Great start to a mystery series by a Readers & 'ritas autohr
J.J. Graves has seen a lot of dead bodies in her line of
work...
She's not only in the mortuary business, but she's also the
coroner for King George County, Virginia. When a grisly
murder is discovered in the small town of Bloody Mary, it's
up to J.J. and her best friend, Detective Jack Lawson, to
bring the victim justice.
The murders are piling up...
The residents of Bloody Mary are dropping like flies, and
when a popular mystery writer shows up on J.J.'s doorstep
with plans of writing his new book about the Bloody Mary
Serial Killer, J.J. has to decide if he might be going above
and beyond the call of duty to create the spine tinglers
he's so well known for. It only clouds the issue and puts
her reputation on the line when the attraction between them
spirals out of control.
And passions are rising...
J.J and Jack are in a race against time. They discover each
victim had a shocking secret, and the very foundation of
J.J.'s life is in danger of crumbling when it turns out
sheβs harboring secrets of her ownβsecrets that make
her the perfect victim in a deadly game.
Excerpt Chapter One
Fourth generation mortician. Thatβs a lot of dead bodies.
I thought Iβd be proud to carry on the family legacy, but
that was before I knew the job would be hell on my social
life. I mean, who wanted to date a woman who drained blood
on a regular basis and whose scent of choice was embalming
fluid?
Sure, I got a little lonely sometimes. It mostly happened
when I was preparing a body in the middle of the night
instead of snuggled up next to someone warm with a pulse.
But dead bodies were my business. And I hated every fucking
minute of it. I never wanted to take over the family funeral
parlor. I wanted to be a doctor. Well, technically, I was a
doctor, but I preferred to be one for the living.
My parents died early last year, and the gossip and scandal
involved would have broken someone with a lesser
constitution, but Iβd managed to hold my head up. Mostly. It
was because of my parents that Iβd had an impromptu career
change. The only thing I had left of them was the crumbling
old Victorian I grew up in and Graves Funeral Homeβbelieve
me, it was a hell of a legacy.
I had little choice but to resign my job at the hospital,
pack my bags and move back to Bloody Mary,
Virginiaβpopulation 2,902. The good thing about owning a
funeral home in Bloody Mary was that hardly anyone ever
died, despite the rather macabre name. The bad thing about
it was I had a shitload of student loans to pay back and not
a lot of income.
Did I mention the budget cuts?
Ahh, my life was simple before the budget cuts. The mayorβs
decision to be more fiscally conservative left King George
County without a coroner. So, I, J.J. Graves, in a moment of
temporary insanity, volunteered for the job. In all
actuality, I was strong-armed into taking the position out
of a sense of duty to the community and the guilt of
tarnishing my familyβs good name. Well, tarnishing it any
more than it already was.
Which brought me here. Alone in my bed in the middle of the
night. My bedroom so cold white puffs of breath clouded
above my face every time I exhaled because I couldnβt afford
to crank the heater above 65 degrees. My toes wiggled and
fought for release beneath the nubby covers Iβd tucked under
the mattress too tightly, and goosebumps spread across the
top of my skull and tightened the skin so much that it felt
as if the follicles might snap off.
Iβd been wide awake for more than an hour, thinking of my
family, what was left of my legacy, and how much my life in
general sucked. Not for the first time, the thought entered
my mind that it wouldnβt be so terrible if I just packed a
bag and left everything behind me without a word to anyone.
I didnβt have any family to worry over my disappearance. No
children to leave belongings to. Sure my friends would miss
me for awhile. But eventually the people whoβd watched me
grow up would only have passing thoughts about that Graveβs
girl whose parents killed themselves. All the while I would
be starting a new life. Hopefully someplace warm.
But like I always did, I immediately dismissed the thought.
It took more courage than I had to start over and leave
everything familiar behind. I needed something in my life
besides a half-assed career and a mountain of debt. A man
would be nice. A man whoβd be willing to have sex would be
even better. But chances of that happening were somewhere
between negative four and zero. Not because Bloody Mary
didnβt have its fair share of men, but because I was just
picky. Bloody Mary wasnβt exactly teeming with single males
under the age of forty who had health insurance and all
their own teeth.
I huffed out another white puff of breath and rolled over,
punching my pillow and clearing my mind of all thoughts that
didnβt involve counting sheep. Iβd had trouble sleeping
since Iβd moved home. Maybe it was because the house was
empty and made weird noises and my imagination assumed the
cold blasts of air and the rattling pipes were the haints of
all my ancestors shaking their heads in pity. Or maybe it
was because the mattress was old and lumpy. Who the hell
knew? But Iβd learned to function on just a few hours of
sleep when I was in medical school, so I was used to having
bags under my eyes and skin that looked like it never saw
the light of day.
The silence of the house smothered meβa heap of decaying
wood and rotting shingles that crushed me with the weight of
neglect and responsibilityβso I burrowed under the covers,
searching for peace of mind and the comfortable spot on the
mattress that always seemed to elude me. Iβd almost talked
myself into getting up and starting a pot of coffee when the
phone warbled on the bedside table.
I cursed out a mumbled, βshitβ in surprise and flailed under
the covers so my sheets resembled something along the lines
of a straight jacket. My pulse jumped and throbbed in the
side of my neck, and each pounding beat marched through the
synapses of my brain until I became lightheaded with
something I recognized as fear. I closed my eyes and let out
a slow breath.
The only time I got calls in the middle of the night was
when someone died. I hated death. I hated that my parents
had left such a massive responsibility on my shoulders. And
most of all I hated that I was the only one the dead could
turn to. I missed the living. The dead made me think of
things I wasnβt quite ready to face.
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