Always Kiss the Corpse by Sandy Frances Duncan Page B

office of Triple-I.”
    â€œYour place?”
    â€œI have the Triple-I Canada key. Your place.”
    â€œThanks.” He smiled and pocketed it.
    â€œCoupeville’s about an hour. Time for coffee.” She hesitated. “Uhmm—our appointments are at ten-thirty.”
    â€œThe same time?”
    Kyra flicked him a glance.
    â€œThe only morning time for both the sheriff and the funeral guy.” She sensed his irritation.
    â€œSweetheart. We’re partners, right? Partners consult, right? As you have frequently pointed out.” Noel closed his eyes against the sun.
    She caught a muscle jumping by the corner of his mouth. “You were shaving and all that. I thought it’d be okay.”
    He clicked his tongue in exasperation.
    â€œWhich do you want, the law or the funeral parlor?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter.” But it did.
    â€œToss, then.”
    Noel dug a quarter out of his pocket—Canadian, should’ve raided his American change jar back in Nanaimo, hoped he wouldn’t need to feed a parking meter—and flipped. “You call.”
    â€œHeads.”
    â€œThe Queen it is.” Noel put the quarter away.
    â€œI’ll take the sheriff.”
    He’d known which she’d choose. He would have to walk into a mortuary. Again. “You know where these places are?” He saw Brendan in the small, silent room, lying still and white. He—No, not now.
    â€œCoupeville’s not big. We’ll find them.” Kyra’s voice softened. “And, sorry, I should’ve yelled louder than your ablutions.”
    â€œDoesn’t matter.” Though it did. He rubbed his nose. “So. What do we know?”
    â€œWe know Garth believes the body is Sandro. Maria doesn’t. Why not? Because it isn’t, or because she’s denying her son’s dead? Whoever it is, he died of a heroin overdose.”
    â€I’ll make a note.” Noel opened his laptop. “We know Sandro had good friends and hated sports.”
    â€œTwo people remarked on the absence of his heavy beard.”
    â€œActually,” Noel recalled, “no facial hair at all. Different from not having a beard. What makes facial hair disappear?”
    â€œChemotherapy? You mean, did he have cancer?”
    â€œHair on his head. Maybe electrolysis?”
    â€œWould one take heroin for pain relief?
    â€œMaybe marijuana?”
    â€œMarijuana’s more for nausea and poor appetite,” Kyra stated. “Anyway, not in this US of A. Canada can legislate marijuana for medical purposes, but not us. Marijuana’s the Official Weed of the Devil.”
    â€œSome states have done so.”
    â€œIt’s not federal.”
    Noel nodded. “Are we sure he was on heroin?”
    â€œThat’s what the report says, apparently.”
    â€œAre we sure he was an addict?”
    Kyra thought for a moment. “Both his mother and Garth insisted, no way would Sandro take drugs.”
    â€œWhich could mean it isn’t Sandro. Which is what we have to focus on. We’re hired to find out if he’s dead or not, that’s all.” Noel stared through the windshield. They were entering the Skagit Valley, an alluvial plain given over to farms. Fields were brown and fallow, dotted with large puddles the strengthening sun tried to dry. Some showed the light green of early growth.
    â€œExcept Garth hadn’t heard from Sandro recently. Maybe he started shooting up last year.” An eye out for the Anacortes turn-off. “We don’t need to find out precisely how he died, just if it’s Sandro who’s dead.” She mulled. “What else makes facial hair disappear?”
    â€œHormones?”
    â€œMaybe just trying to have less beard?”
    â€œOr,” Noel told a herd of cattle, “he had prostate cancer and was taking estrogen for it?”
    â€œI don’t think he’d be old enough. You know, if we could