By D. B. Gilles
Grave robbers searching for jewels whereas breaking into mausoleums in a 200-year-old cemetery stumble onto the is still of a physique that shouldn’t be there: a teenaged lady. They take off, leaving the door to the mausoleum open. The cemetery evening watchman reveals the physique and calls the police who in flip name Del Coltrane, the 33-year-old funeral director of Henderson’s Funeral Home.
Although Del isn’t used to homicide, he’s used to loss of life, so at first this is often simply one other corpse. yet after the sufferer is pointed out as a neighborhood youngster lengthy considered a runaway, Del is pulled into the case as a choose to the tough-as-nails 15-year-old niece of the lifeless lady. progressively he realizes a serial killer has been preying at the girls in his city for 20 years.
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Additional resources for Colder Than Death
In just over an hour, Mac’s predictions proved on target. The wind tapered down to an irritable mutter. Before another hour had angels fall 45 passed, the juke—which Joanie refused to run on her generator— whined back on, hiccuped, then offered up Dolly Parton. And long after the heavy fall of snow and brutal wind left town, Reece could see it raging in bruised clouds in the mountains. It added, she thought, to their fierceness, gave them a cold, aloof power. It made her grateful she could stand in the warmth of her hotel room and look out at them.
Yet he tucked into the enormous breakfast like a long-haul trucker. ” he asked her. ” She couldn’t take her eyes off the way the food was disappearing. “Yes, where I started. ” Doc wiggled his eyebrows. “And Paris. ” She realized abruptly she had said more about her background in two minutes than she normally did to anyone in two weeks. “More intense, actually. I’d better get back to work. ” Reece worked through the lunch shift, and with the rest of the afternoon and evening stretched out in front of her decided to take a long walk.
And it is good. ” She handed him the one she’d just prepared, then reached up for another bowl. He slid up behind her, reaching up as she did. “I’ve got it. ” “I’ll catch her before I head out. ” She filled the next bowl, sprinkled on the cheese she’d grated for it, the tortilla strips she’d fried. She thought wistfully how much better it would have been with fresh cilantro as she set it on a plate with a hard roll and two pats of butter. Shifting around, she put it in line. “Order up,” she called out, then took the next ticket.