What in the actual fuck was going on?
I did not believe in coincidences.
“Well,” I said as I studied the marks on his neck. “There are absolutely no struggle marks. See?”
Black, Gentry, and Moses leaned in to study the marks. “Usually, when someone hangs themselves, they claw at their neck or try to get air. It’s instinctual…”
I continued to survey the body. “Moses, do you see this?”
“Looks like a head wound.”
“No, look closer.”
He did.
“Those two marks are from a stun gun,” I said.
“Do you think that he was murdered?”
I wasn’t ready to say that just yet but… “Maybe.”
“The boy’s friend,” I said. “He wasn’t from here?”
If he had been, I’d have done the autopsy.
“No, a couple of counties over. Closer to Bozeman,” Black said. “You’ll let us know what you find?”
I nodded. “I’ll call you when I’m finished.”
Over the next several hours, I found quite a few more inconsistencies that would discredit the suicide theory. By the end of my autopsy, I’d decided that this was murder based on all the facts that I was able to conclude from the examination.
After calling Black and letting him know, I headed out.
The first stop was the grocery store because I was out of chicken breasts.
As I pulled up outside, a familiar redhead was getting out of another new SUV.
“New car?” I drawled.
Constance looked over at me, her face slightly green.
My lips twitched.
“Food poisoning?”
She rolled her eyes and started walking toward the store slowly.
She walked straight to the pharmacy and went directly to the familiar pink bottle of Pepto Bismol.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I headed in the opposite direction to get my chicken breasts.
Karma sucked.
I ended up getting into line behind her and studied her spoils.
She’d gotten the Pepto, but she’d also gotten Imodium, saltine crackers, and ginger ale.
The quintessential “I’m throwing up” party pack.
