Love Can Be Murder

"Ward two."
    "Gawd," Carlotta muttered when they started off in search of Ward II, "I may never eat again."
    Jolie tried to smile through the panic that was beginning to build in her stomach. Since last night, every time she pictured Gary dead, she had forced the image from her mind. Now she not only had to relive it, but she would have brand-new images with which to torment herself.
    They walked past Ward I, then located the stainless-steel double doors of Ward II. Jolie lifted her hand to knock, felt foolish and pushed one door open. Just inside, a young man in a white orderly uniform looked up from a computer. "May I help you?"
    "I'm Jolie Goodman, here regarding Gary Hagan."
    He looked over the top of his glasses. "Spell that, please."
    She did, and while he tapped on his keyboard she looked around the room. The temperature was at least ten degrees cooler in here than in the hallway. Two opposing walls were lined with enormous stainless-steel file drawers...for cadavers. Her knees started to feel a little slack.
    "Sign here," the man said, pointing to a line on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. "And I need to see a picture ID."
    She signed her name, then removed her still-damp wallet and flashed her driver's license.
    "Follow me."
    She did, and Carlotta lagged a few steps behind. Carrying the clipboard, he consulted numbers on the sheet and the cabinets, finally reaching down to grab the handle of a drawer on the second row, about knee height. At the last second, he looked up.
    "You should prepare yourself to see your loved one in what might seem like an unnatural state," he said in a rehearsed monotone. "Your loved one will be nude, but modestly covered with a cloth. In the event the person suffered wounds to the head, arms, or torso before they passed away, please know that those wounds will be visible."
    Next to her, Carlotta grunted. "I'm not looking."
    "Let me know when you're ready," he said.
    Jolie nodded and steeled herself as the young man slid the drawer out from the wall. She stared at the still face of the dead man, her heart thumping against her breastbone.
    Carlotta looked over Jolie's shoulder. "I thought Gary was white."
    Jolie sagged. "He is—that's not Gary."
    The young orderly's eyes widened behind his glasses, then he consulted his clipboard again. "Oh, you're right. Sorry 'bout that."
    " Christ ," Carlotta muttered.
    He slid the first man back into the wall, then pulled open the next drawer over. A nauseating medicinal odor filled the air. As awful as it was to see Gary's ashen face, at least his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, Jolie decided. If one's gaze didn't stray to the two-inch round black hole in the middle of his chest. Her own chest constricted painfully.
    "Yes," she said, nodding. "That's Gary Hagan." Carlotta grabbed her hand for a surprising squeeze and Jolie was grateful.
    "Okeydoke," the orderly said, closing the drawer with a metallic click. He pointed to the clipboard. "Sign here and here and I'll get the personal effects."
    She did, blinking away the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, then followed the young man back to the front. He consulted another computer screen and gave an exasperated sigh. "The personal effects are in police custody—sorry. But I need to know where you want the body sent."
    "Leed Funeral Home." Jolie extended a card for the small funeral chapel on the northern side of Buckhead that she'd found in the Yellow Pages ("In your hour of need, lean on Leed.") When she got her broker business off the ground, she was definitely going to come up with a catchy slogan and take out an ad. "They're expecting the...Gary."
    "Okay, you're all set." The orderly smiled. "Just go back out these doors the way you came. And have a nice day."
    They exited into the hall and Jolie stopped to gulp fresh air.
    Carlotta jammed her hands on her hips. "Ugh. I complain about my job way too much. Are you okay?"
    Jolie nodded, trying to dispel the thought of Gary being warehoused like an auto part. They made their way past Ward I, where two uniformed police officers stood by and mournful cries were audible from inside the room. Jolie's heart went out to the family. The door opened suddenly and Detective Salyers emerged to speak to the officers. They nodded obediently, then left.
    Salyers turned and her face registered surprise and recognition. "Ms. Goodman." Her gaze darted to Carlotta. "Ms. Wren."
    "Hello, Detective," Jolie said.
    "I suppose you're here to