Ivy

“Well sir,” said Malcolm, “it looks like ivy.”

“I can see that,” sighed Denver. “But how is it growing out of her skin?”

“Temperature puts the time of death at eight o’clock last night,” announced the coroner.

“Anything else odd,” asked Denver.

“Soil under her finger nails,” replied the coroner. “It has a blue tint to it, not a local soil that I know of.”

“Get her to the morgue,” said Denver. “Tell me what you find in an autopsy.”

None of them noticed her head had started to flower.

~ 

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