Stalking the Dead Page 8

  He turned and stared at me. “Are you certain?” he finally asked. “How did you know it was her?”

  “Well, for one thing, she was fucking dead,” I snapped. “A ghost, just like you. Just like me.”

  “What did she say? Is she coming back?” He sounded so pathetic, I wanted to club him one and tell him to man up. But I didn’t.

  “She didn’t say much,” I said. “Not that I heard, anyhow. And she wasn’t alone. She came with Sylvie Jenner. The one who can talk to ghosts.”

  Roy frowned. “I don’t think I know her.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Your wife does, and she brought that Jenner woman here, to find you.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “Who knows,” I said. “Maybe it’s to get rid of you. You know, like an afterlife divorce or something.”

  I had no idea if there was anything like that, but Roy’s eyes widened like the idea really scared him.

  “She wouldn’t do that, would she?”

  “I dunno.” I shrugged. “But I do know that the Jenner woman brought help, so they were definitely going to do something.”

  “Help?”

  “She brought her daughter, Marie. And a guy.”

  In spite of myself, I shuddered.

  “You don’t look like the type who scares easy,” Roy said.

  “They don’t scare me!” I yelled. Way too loud. Like I was scared. Shit. “They don’t scare me,” I repeated, hoping for a more moderate tone, and almost pulling it off. “It’s just, I think—no, I’m sure—that the guy killed me.”

  “What?” Roy’s surprise sounded genuine. “You were killed?”

  “You can see my head, right?” I asked, pointing at my bashed in skull.

  He nodded.

  “I didn’t get this way playing tiddlywinks,” I said, and pointed in the general direction of Rosalie’s apartment. “Hell of a mess up there. And he did it.”

  “Why would he do something like that?”

  “Because he wants Marie for himself,” I said. I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice. Didn’t even try. “All for himself.”

  “And he had to get you out of the way to do it?”

  “Yes. Marie and me—we’re soulmates,” I said. “At least, we were. But now I’m dead, and he’s going to ruin her.”

  I ground my more-illusion-than-real teeth, and tried to get back to my plan. “I imagine Marie’s mother was the one to talk him into getting rid of me. She always hated me.”

  Now, I didn’t have a clue what Sylvie Jenner thought of me, and didn’t much care. But if I was going to get my plan to work, it was important that Roy think that she hated me enough to help someone have me killed. And he had to think that she had the capacity to make his wife hate him, too.

  “My guess is, Sylvie Jenner’s working hard at talking your wife into getting rid of you,” I said.

  “But—Laurel wouldn’t do that,” Roy said. “We’re going to stay together forever. That was the plan. She’ll come back to me when she sees that moving to a new cemetery won’t be so bad. I know it.”

  “That’s what I thought about Marie, too,” I said. “Until her mother and that bastard got between us.”

  “Good heavens.” Roy looked like he seriously wanted to find some place to sit down. “Good heavens.” And then he said, “What can we do?”

  “I have a plan,” I said. “If you’re willing to go along.”

  From the look on his face, I knew I had him hook, line, and sinker.

  Marie:

  Breakfast, and Mom’s Cancer Wig

  MOM LOOKED A lot better the next morning. She was making coffee when I was finally able to pry my eyes open. They felt like they were filled with gravel, and my hands ached. I wondered if it was from my five-and-a half-hour death grip on the steering wheel the day before.

  “Do you want some coffee?” Mom called as I flailed upright. “And maybe some breakfast?”

  For a second, before I really got going, I wanted to say yes. Mom was going to make me breakfast. Then I remembered the night before, and leapt off the couch, causing Laurel, who was still sitting at the foot end of the couch and watching old movies, to splutter angrily.

  “You’re in my way,” she said. “And it’s the best part.”

  I ignored her and staggered into the kitchen.

  “Mom,” I said. “Sit down and let me make it for you.”

  “Pish posh,” she said, waving a spatula in my direction. “I’m just fine. Needed to sleep, and I did. You can set the table, if you want.”

