"Then you're probably not going to get married."
Memaw twisted around in her chair to look at her granddaughter. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"There are studies," Laura tried to explain.
Her grandmother wouldn't hear it. "It's hogwash." She waved her hand dismissively . "Hogwash."
"Nobody actually uses that word anymore."
"You'll get married when you get married," Memaw continued. "When you're ready to get married."
"Well," Laura sighed. "Maybe I'm not ready to get married."
"Obviously you're not."
"Obviously?"
"Just look at your attitude." Memaw shook her head. "You have got to get your head on straight, Laura. Get your priorities in order. Stop dating married men."
"You make it sound like all I do is go after the married ones, Memaw," Laura said. "It was just this one time."
"It's one time too many, as far as I'm concerned."
"It's not like I'm making a habit of it," Laura said. "I'll make sure to ask the next one if he's married."
Memaw let herself be pushed along in silence for a few feet. Then she asked, as though the thought just popped into her head, "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"
"You know what?" Laura said. "I don't think I'm going to answer that one."
"That means you did."
"That's not what it means," Laura replied tersely.
"If you didn't, why not just say that you didn't?"
"Because," Laura said tiredly, "I don't really want to discuss my sex life with my grandmother. I'm pretty sure that's crossing a line."
"Hogwash."
"Again with that word," Laura muttered.
"Your mother and I used to talk about this kind of stuff all the time," Memaw said.
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."
Laura slowed as they approached her grandmother's room. There were two orderlies pushing a sheet-covered gurney out of the room. It was obvious what was under the sheet.
"Oh dear," Memaw said. "Mrs. Grayson?"
Dr. Jones followed the orderlies out. He was in his late thirties and had the kind of square jaw that Laura was looking for in a man. He tucked Marian Grayson's chart under his arm. "I'm afraid she's no longer with us, Ms. Benson. Her cancer took a turn for the worse.”
Memaw's good mood quickly evaporated as she watched the orderlies push her deceased roommate down towards the elevators. "That is just so sad."
Laura bit her lip nervously. This was not good. It had been her plan to make a move on Dr. Jones today. Well, a more overt move. She had been batting eyelashes at the man for the last two weeks and he hadn't given her a second glance. Today was going to be her big day. But now, Laura felt kind of icky hitting on the man.
Dr. Jones peeked back in the room. "Hey, Fred, George," he called out to the orderlies. "Help me out with this for a second." He pointed to something in the room. He smiled at Laura and her grandmother. "It'll just be a minute. Let me clean this up real quick and then you can get back in there."
The three men stepped back into the room.
"Well, I'm not gonna to lie," Memaw said, glancing at the gurney holding the deceased Mrs. Grayson. "This is definitely going to harsh my mellow today."
"Memaw," Laura groaned. "Please don't say things like that."
"What? What did I say?"
"It's embarrassing," Laura said. "Also, a woman just died. Maybe we could give her a little respect?"
Memaw shrugged. "It's always sad when someone dies," she agreed. "But in all honesty, Barbara was a bit of a bitch."
Laura face-palmed herself. "Oh, boy. I can't believe you just said that."
"Well, it's the truth," Memaw said defensively.
"That doesn't mean you need to go around saying it."
"I'm inclined to agree with your granddaughter, you old hag."
Laura and her grandmother turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Barbara Grayson, looking pale, as a dead person is supposed to look, sat upright on her gurney, the sheet puddling around her and gave Memaw the dirtiest of dirty looks.
"Oh, shit," Memaw said.
five
"I've got you a fresh one!" Larry Murphy hollered as he pushed the gurney with the dead sixteen year old on it into Saint Mercy's morgue. Larry was in his mid-twenties with blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He had a classic head-to-toe chiseled look about him. His six-pack alone had been known to actually cause women to swoon. Larry was a second year intern and long past the grunt work of delivering bodies to the morgue.
