Carolina Rain by Rick Murcer

get lucky while working your ass off. She reached back with her left hand and touched her backside. God knew hers could use a little working off.
    The only thing they had going for them was the medallion stuck in Lance’s mouth. The meaning wasn't exactly clear, but it could be the symbol for a cult of sun worshippers, a marijuana leaf, or Aphrodite. Her vote was for the MJ leaf. If it belonged to one of the others, they might have a serious problem. It was made with relatively expensive aluminum alloy, was gold-plated, and had to be special ordered. The problem was that it could be purchased from about twenty places on the Internet. It would take patience to run down those records and it could have been sold to any one of a thousand people in the area, or elsewhere, over an indefinite amount of time.
    Draining the beer, Ginny slid off her slacks and tossed them in the laundry room as she headed for the bedroom. The fan was thumping methodically as usual and there was something else . A smell, her husband’s s cent . The man was a freaking gas machine.
    Ginny finished undressing, climbed into bed without turning on the light, and reached over to kiss him good night. His chilled arm caused her hand to jerk away. She jumped out of bed. She tripped over something on the floor, ca tching her balance as a sharp pain ran up her right shoulder. She ignored it and fumbled for the light switch, panic acting as her guide.
    The ceiling light flooded the room . S he stared at the scene on her bed and froze. Even a grisl y veteran of hundreds of murder investigations like her can be shocked. Carl lay on the comforter, his arms crossed on his chest just above where the hilt of the corkscrew protruded. The streaked, dried blood covered his nude body from head to foot, barely covering the same spider-web pattern she’d seen decorating Lance Morgan , including the faint salt lines .
    As Ginny screamed, the glint of the medallion caught her eye. She screamed again as she dropped to her knees, fighting the nausea and lightheadedness. A flash later, she lost her late dinner on the dark blue carpet. Breathing hard, she struggled to her feet, glanced at the bed again , heaved again, and then rushed to her phone on the table . She suddenly grew dizzy, lost her balance and landed o n her knees a second time. Then she dropped the phone just long enough to free a wail borne of pure disbelief and agony . Finally she took control, at least enough to dial 9-1-1.
    As she waited for an answer , tears streaming, Ginny Krantz was struck with the irony of her early thought. She’d been right. Kure Beach had a real problem.

CHAPTER-16
     
     
    Sit t ing on the edge of the bed, Manny raised his knee toward his chest, felt a tiny twinge of pain, then continued to tie his black cross trainer before plopping his foot back on the floor. The small echo ricocheting from the sound made him smile. He stared at the other shoe, tied it, and repeated the process he’d managed with the first. That sound caused the grin to grow wider still. Two shoes on the floor meant two feet on the ground . T hat meant he was walking out of Lansing Memorial Hospital—today. They would insist on throwing him in one of those ancient wheelchairs that had been around since the Civil War and , for a change, he wouldn’t argue. Anything to get his fanny out of here and back into the real world.
    Running his hand through his hair, he reflected on what he had been able to do while lying in the bed. Josh had brought in some case files, including one for the mysterious cyanide woma n who claimed he ’d done something to her, then killed herself. Chloe would have kicked his ass had she known . He’d asked for them anyway. E ven with all of the visitors, he found time to read —and think.
    The cyanide woma n’s file was remarkable thin. No match for her fingerprints, no DNA match, n o ID. Nothing. They had pictures of the scene in the hospital and one of the security cameras saw her walk