Tuesday Tales: From the Word: BATTERY

Well, September is slipping away one day at a time. It’s officially autumn. The leaves have started to turn, the flowers are dying off, and it’s time to prepare for whatever winter Mother Nature tosses at us this year.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the ongoing blog where a select group of authors share their works in progress with you. This week, our 400 word scenes are based on the word BATTERY. I continue to post from The White Dahlia, Book Four of the Harvester Files.

“Al Foster.” He held up his badge to the uniformed officer, the Asian-American woman’s pale complexion testifying to the fact that she’d most likely lost her late night snack. Bodies found near dumpsters were rarely easy on the eyes. “I’m looking for Sergeant Reynolds.”

“She’s over there with the coroner.” The aroma of vomit on the woman’s breath confirmed Al’s suspicions. Hell of a way to end a shift.

“Thanks.”

Bending under the crime tape, Al headed toward the alley, his nose crinkling at the more pungent but anticipated stench of body odor, urine, and plain, old-fashioned garbage.

As he approached, the unmistakable putrid stench of decomposing tissue wafted over to him. His stomach roiled. No wonder the woman had been sick. Yanking his handkerchief out of his pocket, he held it up to his nose, covering his mouth—not that it helped much.

Thirty feet away, a woman, arms crossed in front of her, dark hair pulled into one of those messy topknots Sylvia had often worn, leaned against the stone wall, while another knelt beside the body. Was that a dolly? This close, the odor was overwhelming. How long had the damn corpse been here?

“Sergeant Reynolds?” He held out his hand, wishing he’d kept his jacket on. “Al Foster. We spoke earlier. You said this was one of mine? What makes you think so?”

He gazed into her face, the freckles standing out against her pale cheeks, her golden brown, almond-shaped eyes, unlike any he’d ever seen, red-rimmed. Had she been crying? Stains on her pants indicated the officer out there hadn’t been the only one to upchuck. Not surprising. This close, the stench was enough to make anyone puke.

The woman peeled away from the wall, her spine straightening as she pulled the vestiges of her professionalism around herself like a cloak. She was young for a detective sergeant—or maybe she was just one of those women who hid their age well. Reaching for his outstretched hand, she shook it and released it.

Unexpected energy raced along his nerves at the slight touch. When had shaking a woman’s hand produced a sensation like that?

“I did.” She aimed a battery-powered mini-light at the corpse. “Sorry to drag you out near the end of your shift like this, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. I figured that, despite the shape of the body, you could still ID her for me.”

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