Shakespeare's Counselor by Charlaine Harris Page A

of…
    â€œWho is that woman?” Carla said, more struck by this shock than by any of the others, apparently.
    That naked woman, I amplified her statement.
    â€œThe naked and the dead,” I said, drawing from somewhere in the attic of my mind.
    â€œSo,” Firella said. Her voice was unsteady, and I heard her gulp back nausea. “She’s actually pinned to the wall?”
    There was a groan practically under my feet, and I was shocked enough to lurch back, knocking everyone else into confusion.
    Janet was lying on the floor in front of the desk. We’d been so transfixed by the dead woman that we hadn’t even seen her. Janet rolled, with great effort, from her back to her front, and I saw a darkening bruise on her forehead. But her hand went to the back of her head, moving slowly and painfully.
    In a moment, Firella was on her other side, and we tried to raise her. Though we believed we were the only ones in the building (at least I did) I wanted to get Janet out of there as fast as possible, as if the woman’s deadness was contagious.
    Janet began mumbling something, but I couldn’t make it out. She moaned, though, as we tried to pull her to her feet. Without discussion, we lowered her back to the carpet.
    â€œWe gotta get out of here,” Carla said urgently, and I agreed. But we couldn’t all go. I handed my cell phone to Melanie, who was silent and shocked.
    â€œGo outside and call the police,” I said.
    â€œCan’t we just leave and call it in later?” Carla asked.
    We all stared at her. She shrugged.
    â€œI mean, take Janet to the hospital ourselves. Just so we won’t be connected to the police side of this. I mean, someone offed this gal, someone really, really seriously sick. Right?”
    Sandy said, “That’s true.”
    â€œLook,” I said, and they did all look at me. I was feeling Janet’s pulse, trying to decide if her pupils were even. I stopped and collected myself. “We’re listed on some schedule as coming here tonight, you know. All of us. Our names are written down somewhere, no matter how confidential Tamsin promised us this would be. I don’t think we can opt out of this.”
    â€œDo you think whoever killed this woman put her there for us to see?” Sandy asked in a quavering voice. “Or for Tamsin?”
    It was a funny question if you weren’t there. If you were there, you could see the intention of display that had gone into arranging the body. To see the poor woman pinned up there, among the articles about rape and the empowerment of women, the accuracy of DNA testing and the heavier sentences being handed down to men who raped…we were meant to know we were powerless, after all.
    We tried to look anywhere but at the body. “White as a sheet” was a phrase that came to mind when I looked at my therapy group…except Firella, and she had turned an ashen color.
    â€œSo we can’t dodge this,” Carla admitted. “But…no, I guess, we just have to face the music.”
    â€œAfter all, we didn’t kill her,” Sandy said briskly—as if that cleared up the whole thing, and assured smooth sailing ahead.
    When there was a long, thick pause, she said, “Well, I didn’t.”
    â€œEnough of this, we have to get help for Janet.” I looked at Melanie. “You and Carla and Sandy go out the door we came in,” I said. “Call nine one one. Firella and I will stay here with Janet. Be sure to tell them we need an ambulance.”
    â€œWe haven’t found Tamsin,” Sandy said.
    The rest of us had forgotten all about Tamsin in the turmoil of finding the naked impaled woman and the unconscious Janet.
    â€œShe might be in here somewhere,” Sandy whispered. “She might be the one who did this.” We stared at Sandy as though she’d sprouted another head.
    â€œOr she might have been killed, too,” Carla reminded