Gallows Humor Read online

  One side of the room was lined with counters and cabinets for supplies and the fireproof cabinet for chemicals. The back wall contained a stainless steel dissection bench with attached sink for individual organ examination, a quantity of formalin for preserving tissue, and a scale for weights. The white-tiled floor sloped slightly toward the center drain and could be bleached and hosed down easily.

  The third wall held a large whiteboard, one half of which was permanently marked with organ names, a column for weights, and space to write any other observations. The other half of the whiteboard showed a sexless outline of a human body for noting the external examination findings from scars and tattoos, eye and hair color, and external injury and perimortem interventions.

  Cin skillfully pushed the gurney through the crowd and lined it up flush with the autopsy table. The body was large and wrapped in several white sheets from the top of its head and tucked under its feet.

  “Thanks, Cin.” Corey smiled and gave Cin her introduction. “This is Cinnamon James. She works with me here and you’ll be seeing her around on occasion. When not giving me a hand, she’s studying forensic anthropology at the university under Dr. Audrey Marsh.”

  Corey moved to the opposite side of the autopsy table and leaned toward the body, using her full height and arm span. She gripped the sheet at the shoulders and knees. She heard the door open and bang closed and straightened to see who was coming in.

  The woman moved smoothly into the room and slipped in behind the residents to stand at the back. Corey was positively awestruck as she took her in. She was tall, maybe only an inch or two shorter than Corey, her trim body accentuating amazing curves beneath her stylish clothes. Her skin was naturally bronze and flawless with full lips framed perfectly by gold-highlighted auburn hair in a riot of curls that swept off her face and cascaded past her shoulders. She was beautiful in a way Corey could only describe as otherworldly.

  Corey wasn’t even aware how long she stared until her gaze swept up to meet the woman’s eyes and a single, perfect brow arched in amusement, a smile hinting at her lips.

  Corey cleared her throat feeling her face flush. She attempted to hide her embarrassment as she pulled the body across in one strong movement. She gave a nod to Cin, who had clearly seen the entire brief interaction and was fighting a laugh, to begin unwrapping the body.

  “I’m not sure how much Dr. Tweedle explained about this practicum but I’ll give you a brief sketch. We use bodies of folks whose families have requested autopsies, but for whom a postmortem would otherwise not be required.” She stopped when a hand shot up. “Yes?”

  “What’s the difference between requiring one and requesting one?” an impossibly young-looking woman asked.

  “Oh, okay.”

  She didn’t usually get questions about autopsy procedure but she was happy to answer. Her eyes flicked to the woman at the back who was watching her with interest, and she became hyper aware of herself—her too-low voice, and what she must look like, dressed as she was and sporting a shiner.

  “Autopsies are required by law for any suspicious death, anyone who has died at home of unknown causes, suicides, and accidents, and all kids all the time, regardless of situation.” She glanced around at the faces to see they all, for the most part, seemed interested. “In hospital deaths, what we call “house cases,” autopsies are required if the patient dies within twenty-four hours of admission or if they were under direct physician care at the time, for example during surgery or in the emergency department. In these cases the costs are covered and there are no restrictions on the autopsy.”

  She took a breath. “Next of kin can request an autopsy on a family member who dies but does not meet the requirements for a mandatory post. These can be full autopsies or partial—head only, chest only, whatever—depending on what they want to spend and what information they are looking for. Sometimes the family just wants to know more about how they died. Some family think, usually erroneously, that they have a malpractice case, or they want information on possible heritable conditions and that kind of thing. The expense for those posts is covered by the requesting family members. So, just to bring it around full circle…”

  She picked up the chart off the now unwrapped body of a yellow-tinged, older man and flipped through the first couple of pages. “Mr. Wicker, eighty-three, terminal for non-alcoholic end stage liver disease died in hospice over the weekend. Though it’s not necessary, his family would like a post to get some more information on his liver disease. As part of the consent we explain we would like to use his body in training minimally invasive procedures and we knock a few bucks off the cost.” She looked around. “Make sense?”

  Her mystery woman gave a small shrug and nod as if in answer and Corey’s lip twitched into a smile. Her belly did a little excited flip at the woman’s continued attention.

  Corey tossed the man’s chart on the counter and referred back to her clipboard. “We don’t have a lot of time so let’s get started on subclavian central lines.” She looked around the room and the faces grew anxious again. “Who here knows what they’re doing?”

  The room grew uncomfortably quiet save for the sound of shifting weight and shuffling feet as nervous glances shot across the room to each other.

  She sighed. “All right, listen.” This happened every year on the first day. Her gaze was again drawn to the woman in the back, whose eyes glittered with amusement and offered what Corey interpreted as an encouraging smile.

  She found herself mesmerized and worked to break herself from the woman’s gaze, clearing her throat. “I am not a doctor. I’m not here to judge you and I don’t even know how to do what you do, though I can probably answer your questions about anatomy. I’m here to provide you with an opportunity to learn something before you have to do it on a real live sick person.” She glanced around the room and had their full attention. “You are doctors now and are going to be expected to show some confidence and skill in your craft, and more than likely, save someone’s life. Fake it till you make it if you have to but take advantage of this time so your next patient doesn’t become my patient because of something you did or didn’t do.” She gestured to the body. “Mr. Wicker is way beyond caring about your technique, and you’re not going to hurt him so I suggest you get to work.”

