Wait . . . did Jeff say bodies? What the hell did Alver say he saw?

Oh, God, did he talk to Human Resources?

That sounds official, but the reality is, our HR department is Tricia Adams, and her most heinous power is in spreading gossip faster than a NASCAR winner’s race pace.

The whole town’s gonna think I’m getting freaky with DBs on the next table. The very idea is disgusting and disrespectful, to me and to the people I try to give a proper, honorable processing.

I turn the full force of my meanest glare to Alver, standing slowly from my chair to my full five-foot-six-inch height in my rubber work clogs. I thought he was a friend, or at least the closest thing I had to one here in the office. After all, no one else bothers to make sure I eat dinner.

But I was mistaken because a friend would’ve simply asked me before involving the boss. Once Alver is suitably shaking in his boots, I turn my attention to Jeff, who still looks uncomfortable as hell. In fact, his cheeks are flushed pink and there’s a sheen on his forehead even though it’s a brisk sixty-eight degrees in the morgue.

I lick my lips once and then, with ice dripping from every word, tell them both, “I am well aware of all the rules that affect me, the DBs, and my morgue. I would never do anything to jeopardize the Williamson County Coroner’s Office. I think if you ask Alver further, what he saw was a county employee who was injured on the job being assisted by a citizen. And when presented with that, Alver—who I believe took an oath to serve and protect—ran like a screaming little girl.”

Boom . . . mic drop.

If Alver’s gonna tell shit on me, I’ll throw him under the bus too. Petty? Fine, it is. But I need some damage control here or I’ll never be able to show my face at our one and only gas station again. And honestly, my feelings are hurt and I’m lashing out.

Jeff glances over his shoulder to Alver. “That true?”

Alver seems pissy about being called out. Join the club, happens to me all the time, nearly every damn day.

“She was sitting on the table, pretty as you please, with that guy on his knees in front of her.” He sounds smug as a bug in shit.

“He was checking out my ankle, which I turned,” I shout, my cold fury melting into righteous hot anger.

“You cried out!” Alver growls.

“In pain, not ecstasy, numb nuts!” I growl back. “And if you don’t know the difference, I feel damn sorry for your wife.”

Jeff’s lips quirk, threatening to smile despite his attempt to take this whole mess seriously.