Drop Dead Sexy

“Well, damn,” Ralph muttered as the realization finally hit him. He proceeded to start rifling around in the nightstand drawer. “Aha!” he cried.

“You found a black book?” I questioned. I hoped it was something as innocuous as that. I didn’t think my heart could take it if Ralph pulled out Randy’s hot body oils collection or a pocket *. Well, I guess in Randy’s case it would have been two pocket pussies.

“Actually, it’s something better.” He held up something that resembled a credit card. As I leaned forward to peer at it, I read Emergency Contact Card.

“Let me see,” I said, holding my hand out. Ralph passed me the card. It looked like something that had come with a prescription, which made a lot of sense considering Randy’s profession. After years of reading Randy’s handwritten prescription instructions, I would have recognized his handwriting anywhere. He had personally filled out the particulars that he had no allergies or major illnesses. Under the person to notify in case of an emergency was: Patricia Crandall.

1801 Bare Haven Dr.

Hawkinsville, GA





678-953-9451


Without hesitating, I dialed the number. Two rings in and I got an annoying monotone voice in my ear, causing me to grimace. “It’s no longer a working number,” I announced to the others.

Ralph snorted. “Why am I not surprised? This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. In all the years I’ve been in law enforcement, I think I’ve only had one or two cases where there wasn’t a clear next of kin, and those were both indigents who ended up buried in the pauper’s field out in Monroe.”

I sighed. “It certainly has me stumped. I guess the only thing I can do it try to talk to this Patricia Crandall and see if she can make sense of all this.” I looked at Catcher. “You G-Men could do a reverse address to try find a current phone number, couldn’t you?”

“Sure we could. But there’s something even better you could do.”

“What’s that?”

“You can go with me to talk to Patricia Crandall.”

I blinked at him. “Are you joking?”

“Nope. A hundred percent serious.”

“What about Agents Solano and Capshaw?”

“What about them?”

“Doesn’t protocol dictate that they should be the ones helping question Patricia Crandall rather than a small-town coroner?”

“I’ll be the one interrogating Ms. Crandall. You’ll simply be informing her of her obligations as Randy’s emergency contact and next of kin. Besides, Solano and Capshaw need to be here working the scene.”

After crossing my arms over my chest, I eyed him suspiciously. “Why do I think this is just a ploy to get me to be with you?”

Catcher appeared insulted. In a low voice, he said, “Surely you don’t think I’m suggesting anything inappropriate, Ms. Sullivan?”

“Oh please.”

He ducked his head to whisper in my ear. “Mmm, I do love when you beg.”

I shoved him away. “Fine. I’ll go with you to talk to Ms. Crandall. Since I need to know where to send Randy’s body when he leaves in the crime lab in forty-eight hours, it’s imperative to find his next of kin.”

Ralph glanced between the two of us. “You sure you’re all right going, Olivia?” He gave Catcher the stink eye. “I could always go in your place to talk to Ms. Crandall.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.”

Catcher motioned to the door. “Shall we?”

“I need to finish up here.”

With a nod, he said, “I can wait.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I then went back to finishing up my investigation of Randy’s body. The final part being that there was no exit wound. Therefore, the bullet was lodged somewhere in his chest cavity, and it would need to be recovered during the autopsy to help locate the type of gun used on him.

After finishing my write up, I turned to Ralph. “Can you wait with Randy until the crime lab arrives?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“I appreciate it.”

With Randy’s Emergency Card in my hand, I threw my bag and purse over my shoulder and headed out of the bedroom with Catcher close behind me. After pounding down the front stairs, I walked over to Catcher’s standard issue G-Man car. I was immediately assaulted by a flashback of seeing the car the night before when it was in the parking lot of the Rusty Ho. Not to mention the Holiday Inn.

As I buckled my seatbelt, Catcher cranked up and started down Randy’s drive. “Poor fucker. He sure did have a nice house and land,” he mused.

I peered curiously at him. “You like this?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Interesting.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who likes roughing it out in the boonies.”

Catcher chuckled. “Exactly what kind of guy would you say I was?”

“For starters, you seem much more urban.”

“Do I?”

I nodded.

“And that’s where you would be wrong, Miss Sullivan. I’m sure it’ll surprise you that I live on two acres in Dahlonega.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. Since I work out of the eighth district, our regional office is in Cleveland, so I wanted somewhere relatively close by.” He smiled. “Not to mention that’s where my family is from.”