"I don't mind the heat so much, now it's finally July." Mathilde Clerval took off her goggles and wiped her forehead. "Ninety degrees was just obnoxious when it was still June."
"You mean yesterday."
"Right you are, Toots."
Bernie Wicket looked around. Nobody else was in sight among the stones and monuments at Tolling Bell Cemetery. But, he couldn't help feeling they were a little conspicuous. He'd felt that way ever since they hauled the big motor-driven core sampler onto Shanie Derfford's grave.
"We should be doing this at night anyway. I'm pretty sure it's illegal."
"Hey, the gate wasn't locked."
"I mean it's illegal to take a core sample of somebody's grave without some kind of permit."
"Maybe it is, Baby, but would you rather dig her up with a pick and shovel?"
"No, but maybe I really should try for an exhumation order."
Mathilde laughed. He liked her laugh, a lot, but didn't want to show it at the moment because the situation bugged him. "You really don't think that's a good idea?"
"Baby, in this town? Doesn't work that way."
"That's what I keep hearing."
Mathilde pulled the goggles into place. "Okay, this bastard's going to make some noise." She pulled the line, and the four-stroke engine started. "Let's get it down four feet and core this dead bitch."
RIP, Ursula K. Le Guin - The book I bought this weekend. The title is all too on point today. pic.twitter.com/Y4uAUGRdPR — John Scalzi (@scalzi) January 24, 2018 I’ve written a rem...
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