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.

Well, we’ve made it through eight months of this difficult year. The last summer long weekend is behind us and the kids are heading back to school, either in person or online. God alone knows what the fall will bring.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This is picture prompt week and all scenes are limited to 300 words. I’m continuing with The White Dahlia, Book four of the Harvester Files. Here’s the picture I used.

“I’m not imagining this, Sergeant. It’s as if some wild animal went after her,” Riley continued defending his words.

Beth frowned and shook her head. “Whatever you do, don’t repeat that to anyone else, understood? We have enough crazies in the area, and the damn press can sniff out weird stories. Whatever this is, we don’t want it to make the morning news. Right now, until we know any different, this is simply a body found by a dumpster. It may not even be a crime scene. People die of natural causes every day, even those living on the street, and in this heat, malnutrition and dehydration can be killers. The coroner will tell us what you found; until then, it’s useless to speculate.”

“But, Sarge, she’s naked, and her face and body, the color…”

Beth clenched her fists. “Riley, there’s a dumpster back there. It’s hot out. Someone could’ve stolen her clothes, although a naked body could be a case for Special Victims. If the body’s been there a while—and given the fact you can smell if from here—it has, it’ll attract animals. I saw a hoarder’s body after her cats got through with it.” She shook her head. “Not a pretty sight. I’d better get down there. And don’t worry about getting sick. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Some things are harder on the stomach than others. Get your partner and tape off this section of the street. Try to push the ‘concerned citizens’ to the other side of the road. I’ll let you know what’s what after I have a look at the body and talk to the M E.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Riley signaled to Chou, indicating he needed tape, and Beth left them to it.

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

Still struggling to try and recover my original WordPress account, but it seems it may be impossible to do. Welcome to September’s first Tuesday Tales, a weekly blog where a select group of authors share their works in process with you. This week, our writing prompt is LONELY. I continue with the fourth book in The Harvester Files, The White Dahlia

Given the time of night—or day—traffic was light. Beth reached her destination within ten minutes. A dozen people stood within a few yards of a sanitation truck up on the sidewalk, blocking the alley. Why were they even here? It was true that New York was billed as the city that never slept, but seriously, these ghouls should be in bed.

She shuddered. Hadn’t it been the same in Boston? The possibility of a fresh kill always drew the wraiths and vultures, people who got off on the misery of others, lonely souls who relished someone else’s worst luck. This person might’ve been murdered, but whether they had or not, they deserved some sympathy and respect.

Someone had to move that truck for the medical examiner’s van to get by—assuming the truck hadn’t hit someone dumpster diving for a late night snack.

After flashing her badge at the uniformed officer and the sanitation men standing with him, she scowled. They were pale, but given the intense aroma, she could understand why. Decomposing flesh was hard to mistake for anything else, but mixed with garbage like this, even her own stomach rebelled, reminded of previous gruesome acts. Glancing around, she couldn’t see Riley’s training officer. Where was Chou? It was her job to secure the scene.

“Riley,” she acknowledged the officer before addressing the other two men. “Sergeant Reynolds, Homicide. And you are?”

“Phil Carmichael and Gus Hernandez.” The shorter of the two men answered. “Gus is legal but his English is no good.”

“I see.” She pulled a small black notebook and pen out of the fanny pack she wore at her side, flipped the cover open and wrote down the names as well as the sanitation truck’s license plate and number. “Who’s got the keys to this thing?”

“I do, signora,” the taller of the two men answered.

“Did you hit the person?” Was that why the truck blocked the alley?

“Madre de Dios, no. We found her here,” he struggled to speak English.

“I’ll take your cellphones.”

“Si.”

The men handed over their devices. Glancing through the photos, recent texts, and social media posts, she verified they hadn’t taken any pictures—if there was anything really to take a photograph of—and returned them.

“Don’t talk to anyone about what you found,” she ordered. “Pull the vehicle over there.”

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