Chris Redding - Corpse Whisperer

“Wanted to see your new digs and how you were getting along,” Kent explained.

Zach hadn’t been close to his old boss so the visit was a complete surprise. He must have some other motive.

“Come on in then.”

The man’s gazed darted to his watch then ran up and down the street. “No time.” He cleared his throat. “How’s Dolores doing?”

“She’s getting released today.”

“That’s great.”

His boss looked around the street and not at him during the exchange.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“No reason,” Zach said, but he tucked this behavior into his brain in case it continued.

“See you around.”

Zach stared at his boss’ back before he entered his office. The encounter left him with too many questions. Where did Kent figure into this puzzle? He shook off the nagging feeling that the answers were in front of him. “is HHeOdd.”

Mark, Grace’s friend, sat at his desk. Not phased by his appearance, Zach slid into his chair, then eyed this weasel of a man. He didn’t expect to believe anything he said.

“Shall we add breaking and entering to your list of sins?” Mark gave him a shrug and a sheepish grin. That probably worked on women, but Zach was inured to lame excuses. He’d heard them all. “So what’s your story? The detectives from last night are looking for you.”

Mark licked his lips. His clothes were rumpled, but the man himself was freshly showered. Wherever he spent last night had running water.

Zach’s sympathy level didn’t budge. This man had run out on his alleged best friend and on a criminal investigation. The latter was awful, but the former was unforgivable. Zach only understood loyalty. Probably why Dolores was still in his life.

“Uh.”

Zach held up his hand. “Don’t lie. You’re in some trouble already. You’re the best suspect.”

Mark straightened in his chair, his eyes wider than the prairie. “Me? Why would I try to kill Dolores?”

“Dolores?”

“Wasn’t that who the killer was going for?”

Guess Grace had told him about someone being after Dolores. He’d play along. “You’ve met her?”

“No.”

Mark’s gaze darted away. Why would he not want them to know he met Dolores? Zach leaned back in his chair wishing he’d stopped for coffee on his way over here. This shaggy dog story could have waited another minute.

This rodent might go whining to Grace that he didn’t treat him well. “Coffee?”

“No. Never drink the stuff.”

Not drink coffee? Next he’ll find out he’s a vegetarian or a Mormon. His caffeine craving would have to wait. He eyed the cold, empty pot of his maker then turned his attention back to Mark. “So spill it. Where have you been?”

“I got scared.”

“That you’d be suspected of attempted murder? Got that right. You running didn’t help.”

Mark stared at his shoes. “Probably not.”

“And you running out on your best friend, doesn’t sit well for me. She was scared last night.”

“I came back, after everyone was gone. She wasn’t home.”

“She was with me. I couldn’t let her stay there by herself.”

Mark’s head bobbed. “It’s all clear to me now.”

“What is?”

“You’re after Grace.”

“Whatever my feelings are for Grace don’t concern you.”

“I’m her best friend. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“The fact that you left to save your own skin when she’d been shot, that damages your credibility with me. I’m not telling you anything.”

Mark showed no reaction, as if he had no remorse.

“You need to turn yourself in. I can call the guys now.”

Mark stood. “I’ll do it, but only for Grace.”

He trudged out the door as if he had weights on his shoulders. Zach felt no pity for the man.

Before Zach could call Grace, his phone rang.

“We’ve had another fire. Same MO,” Ed Bauer said as he entered Zach’s office. The man looked around as any cop would to acquaint himself with the surroundings.

“And you want me to do what?” Zach said.

Ed sat. “Don’t know, but I need to blow off steam. We live in one of the most expensive counties in the country.”

“Arson is basically a white collar crime. Why would it surprise you it would happen here?”

“A serial arsonist?”

Zach leaned back in his chair. His old friend had a point. One fire for hire in a year was plenty. But they’d had three of them, including Grace’s apartment building. “Have you rounded up the usual suspects?”

“All have alibis.”

Zach shifted forward and tented his fingers in front of his face. His mind had been on Grace and Dolores most of the day. This was a welcome change. “Good ones?”

“Some of them in prison.”

“That’s pretty solid. Why come to me?”

“Venting. You may look at something differently than I have.”

“Clearly this is someone from somewhere else.”

“No, shit. Your sister have her crystal ball charged up?”

“I’m not sure where Celia is.”

Ed dropped his card on Zach’s desk. “Tell her to call me. I’m out of ideas.”

He left.

Zach turned to his computer intent on doing some research on Mark Handon. Instead his stomach rumbled.

He shut down his computer. It was time to go home and see Grace.

Disgusted with daytime television, Grace clicked it off then wandered over to the computer. While she waited for it to boot up she attempted not to read anything on Zach’s desk.

Not hard, since he was a neatnik, but he did have one stack of papers out on his blotter. Grace saw her name on the top one. Any pretense of leaving his privacy intact left her. Why would Zach have papers with her name on them? The sheaves were printouts of newspaper articles. Stories about what happened in her last town. Her last endeavor to save someone.

Her eyes fell shut. Did he still believe her? Or was he humoring her?

She deciphered his handwriting with difficulty. Her butt landed in the chair when she figured it out. He had questions. All of them assuming she was guilty. Her heart dropped to her feet.

As if she’d never read the stories she studied what Zach had printed. The whole tale was there about the last murder she prevented. The reporter had been local, but was bucking for a better job. Mavis Jones had been on her doorstep for the whole time she lived in Jefferson Common. When Grace finally granted her an interview, Mavis accused her of lying.

That was the first time she had ever come close to admitting her talent to a stranger and of course the reporter burned her.

And now Zach knew what this reporter had written. Did he believe Grace or the written word?

The phone rang, startling Grace, but she didn’t bother to pack up the papers.

“Hello?”

“Grace, it’s Zach.”

His voice held a warm intimacy that Grace couldn’t return.

“I’m on my way home. I can cook tonight or we can get take out. Your choice.”

“Whatever.” I won’t be here anyway.

“You okay? You mad at me?”

“I found some papers of yours. Accidentally.”

“Oh?”

“The ones you printed about me. From my last encounter with the dead.”

“I’ll explain when I get home.”

He hung up, leaving her wondering just what explanation he could give.

She grabbed clothes and began stuffing them back into her back pack. She wouldn’t be here when he arrived.

Zach didn’t bother with take out. He wanted to be home as soon as he could. With Grace vulnerable he couldn’t risk her getting the wrong idea. He cursed himself for not shredding those articles.

“Damn,” he said when he realized Grace had left.

He jumped into his car and drove to her apartment. Dolores was arriving home at that same time.