  The residents immediately grouped together by their department and went over to the three sets of trays Cin had set up for them on the counter, eagerly chattering as they identified instruments and anatomical landmarks.

  Corey stepped out of the way, hearing the door open in time to see the woman slip out without saying a word. She frowned, glancing down at her list of twelve names and quickly counting twelve heads. She didn’t know who she was or why she had been here and was likely not going to find out now.

  “Aw, that’s a shame.” Cin bumped her shoulder. “Thought you two had a shared moment there for a second.”

  “Shut up.” Corey breathed a laugh, her face heating again. “You don’t know who that was, do you?”

  Chapter Two

  Thayer Reynolds leaned over the desk at the Emergency Department nursing station. “Psst.”

  Dana Fowler, the head nurse, looked up from her chart. “Hey, you.” She smiled at her friend. “You’re not on shift for a couple more days. What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Dr. Reynolds,” a young second-year resident grinned stupidly at her as he walked by.

  Thayer turned and sketched him a wave, as he crashed into a closed sliding door, too busy looking at her to notice where he was going.

  “Does that ever bother you?” Dana asked.

  “What?”

  “Gawkers.” She leaned closer. “There are at least three other people stealing glances at you right now.”

  “Guess I’ve gotten used to it.” Thayer laughed. “It’s harmless and anyway there’s not much I can do about where people put their eyes.” She shrugged. “In answer to your first question about why I’m here, I have meetings and paperwork all
week and was in the neighborhood. Do you have time for a coffee?”

  Dana glanced at the clock and then at the waiting room and finally at the whiteboard listing which patients were in what curtain being seen by which doctor. “I can go as far as the nurses’ lounge, but our coffee is pretty good.” She hopped out of her chair and motioned for Thayer to follow her.

  Dana eyed her friend over the top of her paper cup. “So, you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

  Thayer fought a smile and shrugged as she picked at the rim of her cup. “I’ve been hearing from some of the junior residents about their practicum training in the morgue and what it was like to work down there.”

  “Aha. I see.” Dana grinned, knowingly.

  “Aha, you see what?”

  “You’ve been hearing stories of the Valkyrie?” Dana laughed. “I wondered how long it would take you to check her out.”

  “I wasn’t checking her out,” Thayer scoffed. “With a nickname like that I was just curious. Does she mind that the residents call her that?”

  “I have no idea.” Dana shrugged. “But who would mind being named after a Norse warrior goddess?”

  “Actually, Valkyries weren’t warriors themselves but chose who lived and died on the battlefield, kind of like a Norse grim reaper. They would bring the slain up to Valhalla.” Thayer offered. “But I guess it’s still an apt nickname.”

  “Uh-huh. You are such a nerd.” Dana grinned at her. “And what did you think?”

  “I think the practicum program is a fantastic training tool.”

  “Give me a break, Thayer.” Dana laughed. “What about Corey Curtis?”

  Thayer pursed her lips, fighting a smile at the mere mention of the woman’s name. “She’s definitely intriguing and striking.”

  “You always did go for the bad girls.”

  “What makes you think she’s a bad girl?” Thayer cocked her head. “Do you know her?”

  “No, not at all. I’ve interacted with her when I need to, but she intimidates the hell out of me and I don’t intimidate easily.”

  “Really?” Thayer said, surprised. “I didn’t get that at all from her.”

  “I’m not the only one, either. She sends a lot of the junior staff scurrying when she comes around.”

  “Huh.” Thayer pursed her lips. “She’s definitely a lesbian?”

  Dana barked a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

  She shrugged, sheepishly. “Well, you know, she could just be sporty or something.”

  “I suppose. I’ve always thought she looked like that Olympic swimmer, you know the woman ten years ago who was the oldest to medal? Dara something.”

  Thayer frowned a moment before the light went on. “I totally know who you mean and she does look like her. She’s not gay, though.”

  “You’re killing me, here.” Dana laughed at her. “And don’t you have other things to worry about besides the sexuality of the morgue, uh, I don’t even know what her title is.”

  Thayer sighed. “Yes, but she’s far more attractive to think on than the unpleasant woman in HR I have to meet with first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Dana winced. “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. Okay, then, did the object of your desire get a look at you?”

  “Maybe.” Thayer shrugged noncommittally but she could almost feel Corey Curtis’s heated gaze. “And it’s not desire, it’s um, distraction or interest.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dana finished her coffee and tossed the cup in the trash.

  “Hi, Dr. Reynolds.” One of the junior nurses, right out of school, breezed into the lounge, batting her lashes and putting a little more swing in her hips as she crossed to the locker rooms. She was cute in a pixie-ish, early twenty-something sort of way.

  “Hey, um…” Thayer faltered.

  “Jules Archer,” Dana whispered.

  “Jules.” Thayer called to the closing locker room door. “Shit.”

