Bug Man Suspense Bundle (1,2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

were set narrow but were large as buckeyes, and he seemed to wear a constant grin. It was the body of a man—an enormous man—but it was the unmistakable face of a child.
    He grinned at the sheriff as he approached, and each of the hunters greeted him in turn.
    “Hey, Beanie.”
    “How’s it going, Beanie?”
    Now there was another sound from the edge of the clearing, and a short, stout, white figure stepped out, panting and mopping his forehead from the early morning humidity. He ran a finger around his collar, peeling it away from his glistening stump of a neck, and stepped toward the already assembled party.
    “Mornin’, Sheriff. Deputy. Boys. I came as soon as I got your call.”
    “Mr. Wilkins.” The sheriff nodded and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming so quick. I think you know the boys here—Ronny, Denny, Wayne. Boys, you all know Mr. Wilkins, the county coroner.”
    They all knew Mr. Wilkins, of course, but not as county coroner. They knew him as Mr. Wilkins the drugstore owner or Mr. Wilkinsthe American Legion coach, but few people knew Mr. Wilkins in his official capacity. There was very little for a coroner to do in a county the size of Holcum.
    “Where is the decedent?” Mr. Wilkins asked impatiently.
    The four men turned and pointed to a spot at the crest of the meadow where a cloud of black flies hovered in tight circles just above the grass. The group approached cautiously, carefully seeking the upwind side, and formed a line to the left of the body—all except Mr. Wilkins, who, having caught the brunt of the stench, was still ten yards back, doubled over and retching into a stand of foxglove.
    They waited awkwardly until Mr. Wilkins recovered and approached again with far more caution. The sheriff and the three seasoned hunters braced themselves against the odor and stood motionless. The deputy pinched his nose and winced in his childlike way, as all of them secretly wished to do, and Mr. Wilkins gagged and covered his mouth and nose with his dripping white handkerchief.
    Denny broke the silence. “I’m the one who found him, Mr. Wilkins—that is, we all did. We come through this way a lot in the summer, getting ready for deer season.”
    “Deer season? That’s not till September.”
    “Georgia Pacific leases out these woods to a group of us to hunt on. They timbered a couple hundred acres last month and they tore the place up real good—and right near where we got our deer stands too. So we were out planting clover and beans, laying out salt blocks, you know—trying to draw the deer back in.”
    The sheriff nodded.
    “To get to our deer stands we got to cross this meadow. Right in the middle we spotted that big cloud of flies. Figured maybe it was a deer carcass, maybe somebody poaching on our lease. Thought we better check it out—and here was Jim McAllister stretched out on the ground. Shot hisself right through the head. At least”—he glanced quickly at the sheriff—“that’s what it looks like. Appears he’s been dead a long time.”
    “I’ll decide how long he’s been dead,” Mr. Wilkins said in utter misery, still tugging at his collar. As coroner, Mr. Wilkins was not required to visit the death scene—but as it was only his secondopportunity in his three-year term as coroner to exercise his official duties, he had gone the extra mile. The sheriff hadn’t told him it would be more like a mile-and-a-half, through thick North Carolina woodland on a sweltering summer morning.
    Sheriff St. Clair opened a chrome case and pulled out a 35-millimeter Nikon and two rolls of film. He handed a bright yellow roll of barrier tape to the deputy. “Benjamin—secure the perimeter of the death scene.” The deputy looked bewildered; he started off one way and then the other and finally just stood staring at the roll of tape as if it might offer some explanation of its own.
    “Find some branches,” the sheriff said quietly. “Long, straight ones. Stick one there and there and