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…

http://cpatlarge.blogspot.com/