Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series by Summer Prescott Page B

day-to-day routine of running Memorial Mortuary to her. She had badgered the shy, reclusive man for a job, which he begrudgingly offered, on the condition that she get rid of the spiky mohawk, black nails and makeup and multiple piercings that might scare off his customers.
    He’d enlisted Missy and Echo’s help, Echo being his next door neighbor, in getting the attractive young gal a makeover, and the rest was history. It wasn’t as though Fiona enjoyed death, not at all, but she, like her mentor Timothy Eckels, saw the importance in properly preparing the deceased for the funeral, and reading the clues that the corpse displayed when doing an autopsy.
    “We don’t know that it’s homicide until we get there,” Tim replied mildly, reaching for his bag.
    “But they said…” she began.
    “They don’t know. They’re guessing. That’s why we go to these events. We find the clues that tell us what happened, when and how, so that they don’t have to rely on their guesses,” he pushed his coke-bottle thick glasses up his nose with a forefinger and headed for the hearse.
    “Is the…” he began.
    “Yes, I put gas in it this morning, so we’re all ready to go,” Fiona jumped in, eager to get to the scene.
    “Did you…” he tried again.
    “Yup, I locked the front entrance before I came to get you, and I forwarded the phones to my cell,” she replied, knowing the litany of questions that he asked her every time.
    “Are the…”
    “Yup, directions are pulled up on GPS. I’m driving,” she said quickly.
    “No, you’re not,” he blinked at her.
    “Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she grinned.
    To say that Timothy Eckels wasn’t a people-person would be a profound understatement, and spunky, mischievous Fiona had made it her mission in life to provide human interaction to him, whether he wanted it or not, which often came in the form of teasing. She had learned her boss and his quirks well, and usually knew what he was going to say before he said it. They were both misfits, in their own ways, but they worked very well together. Tim was a master of his profession, and had found a willing sidekick in Fiona McCamish.
    ***
    Tim and Fiona arrived at the scene before Chas did, and the medical examiner was already taking photos of the corpse when the detective arrived. The woman was lying on her side in a pool of blood, her hair tossed over her face, obscuring it.
    “What have we got?” Chas asked the uniformed cop who was observing the medical examiner while the forensics team was combing over the immediate area.
    “Homicide, looks like it’s random. She stopped for food, got lured back here and some psycho offed her,” the officer guessed.
    “Nope,” Timothy muttered, kneeling and bending to the side to get a particular angle for the photo.
    Chas and the cop turned, staring at him for further explanation. When none seemed forthcoming, Chas spoke.
    “Nope, what?” he asked, stepping closer to the scene.
    “I don’t believe that it was random. I’ll know more after I finish the photos and am able to move the body.”
    “What makes you think that it wasn’t random?” the detective asked, gazing down at the corpse and feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.
    “When there is this much blood lost, it’s either from a large wound, or a precise one. I don’t see any evidence yet of a large wound, which means it was precise. Whoever did this knew what they were doing,” Tim replied, moving around for a different angle.
    “Detective!” one of the forensics team called out to Chas from a spot by the dumpster. “We may have an ID on the woman,” he held up a purse in his gloved hand.
    “I’ll be right there,” Chas acknowledged.
    Tim instructed Fiona to carefully move the woman’s hair out of her face so that he could get another shot, and the detective stayed put to see, raising his eyebrows and sucking in his breath when her face was revealed.
    “You know her?” the officer next to him