  I looked at her and had to admit she looked pretty darned good, compared to the evening before. She still looked like a skeleton, of course, but a well-rested one.

  “You sure?” I said.

  She nodded, her grey hair bobbing with every energetic movement of her head. It looked like steel grey ringlets all over her head. I almost expected them to chime when they touched.

  It was her wig. The one she’d worn when she’d gone through chemo the first time. I hadn’t noticed the day before. I hated that goddamn wig.

  My throat tightened up so much I knew I’d squeak if I tried to speak, so I spent the next few minutes silently setting the table.

  “Don’t forget James,” Mom said.

  “I didn’t.” Three plates, with silverware, and the teeny juice glasses Mom loved to use. “I’m surprised he isn’t awake yet.”

  “He was probably up all night working on that class he’s taking.” She tsked. “He needs to be careful. Don’t want him getting brain fever, with all that studying.”

  I snorted. Mom hadn’t talked about brain fever since I was in high school. “He won’t, Mom. Trust me.”

  “I hope not,” she replied. “He’s a nice young man. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, he is,” I said quietly, glancing over my shoulder at Laurel, who was still staring intently at the television. “Let’s talk about James another time, Mom.”

  Like when we’re alone.

  “All right,” Mom said. When I turned, she was looking at me, a half-smile on her face. “But we will talk. Won’t we?”

  I sighed. “Yes, we will.” I pointed at the table. “Why don’t you sit down and let me finish making breakfast. Please?”

  She surprised me by saying, “All right,” and plopping down heavily in her chair. “Will you bring over my coffee, that’s a good girl.”

  Two cups of coffee were sitting on the counter. One, I assumed, was for me, and the other was for her.

  “Would you like me to dope it up for you?”

  “Please,” she said. “You know the way I like it.”

  “I most certainly do.” I added a dollop of cream and a half teaspoon of brown sugar to her cup before setting it before her. I set the teaspoon beside the cup.

  “Have at ’er,” I said.

  She picked up the spoon and stirred her coffee. I listened to the spoon tink against the side of the ceramic cup as I turned to the bacon snapping and spitting fat. I tipped the lid of one saucepan and inhaled the wonderful scent of potato and onion. Checked the other saucepan and was rewarded with a fluffy mound of scrambled eggs, covered with slowly melting cheese.

  “Heat off the eggs and potatoes,” Mom said. “And two minutes more for the bacon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I flipped the bacon, not because it needed it, but because I wanted to act like I was actually doing something about making breakfast.

  Mom was still stirring her coffee, and I wondered if she’d forgotten what she was doing. I glanced over my shoulder, and she was staring at the wall as she stirred and stirred and stirred.

  “You okay?”

  She jumped as though I’d jabbed her, set the teaspoon beside her cup, and sipped her coffee. “Absolutely fine,” she said. “Just thinking about the Laurel situation.”

  I glanced at the ghost, but she hadn’t reacted to her name. Turned to Mom. “Have you come up with anything?”

  “Not yet.” Mom sighed. “She’s a bit of a tough nu
t.”

  “Oh?” I checked the bacon. It was done to perfection, so I put it on the paper towel-shrouded plate. “How so?”

  “She’s not interested in moving on,” Mom said. I noticed that she was whispering. So, she didn’t want Laurel involved in this little conversation either. “I don’t quite know what to do about that.”

  I grabbed my coffee and sat in the chair opposite hers. “Can’t you just tell her to make up with her husband?”

  “She’s not ready for that, either,” Mom said. She sighed and took another sip of coffee.

  “But she can’t just sit here watching old movies,” I said. “Can she?”

  “I might give her a day or two,” Mom said. “So I can gather my strength. As you know, working with the dead can be—difficult.”

  I thought about how exhausted I’d been after helping spirits move on, and felt a jolt of fear.

  “Do you think you should be doing this, Mom?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Working with Laurel.”

  Mom frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because—” My mind whirled. “Because it could—”

  “Kill me?” Mom smiled. “Well, it could. If the cancer doesn’t get me first.”

