But the easy-to-mow landscaping at Sweet Home Memorial Park didn’t include shade trees. Unfiltered sunshine poured down from the cloudless sky, toasting her through her winter clothes. The flat shiny grave markers reflected the bright light, forcing her to squint.
Twenty feet from her, Channing was shaking hands with the business-suited cemetery director and a guy in a ball cap who had to be the health inspector.
Channing glanced from them to her clipboard. Probably going down her checklist for the two o’clock exhumation. She appeared as cool as always, despite her outfit—a long-sleeved charcoal jumpsuit, knee-high rubber boots, and a yellow hard hat. She looked like the boss on a construction site.
And she’d been damn bossy ever since noon, when they’d left Spokane together in the Buic
