Rest in Pieces Read Free

have–not club, and she was my friend. I’d never let a friend down, and I wasn’t going to start now.

    An hour later Monica, Haley and I walked into viewing room number one at Lakeside Funeral and Final Rest.
    “Watch the door. I want to look for needle marks.” I walked down the center aisle that lead right up to the pale pink casket surrounded by dozens upon dozens of large flower bouquets and funeral sprays. I smiled to myself. Molly was definitely well–liked in the community.
    “I’m sorry, come again.” Haley leaned forward like she hadn’t heard me the first time.
    “I’m going to check her body for needle marks.” From the beginning, I hadn’t been completely comfortable with the overdose idea, and now I wanted to prove to myself that I was right.
    “Cool.” Monica pulled the doors closed and stood in front of them. “Visitation starts in forty–five minutes and I’m sure the family will be here soon. I’ll keep them busy.”
    “Here.” Haley pulled a retractable police baton out of her purse and flicked it open. “Shove this through the door handles. It’ll keep them closed.”
    Monica just stared at her for a moment and shook her head. “Where did you get that?”
    “Amazon.” Haley smiled and slid the baton through the door handle loops. “It was very highly rated.”
    “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you at all.” Monica blew out a slow breath.
    How could I not love these women? They were up for anything. Monica didn’t ask any questions and Haley pulled out a tactical baton.
    I turned back to the casket holding Molly’s body. There was a weird orange light shining down on her face. Between that and the fluorescent lighting casting a green tint, she had the ethereal glow of an Umpa–Lumpa. Maybe good lighting in a funeral home was a bad idea.
    Molly was dressed in a fuchsia dress that clashed with her beautiful red hair and the pale pink satin lining the casket. And of course the dress was long sleeved, so I couldn’t see any injection sites, track marks or bruises.
    “Don’t most drug users inject in the arm?” I had no idea. That’s what they did on TV. Swallowing down a serious gag reflex, I touched her wrist, intending to roll up her sleeve. When my fingers brushed her hand, I froze. It wasn’t cold as I’d thought it would be, but it wasn’t warm either. Not having any experience with dead bodies, I assumed they’d be cold.
    “I’ll Google it.” Monica called over my left shoulder.
    You could Google heroin injection sites? Who knew? I touched Molly’s hand again and pulled my fingers away. Something oily smeared my fingertips. I rubbed my fingers together. It was thick, flesh–colored stage makeup.
    “It says that they can inject anywhere there’s a vein. Unless they inject in the same vein over and over, there won’t be track marks. Also, you don’t have to inject heroin. You can smoke it, too.” Monica called from behind me.
    It occurred to me that I was learning more than I ever needed to know about heroin from an iPhone.
    I touched Molly’s hand again. It was hard and unyielding. Even dead flesh should be a little bit pliable, shouldn’t it? With my index knuckle, I knocked on it. It sounded like a ripe watermelon. Molly’s hand was hollow. Carefully, I picked it up. It was plastic, like a manikin, only with polished fingernails and even a ring.
    The last time I’d seen Molly she’d had both of her hands.
    “Um … do either of you know why Molly has a plastic hand?” I ran through every scenario I could think of and nope … I had nothing.
    “What do you mean?” Monica called from the door. “Molly didn’t have a plastic hand.”
    She walked over, leaned over the open casket, and touched the hand. “That’s not right. How far up does it go?”
    Monica worked the button at Molly’s wrist until the cuff came loose. She rolled up the material as far as she could. The entire arm was plastic.
    Haley’s heels clip–clopped on the tile