  “Mom!” I wanted to yell, “Don’t talk like that!” but I twittered nervous laughter instead. “I know that. But still. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this.” I pointed over my shoulder at the ghost watching TV behind us. “Maybe it’s time to stop.”

  Mom stared at me until I looked down at the table top and wished I was anywhere else.

  “This is what I live for,” she finally said. “I’m not stopping, and I can’t believe you’d even suggest it. Rhonda maybe, but not you.”

  Comparing me to Rhonda cut, no doubt about it, but I managed—for once—to keep my cool.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just worried about you. That’s all. I mean, at the cemetery—”

  “I know. I overdid. When we return—”

  “Mom!”

  She stared at me with her steel grey eyes, and I shut up, feeling about ten years old.

  “What?” she finally said. “Are you offering to take over this case?”

  That was the very last thing on my mind. The absolute last.

  “No,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”

  “Fine,” she said. “May I finish?”

  “Yes.”

  “When we return, I have to remember to take water,” she said. “To hydrate. Now, go get James. It’s time for breakfast.”

  I nodded and left the table.

  She’d said it. The only way I could convince her to stop working with Laurel was to take over the case.

  Could I do that? Could I work with one of the truly old? Convince her to move on, even though all she seemed to want to do was sit around and watch TV?

  I didn’t know. Like Mom said, she was a tough nut. And I had a lot on my plate already.

  There was James being interrogated by the cops about Arnie Stillwell’s murder. I knew from bitter experience that Officer Tyler didn’t let go when he thought there was something amiss. I had a feeling I was going to have to concentrate on that, to keep James out of the hoosegow.

  And there was Arnie’s spirit, maybe floating around somewhere. Probably floating around somewhere. My guess was he wasn’t ready to move on, and would probably want to have a conversation—or two—with me before he was ready to do so.

  Like I said, a pretty full plate. A little too full, as far as I was concerned. So I decided to keep my mouth shut about Mom working with Laurel.

  But as I hammered on my old bedroom door to ever-so-gently wake up James, I decided that if Mom got in trouble and couldn’t handle it, I’d help her out. But that was all.

  “OH WOW, THIS is fantastic!” James said, for the third time. He took another piece of bacon and a third piece of toast. “I think I’m in heaven.”

  “Glad you like it, dear,” Mom said. She pushed her mostly untouched plate away and sipped her tepid coffee.

  “Please tell him to be quiet,” Laurel said. “I’m trying to watch—”

  “We know you’re watching TV,” I said testily. “Do you want me to make it louder?”

  “That would be nice,” she said, as James gawked at me, then shook his head and whispered something about ghosts.

  I turned up the sound and returned to the kitchen. “Anybody need more coffee?” I asked.

  “That would be nice,” Mom said.

  “Yes, please,” James said.

  “PLEASE!” Laurel yelled. “Tell him to be quiet! He’s so loud!”

  Mom and I looked at each other, then Mom stood. “Let’s go outside,” she said. “Take in a little of the sunshine while we drink our coffee.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, before James could speak again. “Get the chairs and table set up, and I’ll bring the coffee.” Then, as she pulled herself to standing and headed for the door, I whispered to James, “Help her, please.”

  He nodded and reached for her arm, and they both disappeared out the red door.

  That’s when I turned on Laurel.

  “You are not the only one in this house!” I said. Well, to be honest, I more yelled it than said it. “When we’re talking, please keep your mouth shut!”

  Laurel stared at me, her mouth a tight line of disapproval. “Is this the way you speak to all your mother’s guests?”

  “You are not a guest,” I said. “You’re a ghost, here because you need Mom’s help.”

  Then before she could reply, I grabbed the cups of coffee and stomped out to the backyard.

  Mom was sitting in her usual spot, like a sickly queen. James had set up two chairs for us and then set the little table more or less in the middle, so we could all easily reach it.

