“It means no matter what a lady is wearing, tell her she looks beautiful and then shut up,” Lily said.
“What if she doesn’t look beautiful?” he asked.
“Then really make sure you tell her. That’s when she needs to hear it most.”
“Women are confusing,” Sheldon said.
“Men aren’t exactly a walk in the park,” Lily told him.
Even though there wasn’t obvious blood coating the blade, you could never get rid of it all unless the killer had time to thoroughly clean the knife. I swabbed the blade with a Q-tip and watched the swab turn purple, indicating there was blood present. I found a visible sample in a crevice of the hilt and took a secondary sample to be sent off to the crime lab.
By the time I was finished and had signed off on the paperwork and gathered and labeled all the samples being sent off, Lily and Sheldon had finished prepping Juliet. She lay on the table, her clothes removed and bagged for the state lab to analyze, and her face forever frozen in the gray hues of death.
“She looks sad,” Lily said.
I’d been thinking the same thing.
“After talking with her husband earlier, I don’t think Juliet was a very happy woman. But she was always looking.”
There was pity to be had in deaths like Juliet’s. Pity in a young life taken so carelessly. And pity that the man who’d promised to love her didn’t mourn. I called out to Alexa to turn on my playlist and Billie Holiday’s “Lady Sings the Blues” came over the speakers. It seemed fitting somehow.
“Maybe finding her killer will bring her a little peace in death,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”
We rolled Juliet back into the cooler a little after noon, the autopsy complete. Lily and Sheldon cleaned up in silence. There wasn’t anything more we could do for Juliet Dunnegan.
“Well, that was a bummer,” Lily said.
“I think I’ll pass on the next autopsy,” Sheldon said. “I don’t really find them that interesting, but I like the embalming process better. When I’m embalming it never feels like the person is staring over my shoulder and watching themselves on the table.” He shivered. “I don’t think Juliet has completely passed on. I saw a documentary once that said people’s souls can hang around for a while after they die, especially if they die traumatically.”
“Nonsense,” Lily said. “There’s no hanging around. My mama always said you’ve got two options—heaven or hell—so you better choose wisely. The only living things down here are the three of us and that yogurt that’s been in the mini-fridge since last summer.”
“Did you know that only 61 percent of Americans believes hell is real?” Sheldon asked.
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” I said. “I’m of the school of thought that hell is probably already overcrowded and the population is only going to grow. But my opinion might be skewed based on our line of work and that we get to see the kind of evil that most people never witness.”
“Maybe they could get some of those coffin apartments like they have in Tokyo to squeeze more people in.”
Neither Lily nor I had a response to that, and I looked down at my phone, grateful to see the message from Jack.
“Jack texted,” I told them. “We can meet him and Cole for lunch and tell them what we found.”
“You can tell them,” Lily said. “I’m going to comfort myself with a daytime margarita.”
“The most expensive margarita costs twelve hundred dollars,” Sheldon said.
“I’m content with the five-dollar version myself,” Lily said. “Taco Joe’s has cheap drinks.”
“And they have queso,” I said. “I call that a winning combination.”
“It makes me constipated,” Sheldon said.
“Then I would order something else for lunch,” I said dryly.
While Lily and Sheldon cleaned up the kitchen, I slipped into my office and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a black sweater, and I found an older pair of black booties toward the back of the closet. I didn’t have time for a shower, which was the only thing that would make me feel less covered in death, but it was good enough for Taco Joe’s.
“Ready?” I asked, coming back out of the office.
“Black is the color of death and mourning for the ancient Romans,” Sheldon said.
“What about modern-day Americans?” I asked as we put on coats and scarves and gloves.
“It means you’re bold and confident,” he said automatically. “But I don’t really understand why. I personally think people just don’t know how to match their clothes well and black goes with everything.”
I set the alarm and locked the kitchen door, and we loaded up in the Suburban, with Sheldon sitting flat on the bed in the back where the caskets and gurneys slid in.
“This is fine,” he said, licking his lips. “I’ll be fine. It’s a short drive.”
I turned on the ignition, checked my rearview, and then backed out of the drive and into the street. As soon as I pressed on the brake, I heard a tumble and an oomph as Sheldon made contact with the back door of the Suburban.
“I’m fine,” he said, and Lily and I turned in our seats to look back at him. He was half on his knees with his head pressed into the floor mats at an odd angle. His glasses were skewed and the little amount of hair on his head was sticking up in a tuft.
“Maybe brace your legs against the side of the car,” Lily said helpfully.
“Good idea,” he said, getting into position.
I lost count of how many times Sheldon said he was fine on the drive to Taco Joe’s, but by the time we got out of the car he looked like he’d been tossed in the dryer for a couple of hours.
The look on my and Lily’s faces must have been alarming because he said, “I’m fine,” again, while trying to straighten his clothing.
“Hey, Doc,” the hostess said as soon as we walked through the door. The smell of fresh tortillas and deliciousness assaulted my senses. “Sheriff has a table in the back.”
“Thanks, Molly,” I said, smiling.
Molly had become a familiar face over the last several months. Ever since Joe and Esme Martinez had opened up Taco Joe’s, Jack and I had spent what might be considered an unhealthy amount of time in the corner booth at the back of the restaurant.
“How’s Doug?” she asked, her cheeks pinkening slightly.
“He’s great,” I told her. “Settling in and going to school.”
“He likes to come in for happy hour when we do half-priced tortillas,” Molly said.
“That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” I said. “I’m surprised Joe and Esme haven’t put a limit on him yet.”
She laughed, a tinkling sound that was pure joy and something else. Maybe nerves.
“Oh, they have,” she said. “No one can eat like Doug.”
“He’ll grow into his feet one day,” I said.
“Well, tell him to come see me again soon,” she said. “Maybe on Wednesday at two. That’s when I get off.”
“Oh,” I said, understanding finally dawning. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” And then I hurried after Lily and Sheldon to the table where Jack and Cole were waiting for us.