Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [430]
Dr. Samuel was ready. He followed her instructions, being careful where to kneel and keeping out of the spotlight. He tried to not think about the girl’s eyes staring at him or the smell of decomposing flesh. Flies were already buzzing, despite the night being chilly. Tully couldn’t help thinking they were the insect world’s version of vultures. The damn things could sense blood and set up shop in a matter of hours, sometimes minutes.
Kubat stood to the side. He handed Tully his flashlight. “Might need that to see inside her mouth.”
The medical examiner used the forceps to tug gently at the duct tape, peeling it off easily and bagging it. She had to use her gloved fingers to pry open the mouth, then she nodded for Tully to shine the flashlight while she picked up the forceps again. Tully pointed the light.
Something moved inside.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Did something just move?”
The medical examiner leaned in for a closer look, tilting her head while he positioned the light. Then suddenly she jerked back.
“Oh, dear, God!” she said, scrambling to her feet. “Get a couple of bags, Detective.”
Tully stayed where he was, stunned and motionless, still holding the flashlight in position and listening to Kubat and Dr. Samuel. They scurried around, trying to find something, anything to capture the huge cockroaches that started pouring out of the dead woman’s mouth.
CHAPTER 57
Maggie knew she should get up and go to sleep in her bed for a change, but to do so would disturb Harvey’s huge snoring head, which was nestled in her lap. So she stayed put. The old La-Z-Boy recliner had become a sort of sanctuary. It sat in her sunroom, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over her backyard, though there wasn’t much to see in the dark. The moonlight created dancing shadows and skeletal arms waving at her, but thankfully no wisps of fog ghosts tonight.
She wished she could erase from her mind the visit to her mother’s, like rinsing out a bad taste from her mouth, but the Scotch wasn’t cooperating. It wouldn’t stop the memories. It couldn’t fill that goddamn hollow feeling. And for some reason, she kept hearing that voice, over and over again in her head.
Your father was no saint.
Why in the world had her mother made up such a lie? Why did she want to hurt her?
Memories kept replaying in her head, some in slow motion, some in short, quick flashes, others in painful stings. Her mother had been with so many men, so many losers, bastards. Why then would she insist on putting Maggie’s father in that same category? What kind of cruel joke was she trying to play? Was this something Everett had planted? Something he had convinced her mother to do? Whatever the reason, it managed to bring the walls—those carefully constructed barriers—crashing down, and now the flood of memories wouldn’t stop.
Maggie sipped her Scotch, holding it in her mouth and then letting it slide down her throat as she closed her eyes and relished the slow burn. She waited for its heat to warm her and to erase that tension in the back of her neck. She waited for it to fill that hollow gap deep inside her, though she knew it would need to travel to her heart to accomplish that feat. Tonight for some reason the pleasant buzz had simply made her feel a bit light-headed, restless and…and admit it, damn it. Restless and alone. Alone with all those goddamn memories invading her mind and shattering her soul piece by piece.
How could her mother try to take away, to tarnish, the one thing from her childhood that Maggie still held so dear—her father’s love? How could she? Why would she even try? Yes, perhaps she was slow to love and trust, quick to suspect, but that had nothing to do with her father, and everything to do with