Borrowing Death Read Online Free

features had been damaged by flames, but not completely burned away. Still, since no one’s been able to find Fiske in town, I believe it’s him.”
    â€œDid the fire kill him?” She knew that often people were overcome by smoke before burned by the flames of a fire. With so many chemicals in the hardware store, it wouldn’t have surprised her if toxic fumes had rendered him unconscious first. But unless he’d been asleep in his office, how had he not been capable of escaping? The presence of the knife and hammer became more than a little suspicious.
    Michael scrubbed his palms over his face, the whiskers on his cheeks just long enough to become disheveled. She’d gotten used to the mustache he sported, but a beard was something else. Though understandable, given the climate. “I think he was dead before the fire.”
    Thank goodness for small favors, Charlotte thought. “Why do you say that?”
    â€œHis clothes and skin were burned, and he smelled of chemicals as if he’d been doused with paint thinner or something. That obliterated any obvious wounds on his front. I think the debris that fell on him after the explosion smothered the flames, essentially preserving the rest of the body. The clothing and skin on his back was relatively unscathed. But when I opened him up—”
    Her stomach flipped, but she quickly suppressed memories of Darcy’s body. How Michael managed to distance himself from such gruesome elements astounded her. It must have been difficult to be detached, especially in a small town where he was often familiar with the victims. On the one hand, she knew he was sympathetic to his patients’ conditions. On the other, he managed to dictate graphic details of injury and illness with nary a hitch in his voice.
    â€œâ€”blood in his chest cavity,” Michael said.
    â€œBlood? How?”
    â€œA slit in his heart’s apex. There was an obvious cut on the inside of his thoracic cavity and into the heart muscle.” Michael pointed at his own chest, just under his sternum. “The killer thrust upward. Not an easy task, but the knife we found was large enough to do the trick. Still, whoever killed Fiske was pretty strong, and either lucky or skilled.”
    A shudder ran through Charlotte. The idea of a “skilled” killer in Cordova brought to mind the terrors of a Jack the Rip-per–type. Let’s not blow this out of proportion .
    â€œWhy would someone kill him?”
    â€œThat’s Eddington’s job, not mine. All I can say is he was likely dead, or close to it, prior to the fire.” Michael shrugged and slowly shook his head, looking weary. “Fiske was a decent sort, as far as I knew him. He and his wife were well-liked.”
    â€œNot by everyone, perhaps.” Charlotte had met the couple only a few times. Caroline was ten or so years older than she, Lyle another ten years older than his wife. They were friendly enough, and Caroline seemed to enjoy being among Cordova’s growing number of society matrons—wives of the more prominent and successful businessmen.
    â€œPoor Caroline.”
    After checking back issues of the Times earlier, Charlotte had found the social page where Mrs. Fiske’s travel plans had been mentioned. On a more practical note, the fact she was out of town meant she wasn’t a suspect. Michael had said killing Fiske took some strength as well. That covered a number of men and women who lived in a place that required muscle and skill to survive.
    â€œEddington will be questioning the housekeeper and whoever else works for them to ask about any problems and her return plans. In the meantime, we’ll have Fiske taken over to the funeral parlor. I don’t envy them this preparation.” Michael rose, stretched his back, and crossed to stand with her at the window. “I know that look in your eye, Charlotte. Keep your nose out of this and let Eddington do his