“Over the past couple of days, I can’t help but notice how close you and Chan are, how you’re always kissing and touching. I guess I just wondered if… um… you and Chan… did you two ever…?” I leave the question hanging.
“Have sex?”
“Sorry, that's really rude and intrusive. You don’t have to answer, I'm just trying to understand your relationship.”
“It’s complicated,” Dusty sighs. “She’s my best friend, my ride or die, my confidant, my life partner… my person. Like, if I accidentally murdered someone, she’d be the one handing me a shovel as we wrapped the body in a shower curtain. I don’t think it’s possible for two people to be closer. But in answer to your question, yes, we did sleep with each other a couple of times when we were younger, but it wasn’t… It was about affection and comfort. I know that probably sounds weird. We felt safe. We love each other, we’re just not in love with each other.”
“Despite how confusing and scary this has been for me,” I say quietly. “I’m glad you and Chan had this time together.”
“You’re such a sweet man, Tristan.” Dusty smiles affectionately at me. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”
“For what it’s worth”—I smile—“thank you for jumping in to try and save me. It may have backfired spectacularly, but I know you were trying to protect me.”
“Come on,” Dusty says. “Let’s get to the mortuary, but just remember what I said. I am not cutting up any dead bodies.”
“Oh Tristan, thank god you’re here.” My friend and colleague Henrietta hurries to intercept me as I walk in the door. “I know it’s your day off and technically you just got out of the hospital… again.” She gives me a reproving look as if choking on an ice cube or getting drugged by a potentially murderous group of old ladies was in anyway my fault.
“What can I do for you?” Dusty says uneasily.
“What on earth are you wearing?” Her brows shoot up into her brightly coloured hair as she slowly eyes the outfit Dusty dressed me in. “Crikey, are you joining the cast of Riverdance?”
“I’m trying something new,” Dusty says primly. “It makes a statement.”
“Is that statement, ‘I’m Michael Flatley’s stunt double’?”
“Was there something you wanted?” Dusty rolls her eyes, and I’d kick her if I could. She is supposed to be pretending to be me.
“Yes, hun. I know it’s a massive pain, but Gerald Delford is here fromThe Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, wanting to see a post-mortem. He’s really interested in your double-stitch method.”
“He’s not supposed to be here until next week,” I hiss although Hen can’t hear me.
“I-I thought he wasn’t coming until next week,” Dusty stutters.
“His schedule got moved up. I’ve been trying to call you all morning.” Hen blows out an agitated breath. “He’s got the place in quite an uproar. Even Mr Baxter hasn’t had his usual midday nap.”
“Mr Baxter?” Dusty blinks.
“My boss,” I explain quickly. “He doesn’t actually do any work around here; he usually splits his time between reading the Angling Times or napping.”
“Anyway,” Henrietta continues, “we have a couple of cadavers being stored here which were donated by the families. We were going to send them over to the university, but I don’t suppose anyone will mind if you use one of them, they’re just going to get butchered by medical students anyway.”
“Butchered?” Dusty murmurs faintly, looking a little pale.
“Oh god, here he is now… smile,” she hisses under her breath and Dusty pastes on her wide stage smile, although on my face it looks rather maniacal. “Mr Delford, we were just coming to find you. This is Tristan Everett.” She shoves Dusty forward.
“Ah, Everett,” he booms jovially as he reaches out and grasps Dusty’s hand, giving it a firm pump. “So good to meet you. I say, that’s a very… interesting jacket.”
“It brings all the boys to my yard.” She grasps her shoulder and massages lightly as if that handshake had knocked something loose.
“Quite,” Mr Delford rumbles. “Well, I’ve heard a lot about you. I must say I’m very much looking forward to seeing your signature double-stitch method.”
“What can I say?” Dusty gives a reluctant smile. “I’m a fan of Buffalo Bill… and lotion.”
“Indeed,” he replies in confusion. “Well, shall we?” He lifts his hand toward the corridor toward the post-mortem room. “I believe your charming colleague has procured a volunteer cadaver for us.”
“Oh, I don’t think–”
Hen cuts her off and grabs her arms forcefully steering her toward the back. “Come on, Tristan. Let’s get you ready, shall we?”
