do this job.”
    Harper kissed her mother and headed inside to the body. On the way in, she used her flashlight to study the lock on the door. There were no fresh marks, no scrapes to suggest someone had broken in. Windows lined the porch. There would be a lot of ways to get in. The crime scene analysts should be there soon. They could do a more thorough search of possible entry spots.
    In the foyer, Burl knelt next to Frances. As her mother had said, the dead woman’s neck was twisted from her shoulders at an unnatural angle.
    Harper had to take a breath before moving forward. This wasn’t the first victim she had known. Over the years, she had investigated the deaths of a few of her classmates and plenty of folks who used to frequent her parents’ diner. Some of the deaths had less impact than others.
    Seeing Frances Pinckney was heartbreaking.
    A petite lady with a sweet disposition, she lay dead in her velour jogging suit, eyes wide-open, fists clenched tight, and neck broken. The little dog she loved so much—a gift from her son—whimpered beside her. Frances’s expression was both desperate and angry.
    “What do you think?” Harper asked.
    “She’s been dead less than two hours,” Burl reported. “It might have been a cardiac event or stroke. If she was alive when she fell, hitting the banister would have been cause of death. Not hard to see that she broke her neck. The break might have been peri- or postmortem.” He paused to touch Mrs. Pinckney’s neck. “If it was cause of death, it’s a clean fracture. Would have been real quick. Painless.”
    “Small blessings,” Harper said.
    “Amen,” he agreed. “I’ll perform the autopsy in the morning. Take a look at her heart and brain for signs of some event. I’ll call when I’ve got some answers.”
    Harper stood again. “Thanks, Burl. I’m going to head over and talk to the neighbor.”
    Burl reached up to Frances’s face and used his thumb and forefinger to close her eyes.
    Tears stung as Harper walked out the front door. The tears were not because of Frances. It was her mother who upset her. Her mother refused to read scary books, wouldn’t watch detective shows. Now she had the image of her friend lying dead in her head.
    Harper checked which rooms were visible from the porch. Mostly she just needed the air. You’re human, she told herself. It’s okay to be human. When she came back around to the front of the house, she found the other patrol officer, Sam Pearson, on the front porch. And there she was crying. Perfect. She should have been there to comfort him, as this was his first dead body. Instead she moved awkwardly past without saying anything.
    Schoolmates from the time they were just out of diapers, Sam and Harper were also high school