  I tried to smile as I set the cups on the table, but Mom was quick to notice my change in mood. It didn’t surprise me. She always said that my face was easier to read than the front page of the Fort McMurray Today.

  “Don’t let Laurel upset you,” she said. “She’s my problem, not yours.”

  “I know,” I said. “But she’s so rude! Don’t you think?”

  “Many of them are,” Mom said. “It seems to go with the ‘being dead’ territory.”

  James snorted nervous laughter, then buried his face in his cup as we both turned and stared at him.

  “Sorry,” he finally said. “Just never thought I’d hear a conversation about rude ghosts. Really.”

  “Don’t you worry about the ghosts, dear.” Mom smiled at him with her best, most patronizing smile. The one I thought she only used for me. “Marie and I will deal with them.”

  “Okay,” James said. I noticed that the laughter had been punched out of his voice, probably by Mom’s smile. It could do that.

  “Now, tell me about that course you’re working on,” Mom said to James. “Why do you need it?”

  I leaned back, ready to enjoy the show since I wasn’t the one about to be interrogated.

  “It’s a certification course,” James said. “So that I can become a private investigator and work, legally, in the province.”

  “Oh,” Mom said. “You weren’t one before?”

  “No,” James replied. “My uncle was the PI. I was just his muscle.”

  “Ah,” Mom said. “Muscle.”

  “Yeah, well, he had me do the down-on-the-ground work. He dealt with the clients, and—”

  “And?”

  “And all the other stuff,” James said. His face reddened, and he ducked his head, like a kid caught in a fib. “I guess I’ll have to figure out what all that other stuff is.”

  “I imagine you will,” Mom said. “And once you get your licence, you’ll be hiring my daughter, correct?”

  “Of course it is,” he said. “If you want.”

  “I do,” I replied.

  “Good,” he said, and nodded.

  “Yeah, it will be good,” I said.

  “Will she get benefits?” Mom asked.r />
  “What?” Both James and I asked the question at the same time. Then James looked at me.

  “Is that something you want?”

  “Well . . . Maybe,” I replied. Benefits were always nice, but I had no idea how he could afford something like that. After all, I’d seen his bottom line. It was mostly non-existent, and would remain that way until we did some advertising or something to bring more work in.

  “Definitely,” my mother said. “You need benefits.”

  “All right,” James said. “Benefits too.”

  “Thanks,” I said. We could work it out when we got home. Benefits were nice.

  Then Mom let James off the hook, by hanging me on it.

  “So, Marie,” she said, her eyes grey steel. “When are you going to visit your father?”

  “My—what?”

  “Your father,” Mom repeated. “I believe he knows you’re in town. It would be good if you got hold of him.”

  “How would he know I’m here?” I asked, and felt my face heat. “I just got in yesterday, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Rhonda mentioned something about touching base with him,” Mom said. “Just to let him know.”

  “Great,” I said. Just what I needed.

  “That does sound great,” James said. I could hear the amusement in his voice, and threw a glare in his direction, but it did nothing to stop him. If anything it made it worse. “Maybe I can come with you. I’d love to meet your dad.”

  “That would be nice,” Mom said. “He’d probably enjoy meeting you, too.”

  “Under no circumstances are you coming with me,” I said.

  “Why not?” Both of them spoke, and I felt, briefly, like screaming. Instead I smiled my best “you’re not winning” smile.

  “Because you have to finish that course,” I said. “Sorry, James. Just looking out for your best interests.”

  “Thanks,” James said, sarcastically. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Besides,” Mom said, “you’ll be able to meet him at Rhonda’s dinner.”

  “What?” James asked.

  “What?!” That was me.

  “Rhonda’s having a family get-together,” Mom said. “Didn’t she tell you?”

  “No,” I said. I wondered if James could hear me grinding my teeth.

  “It’ll be wonderful, I’m sure,” Mom said. I stared at her like she’d suddenly lost her mind. As far as I knew, she hadn’t spoken a word to Dad since the night she’d walked out on him. Now she was talking about having a family get-together, with him? What was going on?