  “Don’t worry, hon.” Dana laughed. “It’s only been a week and you’ll learn them all soon enough. Meanwhile they only have one name to learn, and you, my dear, are far more memorable than most of the knuckleheads around here.” She glanced at the door then eyed Thayer. “I’m pretty sure Jules is engaged to a man, but apparently your milkshake brings all the boys and the girls to the yard, I guess.”

  * * *

  Corey kicked the door to her condo closed with her heel, pulled the mail from between her teeth and dropped it on the kitchen counter with her keys, phone, and sunglasses. It was past seven before she finally got out of there. After the residents finally left, she still had to do the post on Mr. Wicker and write up the preliminary autopsy diagnoses to send to Dr. Webster. “Hey, Anna are you here?”

  They were exclusive. They had agreed on that much, but they didn’t live together though Anna had a key and often stayed over. Corey had only been to her apartment downtown a couple of times because Anna didn’t have visitor parking. She kicked off her shoes and beelined to the fridge for a beer. She paused, frowning into the fridge, before pulling out the one with the note taped to it. Whatever this was, it was probably not good. She opened the beer and took a long drink before pulling off the note with a deep sigh.

  My parents are only in town for one night. You are an asshole.

  She stared stupidly at the note for a long minute. “Oh, fuck.” She glanced at the clock and then at her watch as if expecting it to say something different. She had assured Anna she would be out in time to meet them for dinner. That was at six and it was now close to eight.

  Corey grabbed her phone, swiping it on, to see she had five unread texts and one voice mail. She cringed, sucking air between her teeth as she drained the rest of her beer before starting with the texts.

  The first two were irritated, the next two ramped up to worried, and the final one ended with explosively and profanely angry words. She shuffled back to the fridge for another beer and collapsed onto the sofa before daring to listen to the voice mail. The message played for several seconds before Anna spoke. She no longer sounded angry, just sad and resigned.

  “I was worried when you didn’t show up, so I left my parents at the restaurant and drove by the hospital. Your truck was still there and I knew you just forgot. I left the note on the way back to the restaurant and cleared out my things. There wasn’t much. I’m not an idiot, Corey, and I won’t be treated like one. I deserve better. The signs have been there for a while, but I just didn’t want to see them. Don’t call me. I don’t need or want to be wooed back and I wouldn’t believe you anyway. You are an honorable woman, Corey, and you have behaved dishonorably. I know how that will eat at you. I hope you find her, Corey, and I hope you treat her better. We had some fun times and the sex was good so not a complete waste of my time. Your key is by the coffeemaker.”

  She let her phone fall to her lap and finished her second beer in several long swallows as she decided how she felt. She was sorry she hurt Anna. She totally agreed the asshole moniker was well deserved. Beyond that, though, she was having a hard time mustering up an emotion for a relationship in which she was never really invested. The sex had been pretty good. She would miss that.

  On paper she and Anna ticked all the compatibility boxes yet there was still something missing—something indefinable and essential. She was not a serial dater and by her third beer had nearly convinced herself to take six months off and get her head out of her ass. By her fourth beer she was certain another lover wouldn’t be so much a rebound as a do-over. The fifth bottle went unfinished and all the women in her disjointed dreams had auburn hair.

  Chapter Three

  Corey woke up late, mildly hungover, with a savage cramp in her neck. Then the morning just got worse. She was out of coffee, had to use paper towels for toilet paper and took a cold shower since the hot water heater was having a bad day.

  By the time she rumbled into work, her mood was foul and still on the decline. Cin was on campus all day and unavailable to help or talk her out of her rag
e spiral. She only made it as far as her desk before flopping into the chair with her head in her hands.

  It wasn’t the end of her relationship that bothered her but how she had been exclusively at fault by being an apathetic jerk and then a coward about ending it. Anna put in all the emotional labor, called her out on her shitty behavior and left with class and dignity intact.

  The buzzer sounded from the loading dock. She dragged herself to her feet, feeling like she weighed a thousand pounds, most of that disappointment and guilt, to let in the funeral home to pick up the late Mr. Wicker.

  “What’s up, Corey?” asked Jude, the twenty-eight-year-old assistant funeral director and son of Mr. Weatherly of Weatherly’s Funeral Home. He wrestled the gurney with the non-offensive, faux red velvet body cover through the door.

  “Jude,” Corey said by way of greeting.

  “Whoa.” He stopped. “What happened to your face?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She touched her eye. The swelling had all but disappeared leaving behind a slashing bruise around her eye in a spectacular shade of purple. “I’ll get your guy.”

  “What? That’s all I get?” he called as she disappeared into the cooler. “What does the other guy look like? Probably a bloody pulp, huh? Did he try to grab your ass?”

  She stood in the cooler, hands on hips, staring at the bloodstained wrapping over a new body she knew nothing about and without accompanying paperwork. “What the shit is this?” she muttered.

  “I don’t get paid by the hour, Corey,” Jude yelled.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled as she double-checked the toe tag on the only other body. She wheeled Mr. Wicker out and helped Jude transfer and load his body. She didn’t think her mood could worsen, but a department sending down a body without a chart and proper identification was going to send her over the edge.