"I hate it when you say that," Betty said, coming out of her office. Betty Marlins was the assistant coroner at Saint Mercy's and the number one reason why anybody bothered to make their way down to the depressing basement. Beneath her white labcoat she hid the body of a twenty-eight year old who took very good care of herself. Her skin was lightly tanned and she easily had the fullest lips at Saint Mercy's.
"Hey," Larry said, giving her a fratboy smile. He pushed the dead sixteen year old off to the side and sauntered over to Betty. He glanced around cautiously. "Anybody else down here today?"
"Nope," she replied, twisting her way around him. She picked up the chart on the sixteen year old. It was a nasty one. "Randy took the day off and Cindy's still on maternity leave."
"So, it's just you?" Larry asked, wandering back over to the doors.
"It is, indeed, just me," Betty said. She lifted the sheet and took a quick peek underneath. She made a face. "Yuck."
"Yeah, it's pretty nasty," Larry agreed as he locked the morgue doors.
Betty dropped the sheet and turned around at the sound of the locks. "Hey."
"What?" Larry asked innocently. He held up his hands. "I didn't do anything."
Betty cocked an eyebrow. "You didn't do anything?"
"The doors locked by themselves," Larry said as he made his way back over to her. He wrapped his arms around her. She was so much smaller than him. It was one of the things he liked about her.
Larry bent down and his lips brushed against hers.
"We really shouldn't," she whispered.
"You said you're the only one here today," Larry pointed out. "It'd be a shame if we didn't."
"I don't think that's the word I would use," she said, her breath catching as he nibbled at her neck, sending goosebumps down to her toes.
Larry didn't waste any time and his hands made their way under her coat and down to her buttcheeks, squeezing them tightly through the knee-length skirt. With a quick heave of his arms, and much to her surprise, Larry lifted her up onto the empty gurney. The cool metal chilled her legs.
Larry turned his attention to her black blouse, quickly undoing the buttons and revealing the lacy red bra that held her breasts up for his attention. Before she could argue further he lowered his mouth to the supple flesh of her chest, leaving kisses along the tops of her breasts.
She sighed contentedly, digging her fingers through his blonde hair.
"You know," she said, "This is still kind of weird." She glanced briefly at the dead sixteen year old off to the side.
"You say that every time," Larry replied, flicking his tongue across her covered nipples. He could feel them hardening through the bra.
"As I recall," Betty said breathlessly, "the first time we did this you had a little trouble getting it up yourself."
"Getting it up isn't a problem any more," he replied, grabbing her hand and pressing it against his crotch.
Betty giggled with lust as she felt him hardening behind his pants. "No, that is not a problem now," she agreed.
Larry hiked her skirt up and yanked off her panties, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder.
Betty gasped as her butt touched the cold metal of the gurney. "Careful," she said. "I don't want to lose those and have somebody else find them. It'd be kind of hard to explain why my panties were laying around under some dead guy."
"You know what?" Larry said, wrapping his hand around her neck.
&nbs
p; "What?"
"We're talking too much," he pulled her towards him, mashing his lips against hers. His other hand snuck up her bare thigh and she moaned into his mouth.
Larry yanked her bra down around her breasts and she pushed him back down, her fingers digging themselves back into his hair.
His tongue wrapped around her hard nipple and Betty shuddered with pleasure. She closed her eyes and let her head hang back, thrusting her breasts into Larry's hungry mouth.
In the cold sterile morgue, every noise was magnified, bouncing off the tile floors and the metal walls. The sound of Larry's belt buckle being undone sent another electric thrill through her body and she instinctively spread her legs a little wider.
Larry grabbed her by the hips and pulled her to the edge of the gurney, his mouth never leaving her breasts.
His hips flicked forward and she moaned again as he pierced her. She reached back with her other hand, propping herself up on the gurney against his thrusts. His fingers dug into her hips as the sounds of their lust echoed through the morgue.
Heavy panting.
Deep moaning.
