It wasn’t so much the ghastly smile that turned my stomach as the whiskey vapors souring the air in the filthy bedroom.
His eyes were locked in a vacant stare.
What did he see?
“Can we move the body, Detective?”
Eyes riveted to his, I stepped aside as death triumphed.
Cyndi Pauwels writes suspense novels, short stories and essays. Now if only she could sell something…