The Quick And The Dead
by Brian K. Lowe
It’s funny how shy murder victims can be when they have to testify in court. I knew a DA once whose entire case fell apart just because the victim had been pushed down a flight of stairs and his neck never sat right on his shoulders after that. He was too embarrassed to testify.
That wasn’t going to be a problem with Sabrina. I followed the sound of the Bickersons to the radio in her bedroom, where she was lying face-down on the floor. When I turned her over, her beautiful face hadn’t been marked at all. There was a tear in her dress over her heart, but not much blood. Professional job. I put my thumb on her wrist to check her pulse and got zip.
She was still warm. Not surprising, since she’d only called me, begging me to come over, half-an-hour ago. It makes resurrection easier, getting there as soon as possible after the soul takes its bow. Of course, my job would be even easier if I got there before that, but it never works out that way; I always seem to get there five minutes too late.
That’s why I took that correspondence course in necromancy. I may not be the best private eye in town, but I give it all I’ve got.
A lot of guys won’t even touch a corpse. Me, I don’t do divorces.
