Diplomatic Immunity — Breanna Cone

The battered van slowed to a stop behind the Cadillac Seville parked next to the wrought iron cemetery gates with Sewell inscribed on the top arch. Josie Palmer closed the door softly. No point in waking the souls resting nearby.

In spite of the woolen trench coat, Fedora hat, and scarf pulled high around her ears, Josie Palmer shivered. She didnt know if it was the weather or the location that gave her the jitters. A moaning sound caused by the wind whistling through the branches of the massive oaks made more shivers slide up her spine. Walking slowly between the headstones of dearly departed members of the Sewell family, she examined the ground leading up to the freshly turned dirt in the far corner of the cemetery. She didnt expect to find anything. The two men who arrived before her most likely obliterated any evidence.
As she approached them, Josie knew why the men stared transfixed at the ground. Scavenging animals had exposed a human leg still wearing a red stiletto heel. Nodding at the silver-haired politician she knew by sight only, Josie looked from him to the remains.

Congressman, Im Josie Palmer. I hope you have good reason for getting me out this early on a Sunday morning.
This unfortunate woman is not a member of my family. As quietly as possible, I need you to find out who she is and why someone buried her here.
Quiet will be expensive, sir, Josie replied. I charge $500.00 a day, with an extra hundred if I have to dodge bullets.
I think I can afford your fee, Ms. Palmer.
Ill get started right away.