Tuesday Tales: From the Word SKINNY

Welcome to the mid-September edition of Tuesday tales, the weekly blog where a small group of authors share their works in progress with you. Each week, we write to a word or picture prompt. This week, the word is SKINNY. All posts are limited to 400 words.

I’m continuing with my romantic thriller, The White Dahlia, Book 4 of The Harvester Files.

Warning: There will be graphic scenes in posts from this book.

“Whoa!” Beth’s eyes watered. If she worked too many of these cases, it would be a cinch getting into those skinny-assed jeans of hers. Who could eat after smelling this?

The last time she’d smelled something this bad had been in Boston, but the cloying scent of lilies had masked some of it. Why hadn’t someone noticed the stench earlier? Nearing the body, she pinched her nose.

“Whoa!” Beth’s eyes watered. If she worked too many of these cases, it would be a cinch getting into those skinny-assed jeans of hers. Who could eat after smelling this?

The last time she’d smelled something this bad had been in Boston, but the cloying scent of lilies had masked some of it. Why hadn’t someone noticed the stench earlier? Nearing the body, she pinched her nose.

The corpse lay on its side on a metal dolly. So, not a child’s toy as she’d assumed but a means of moving the cadaver. Most likely this was a murder, and Riley had been right to requests someone from Homicide. The dolly implied a body dump. Someone had been interrupted and had taken off leaving everything behind. With a little luck, he or she had left fingerprints and DNA as well.

“Wow! She’s more than a little ripe. Sorry you got dragged out of bed at this unholy hour. What have we got?” The pinched nose didn’t help with the scent, but gave her voice a nasal quality.

“Not a winner, that’s for sure.” The young doctor shook her head. “All bad. The last time I saw anything like this was the first case I worked with Amos Flynn and even then … This is definitely one for the books. God, I hope it’ll be the only one.” The coroner shook her head, her lips pursed tightly.

Beth looked down at the naked corpse on her side, the flaccid, marbled skin, showing signs of slippage. There was an unusual tattoo on her left shoulder, harder to make out given the poor lighting and the body’s color. She raised her mini-flashlight and shone the LED light across the victims’ shoulder. The tattoo was distinctive. Was that a name under it?

“I’ve seen that tat before,” she mumbled. “Yes!” The pieces fell into place. “She was in the missing persons’ report I looked through earlier tonight.”

The poor girl must’ve gotten involved in the sex trade and pissed off her pimp. Why did so many of them end up dead before anyone could rescue them?

She squinted. “Is that a brand on her ass? It looks like a horseshoe.”

Mitch bent and examined it more closely.

“It’s not a tattoo … Could be a brand … Some pimps stamp their whores. There’s a number under it. Looks like a four.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.