A squeal of delight.
Sheets rustling.
It took a second for it to pierce Betty's lust-addled mind.
Sheets rustling? No, Betty thought, that didn't make any sense.
A wave of pleasure rippled through her body and Betty was about to write it off as her ears playing tricks on her when it happened again.
Sheets rustling.
Sheets falling.
That wasn't right.
A loud moan escaped her and Betty bit her lip to keep herself from getting any louder.
She writhed beneath Larry, who seemed blissfully unaware of any other noises in the room.
It was getting harder for her to think, but there was still a part of her that knew there could be a problem. If anybody walked in on them like this, Betty would be out of a job.
Panting, Betty pushed through the pleasure that overwhelmed her body. She tried to hold the wave at bay as she lifted her head, forcing her eyes open.
The dead sixteen year old girl stood behind Larry, staring at the two of them as they made love on the medical gurney.
Betty screamed.
six
The loud speaker crackled in the waiting room outside the ER and then a voice said, "Security to the eighth floor. Security to the eighth floor."
Brooke glanced up at the speakers. "That's like the third one of those I've heard this morning."
"Crazies on the eighth floor?" Avery asked, stretching out in the chair next to her sister.
"Not just the eighth," Brooke replied. "They had some problems with somebody on the sixth, too. Where do they keep the crazies here?"
Avery thought about it for a moment. "Not even in this building. I'm pretty sure they're in the east wing."
Brooke shrugged. "Must be something in the water today."
There was a loud squawk from the speakers followed by a strained voice, "Could we please get some security down to the morgue? Security to the morgue."
"The morgue?" Brooke said in disbelief. "The morgue?" She looked at Avery.
"Got to be something in the water," Avery said.
"Really? Even in the morgue? Something in the water?"
Avery threw her hands up. "How the hell should I know, Brooke. I'm here with you. Whatever's going on down in the morgue isn’t our fault." She scratched the back of her head and looked around cautiously. "At least, you know, not this time."
"I think that you mean to say that it was your fault last time," Brooke corrected her.
"Nope, it was definitely your fault."
"I'm pretty sure you're misremembering," Brooke said.
"No, I'm pretty sure we were looking for that dead Italian and you wanted to handle the interrogation of his dead partners," Avery said. "You screwed up the stick magic and everything was all amuck in the morgue for the rest of the night."
Brooke held up her hand. "Okay, two things," she folded all but two of her fingers. "First, nobody actually uses that word anymore."
"What word?"
"Amuck," Brooke said. "It's an old person's word."
"It is not an old person's word."
"It is so very much an old person's word," Brooke insisted. "And when you use it, I feel like my big sister has suddenly become my grandmother."
"It's funny you should say that," Avery replied. "Because a lot of times I feel like I'm your grandmother."
"Well, that sounds like something you should probably take up with a psychologist or something," Brooke suggested.
"Yes, I'm going to see a psychologist because I use the word 'amuck,'" Avery rolled her eyes.
"Among other things. Second thing," Brooke continued. "I didn't screw up anything with the Italian's partners."
Avery stared at her sister. "You didn't screw up anything with the Italian's partners?"
"That's what I said."
"Funny," Avery said without a trace of humor. She tapped her finger against her chin. "I can't remember. Which one of us was practically drunk that night?"
“Practically drunk is a long way from actually drunk,” Brooke pointed out.
“It’s closer than you might think.”
"Also," Brooke said, “even if I was drunk, I can hold my liquor pretty well."
"The what was your excuse for aligning the communication sticks incorrectly?"
"I aligned them correctly," Brooke said with a touch of overconfidence. "And when I turned my back, you messed them up."
"Really?"
"Really."
Avery just shook her head. "That's how drunk you were. You don't even remember what happened. Either way, whatever's going on in the morgue, it's not our fault."
"Your fault," Brooke added.
"Shut up," Avery muttered.
