Read Online Scared Stiff by Annelise Ryan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Annelise Ryan
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frightened, weak, and in pain, dragging herself down the hall of her house and out onto the porch in hopes of finding help. She had to have known she was seriously wounded and likely dying, and her will to live must have been strong. That she lost her life in such a cruel, horrifying, and painful way both saddens and angers me.
Nothing new is discovered during the examination of the remaining organs other than the fact that Shannon’s uterus is riddled with large, fibroid tumors, something that would have made it very difficult, if not impossible, for her to get or stay pregnant. With Shannon’s abdominal cavity now devoid of organs, Izzy shifts his attention to her intestines, which we’d removed earlier and placed in a large basin on the dissection table. He runs the twenty-some feet of small intestine like a garden hose, examining it inch by inch, opening sections along the way. Then he does the same with the large intestine.
“The only food I see here is in the ascending colon,” he says when he’s done. “That would take, on average, about eight to twelve hours. So if we assume she ate nothing else after her lunch at Dairy Airs, it’s likely she was killed sometime between the hours of eight P.M. and midnight, give or take an hour or two.”
“What a coincidence,” Hurley says, shooting me a smug look. “Our primary suspect has no alibi for those hours.”
“You mean your primary suspect,” I grumble.
Hurley ignores my comeback and instead closes his eyes and licks his lips, an action that leaves me with my jaw hanging. “I can taste my steak already,” he says.
His display of arrogant confidence brings out my competitive side. But though I want desperately to be right about Erik and his innocence, I know I have to be careful not to lose my objectivity.
“Don’t get too cocky,” I tell Hurley. “It’s still only an estimate and I’m sure crow doesn’t taste nearly as good as filet mignon.”
Chapter 11
H urley’s challenge leaves me more determined than ever, so Monday morning I phone the office to tell them I’ll be in late. Cass takes the message and informs me that Izzy is also tied up this morning so my delay shouldn’t be a problem. I then make a phone call to the hospital to see if Erik Tolliver is on duty. He is, but I have another stop I want to make first.
Ten minutes later I pull into the parking lot of Dairy Airs, head inside, and settle in at one of the tables.
The waitress who serves me is Jackie Nash, an ex-classmate of mine and the owners’ daughter. I know Jackie not only because of our school connection, but because she’s had a number of surgeries at the hospital. Back in high school she had big plans, as did the rest of us, for escaping her small-town roots and moving to the big city. But a tragic car accident in her junior year left her burned over seventy percent of her body, and that changed everything. She still bears some horrific scars despite several plastic surgeries for grafts and scar revisions, and the gnarled tissue on her legs has given her a chronic limp. It might not have been so bad had the damage been contained to her torso and limbs but the flames also reached one side of her face. As a result, she resembles the Batman villain Two Face, looking relatively normal—and quite pretty—from one side, and horribly maimed from the other.
Jackie has been working the family business ever since her recovery from the accident. Those of us in town who know her are used to her scars, but occasionally, when strangers drop in, she is forced to face the awkward stares and rude comments of brutally honest children and tactless adults. Not surprisingly, those moments along with the trauma of the accident and the disruption it caused to her personal life have left her with more than a few emotional scars to go with the physical ones. During the years I worked in the hospital ER, I took care of Jackie during several of her mental breakdowns, though I’ve heard
Nothing new is discovered during the examination of the remaining organs other than the fact that Shannon’s uterus is riddled with large, fibroid tumors, something that would have made it very difficult, if not impossible, for her to get or stay pregnant. With Shannon’s abdominal cavity now devoid of organs, Izzy shifts his attention to her intestines, which we’d removed earlier and placed in a large basin on the dissection table. He runs the twenty-some feet of small intestine like a garden hose, examining it inch by inch, opening sections along the way. Then he does the same with the large intestine.
“The only food I see here is in the ascending colon,” he says when he’s done. “That would take, on average, about eight to twelve hours. So if we assume she ate nothing else after her lunch at Dairy Airs, it’s likely she was killed sometime between the hours of eight P.M. and midnight, give or take an hour or two.”
“What a coincidence,” Hurley says, shooting me a smug look. “Our primary suspect has no alibi for those hours.”
“You mean your primary suspect,” I grumble.
Hurley ignores my comeback and instead closes his eyes and licks his lips, an action that leaves me with my jaw hanging. “I can taste my steak already,” he says.
His display of arrogant confidence brings out my competitive side. But though I want desperately to be right about Erik and his innocence, I know I have to be careful not to lose my objectivity.
“Don’t get too cocky,” I tell Hurley. “It’s still only an estimate and I’m sure crow doesn’t taste nearly as good as filet mignon.”
Chapter 11
H urley’s challenge leaves me more determined than ever, so Monday morning I phone the office to tell them I’ll be in late. Cass takes the message and informs me that Izzy is also tied up this morning so my delay shouldn’t be a problem. I then make a phone call to the hospital to see if Erik Tolliver is on duty. He is, but I have another stop I want to make first.
Ten minutes later I pull into the parking lot of Dairy Airs, head inside, and settle in at one of the tables.
The waitress who serves me is Jackie Nash, an ex-classmate of mine and the owners’ daughter. I know Jackie not only because of our school connection, but because she’s had a number of surgeries at the hospital. Back in high school she had big plans, as did the rest of us, for escaping her small-town roots and moving to the big city. But a tragic car accident in her junior year left her burned over seventy percent of her body, and that changed everything. She still bears some horrific scars despite several plastic surgeries for grafts and scar revisions, and the gnarled tissue on her legs has given her a chronic limp. It might not have been so bad had the damage been contained to her torso and limbs but the flames also reached one side of her face. As a result, she resembles the Batman villain Two Face, looking relatively normal—and quite pretty—from one side, and horribly maimed from the other.
Jackie has been working the family business ever since her recovery from the accident. Those of us in town who know her are used to her scars, but occasionally, when strangers drop in, she is forced to face the awkward stares and rude comments of brutally honest children and tactless adults. Not surprisingly, those moments along with the trauma of the accident and the disruption it caused to her personal life have left her with more than a few emotional scars to go with the physical ones. During the years I worked in the hospital ER, I took care of Jackie during several of her mental breakdowns, though I’ve heard
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