Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect by Fern Michaels Page B

Book: Picture Perfect by Fern Michaels Read Free Book Online
Authors: Fern Michaels
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is on top of your friend. Now what?” Elva asked, moving as far away as possible from the ironing board.
    â€œGet everything together. We ain’t coming back here ever again. Take all the food and then clean up this mess.” He gestured to the pool of blood under the table. “Make damn sure you do a good job. First thing I’ll take down to the camper is the TV.”
    â€œCudge, I hate blood. It makes me sick. I can’t do it!”
    â€œYou’re going to do it and you’ll do it now, before I punch a hole in that thing you call a head. Move it!”
    â€œI always get the shitty jobs,” Elva protested as she kicked at a filthy dish towel. With the toe of her shoe she picked up the rag and dropped it into a supermarket grocery bag. The towel was so threadbare it barely soaked up any of the blood. Not wanting to be alone with Lenny in the kitchen, she raced to the bathroom and waited till Cudge came back into the apartment. A roll of toilet paper in her hand, she walked back to the dingy kitchen. She unrolled the sheets and wiped the mess up with her foot. Satisfied that the blood had been wiped up, she poured a glass of water on the floor and repeated her actions. It was kinda sad, she thought, one roll of toilet paper was all it took to wipe up a man’s life.
    â€œYou got everything?” Cudge asked belligerently.
    Elva was tossing food from the refrigerator into a paper bag. “Should I take the eggs?”
    He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you should take the eggs,” he mimicked. “Take everything. Come on, we ain’t got all night. We’ll take him down first, but I want to make sure the coast is clear. I left the back of the camper open—all we have to do is stuff him in.”
    Elva gritted her teeth before picking up her end of the ironing board. “Wait! We have to put the detergent and softener on top to make it look real.”
    â€œChrist, Elva, we ain’t really going to the laundry. Leave the damn stuff.”
    Elva was not to be deterred. The detergent and fabric softener were plopped on top of Lenny’s stomach. Halting abruptly in mid stride, Elva’s voice was a high-pitched stuttering squeak. “You can’t, you just can’t . . . We have to spray him with something.”
    Cudge’s fists were white-knuckled tight. “Why?”
    Elva gulped. “Be-because he’ll smell. Dead bodies smell. They start to . . . to rot or something. I’m telling you what to do—I didn’t say I knew what to use,” she blurted. Her toothache was pounding away like a trip hammer.
    Cudge stared at Elva. His voice was almost patient. “I ain’t exactly planning on carrying Lenny around for very long. I don’t think he’ll have a chance to smell.”
    â€œSoon as he gets stiff, he’ll smell.”
    Cudge hated the certainty in Elva’s voice. “We don’t have anything around to spray him with. Come on, grab your end.”
    â€œWhat about . . . what about the mothballs in the bottom of the sink? That’s enough to kill any kind of smell. You could stick some in Lenny’s coat pockets.”
    It was evident to Elva that Cudge was going to go along with her idea by the way his gaze shifted to the bottom of the sink. She darted between the table and the body. Her skinny arm was trembling so badly that Cudge jerked the container of mothballs from her hand. “This better work, you dizball.”
    Elva backed away till she was standing in the dingy living room. Cudge sneezed four times in rapid succession as he stuffed the white pellets into Lenny’s pockets. “Okay, he’s preserved now. You got any more crazy ideas, now is the time to spit ’em out. I ain’t planning on touching him again. Let’s go. Get back over here—you think I can do this myself?”
    Elva advanced one step then backed up two. “I can’t, Cudge, I just can’t do

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