The Bayou Graves: A Sophie Quinn FBI Mystery Thriller - Book 2 by Georgia Wagner

Author:Georgia Wagner [Wagner, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-13T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“It’s not her.”

Sophie felt cold dread settle in her stomach. The morning sun was harsh on the bayou and the buzz of insects was like static in her ear, drowning out the voices of the search and rescue team that had dredged the coffin, of the forensics tech who had opened the waterlogged box giving his initial impression.

The girl was young, early twenties. She looked like any number of drowning victims, her florid party skirt and shoulder-length hair clinging to her like the wiry ridges on a stucco wall. She matched the profile of the other victims. A woman dressed for a night on the town.

What she was not, was the missing singer from last night’s concert.

Greer grunted in agreement, crouching over the open coffin, angling to look into the dark corners. “Definitely not Miss Monroe.”

“The body found by Joseph Green was recent too,” Sophie said, circling to the other side of the coffin and bending down to join Greer. “If we assume the killer took Carly Monroe from the concert, he’s up to three girls in the last week. Two within the last forty-eight hours.”

“He’s accelerating,” Greer agreed, reaching forward with a pen and gently turning the victim’s head.

Suddenly, Sophie wrinkled her nose, blinking her eyes against an odor rising from the coffin. Raising her hand, Sophie blocked her nostrils for a moment as she fought the sudden urge to sneeze.

“What is it? Do you smell something?”

“You don’t?” Sophie asked, genuine surprise in her voice.

Leaning close and taking a whiff, Greer’s eyes narrowed as he tried to home in on the scent. Shrugging, he leaned back again.

“There’s something,” he admitted. “It’s subtle. Or maybe it’s the bayou covering the odor. I can’t quite . . . Maybe a little . . . sweet?”

Sophie nodded. “It’s semisweet. I got a good whiff. It feels . . . familiar somehow. Some might have been trapped in her clothing. It irritated my nose. Maybe paint thinner?”

“Some kind of cleaner?” Greer offered.

Sophie closed her eyes, focusing on the scent. The sense of smell was the most powerfully tied to memory. If she could only trace back where she’d smelled it before . . . Her eyes flew open.

“Ether.”

“Ether?” Greer echoed. “So it is paint thinner?”

Sophie shook her head, running her hands over her knees as she mulled over the possibilities. “Not necessarily. It’s used in solvents. Plenty of industrial processes use ether. Even taxidermy to an extent. It also has a long history as an anesthetic, though nobody in the US uses it that way anymore.”

“Why not?”

Sophie shrugged. “Better options were developed. It’s harder to control in some ways, and there is a fine line between knocking someone unconscious and killing them.”

Greer gave a low, impressed whistle. “Wow. Good catch. We’ll get the lab to run some tests and confirm. Are you thinking that’s our cause of death?”

Shaking her head, Sophie sighed. “No. I don’t think the victims were that lucky.” She pointed to the upended lid of the coffin and the long, jagged scratch marks carved in by human nails.

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