Read Online Murder on the Last Frontier by Cathy Pegau - Free Book Online

back up toward her throat. She swallowed and returned her attention to the form. Being in the same room was proving to be more difficult than she’d anticipated. She had no desire to see the injuries inflicted on Darcy, if she could help it, but the need to know what, exactly, had happened challenged her ability to keep her back to the table.
    â€œMiss Dugan is wearing a blue dressing gown over a white chemise, undergarments, and black boots. Her boots are loosely tied and covered in mud, as are her clothes. The lower half of her gown and chemise are darker, perhaps due to the rains we’ve had,” he said with cool formality that belied his earlier emotion. “There is severe bruising on the face. Swelling of the left eye, with a five-inch laceration along the orbital bone, suggests the assailant was right-handed. There’s discoloration at the throat as well. The skull has been crushed in on both sides.”
    Charlotte heard Michael move around the table, but dared not lift her head. He picked up the sketchbook and pencil set out on the counter. Of course he had to provide pictorial records. There was a resident photographer, Michael had said at lunch, but he was out of town. The scratching of lead on the thick paper seemed loud in the small room. Charlotte breathed deeply, and a renewed burst of camphor burned in her nose.
    After a few minutes of sketching, Michael set the book and pencil down. The tray of instruments near Charlotte rattled when he reached for a pair of blunt-nosed scissors. She glanced up, careful to keep her gaze on him.
    â€œI’m going to remove her clothing.” He spoke as if remarking on the color of paint, but she noted his unusual paleness. Michael might be going about the postmortem in an outwardly detached manner, but it bothered him, that much was certain. He’d said he’d performed autopsies before. Was he always so disturbed or was this one different somehow? Because Darcy had been a patient? Because of the manner of her death? “We’ll cover her with some blankets or sheets I have here for the undertaker.”
    â€œDo you need my help?” Charlotte was relieved when he shook his head. She tried not to think about the further indignity Darcy had to face of being handled by yet another stranger. “When will the undertaker arrive?”
    Michael shrugged. “Later today. He’ll get things from Miss Brigit for the burial.”
    The sound of his moving Darcy’s body about continued for several minutes.
    â€œI’ll be God damned,” Michael said in a harsh whisper.
    Charlotte rose, startled by his expletive. Darcy’s folded dressing gown was under the table. Michael stood near her lower legs, staring down at her with wide eyes. Charlotte followed his gaze and immediately wished she hadn’t. The bottom half of Darcy’s chemise was dark with blood, not rain or mud.
    â€œWhat happened?” Charlotte asked, her throat tight. “Was she stabbed?”
    Michael shook his head. “We didn’t see any cuts in her clothing when we rolled her onto the tarp. I think she hemorrhaged.”
    Charlotte glanced down again, curiosity momentarily overtaking repugnance. Darcy’s bared arms were bruised. Several fingers were bent at odd angles. She’d attempted to defend herself against the blows, or perhaps fight back.
    You poor girl .
    Mud and water had seeped through her dressing gown to the cotton undergarments. Despite her revulsion, Charlotte peered closer at the muck on Darcy’s clothing. “Look at this, Michael.” She pointed to the mud stain. “The edges here are too perfectly curved to be random.”
    He bent closer, frowning. “I’d say it’s a shoe print. Or a boot. Difficult to tell. But there’s more than one, for certain.”
    Charlotte straightened. “Most of the mud that came through to the chemise and knickers is concentrated on her lower body. The killer