"Why would they even need security down there?" Brooke wondered aloud. "I mean, what would be a reason that wouldn't involve the dead rising?"
Avery shrugged. "Maybe some family is freaking out after identifying a dead loved one."
"Really? Security for that?"
Avery shrugged again. "Jack's told me some stories about how crazy people get when they find out a loved one is dead."
That one hit home a little closer than Brooke would have liked and she dropped the issue.
They both stared at the white wall in silence. There weren't any further requests for security over the loud speakers, but there was a slight tension in the air behind the nurse's counter. Avery watched the nurses talk among themselves in hushed voices. Every so often one of them would look around nervously. Avery didn't think anything of it, though. Her brain was still focused on family problems.
After a few minutes, she sighed loudly. "Okay, so what's the deal here?"
"With what?" Brooke asked, picking at the zipper on her hoodie.
"With Stanley."
Brooke shrugged. "You know what I know. Nobody's come out to give me an update on him."
"No," Avery said, rubbing her forehead. "I mean, with you and Stanley. What is this?"
Brooke looked at her sister. "Me and Stanley?"
"Yeah."
She shrugged again. "I don't know."
"Brooke," Avery sighed. "You're not sixteen years old. You can't answer 'I don't know' to everything."
"I can if it's the truth."
"So that's it?" Avery asked. "You're back with Stanley and you don't really know anything else?"
Brooke shrugged again, she couldn't help it. "Yeah. Pretty much."
"And what does that mean?"
"I don't know what it means, Avery," Brooke said. "I haven't had any time to think about what it means."
"Okay, fine," Avery paused for a second. "What about this: What does Stanley mean to you?"
"What does Stanley mean to me?" Brooke poked herself in the chest.
"Please stop stalling."
"I'm not stalling."
"You are too stalling," Avery said. "Whene
ver you repeat questions like this, you're stalling."
"Your questions sound like they're rejects for a Miss America pageant," Brooke said. "Maybe you want to ask me what America means to me, too? If there's time, I think I can even do a piano solo. They keep one of those in the chapel, right?"
Avery sighed. "Brooke..."
"I don't know," Brooke replied.
"That's not an answer."
Brooke threw her hands up. "I don't know, Avery. I'm sorry that's not a good enough answer for you, but it's the only one I've got. I don't know. I don't know. I. Don't. Know."
They stared at each other for a long, tense minute.
"You don't know," Avery said finally.
"Pretty much."
Avery shook her head.
Brooke scratched her nose. "You know, it's not like I was the best girlfriend the first time around."
"That's for sure," Avery muttered.
"Okay, first you harass me about this and then you make fun of me," Brooke said. "Are we going to have an actual conversation here or are you just using this as an excuse to pick on me some more?"
"Strangely enough," Avery replied. "I can do both. Please, continue."
Brooke fumed for a second. "I wasn't the best girlfriend. Stanley wasn't perfect either, but if it was a competition to see which of us used to be the more rotten person, I'm pretty sure I won."
"Well, he is a loan shark," Avery pointed out.
"Come on," Brooke said. "Could you give me a break here? Not a huge break. Just a tiny one. A tiny little break. Do you think you could do that? I think it's safe to say I've earned one at this point."
"Fine," Avery sighed. "A break. A tiny break."
"Thank you," Brooke replied with a little bow. "I appreciate it."
"Don't get too excited," Avery said. "I'll probably just save the snide remarks for later, when we're not sitting in the hospital."
"I'm just gonna pretend I didn't hear that last part," Brooke responded. "Anyway, I did some things the first time around with Stanley. I've done some things since then, too. I'm not proud of all things that I've done, but I'm not going to make any excuses. Especially not for the hot guys that I've done these things with."
"And there's the Brooke we all know and love."
"I mean, if a gorgeous man wants to make himself available to me for sexual purposes," Brooke shrugged. "What am I supposed to do? Say no?"
Diamond Before Dying (Reapers in Heels #4) Page 3
