Casey Daniels - Dead Man Talking

I caught my breath. “Does this mean… You’re asking me to… You want me to… The offer’s still open?”

She laughed, the sound of it as sweet and soothing as our fountain was supposed to be. “Of course. That is…” Bianca lowered her voice. “It could be yours, Pepper. If things work out the way they should.”

I was puzzled. “If things work out? You’re not talking about-”

“The contest, of course.” She smiled at me the way she’d smiled from the covers of so many magazines. “If Team One gets that final twenty-five points-”

“But there’s no way. It’s based on how much money each team brought in, and you know we raised more than you did. You’re not asking me to-”

“No one will know.” Her smile stayed firmly in place. “A few hundred dollars, who would miss it? And if anyone does… well… just look at your team.” She did, and I looked over their way, too. They were eager for the next scene to shoot. This was their big moment and even Crazy Jake’s expression shone with pride. “No one would be the least bit surprised if there was money missing.”

I weighed what she said against the beautiful business card in my hands.

Pepper Martin, Fashion Consultant.

I tore the card in half, gave the pieces to Bianca, and walked away.

“Congratulations.” I wasn’t surprised to see Quinn at the cemetery for the big announcement. Ever since that night at the car lot when he finally spoke those three little oh-so-wonderful words, we’d been pretty much inseparable. I mean, when he wasn’t out catching bad guys and I wasn’t finishing up the restoration and winning Cemetery Survivor .

I’d like to say he looked happy about our victory, but truth be told, he looked sort of nervous. It was unlike him, and it was contagious. The smile vanished from my face, and I excused myself from where my team and I were celebrating our victory and ducked behind the moldy mausoleum.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“Not a thing.” He poked his hands in his pockets.

Quinn never puts his hands in his pockets.

I eyed him carefully. “Then why do you look like you just swallowed a frog?”

His mouth thinned. “I do not-”

“You do. You’re supposed to be happy for me.”

“I am.”

“Then you might try smiling.”

He did. It didn’t last long. “Look… I’ve been thinking. About everything that happened. Bad Dog Raphael, and Bud the hit man, and about how your art show was vandalized, and-”

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” It was, and I laughed. “Everything’s tied up in a neat little package. Everything is explained. You think you’ll convict them?”

We were back on solid ground; there’s nothing a cop likes better than facts. “We found Vera Blaine’s locket in Raphael’s house. The sick bastard kept it as a souvenir,” Quinn said. This was news, and I was as glad to hear it as I was happy about the rest of what he had to say.

“Bud is more than willing to squeal on Raphael, Raphael is more than willing to squeal on Kowalski, and Kowalski is willing to give them both up in exchange for some consideration from the prosecutor.”

“So all’s well that ends well.” I knew it was; when I got to Monroe Street that morning, I saw Jefferson Lamar watching and smiling as Helen brought him a bouquet of flowers. “So why are you looking so glum?”

“I’m not glum. I’m pissed. The more I’ve talked to Mad Dog and Bud and…” Quinn scraped a hand through his hair. “The more I hear from them, the more I think…” He let out a sigh of epic proportions. “It’s the same old, same old, Pepper. You sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and putting yourself in danger. You were up in that damned car, and Raphael was waving a gun at you! And I thought things were different between us these days.”

“They were. They are!”

“Yeah, well, different doesn’t explain why you keep getting involved in these things. In fact, it only makes it worse. I told you I loved you. And you-”

“You know I feel the same way.” I wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, but something told me I wasn’t going to like the destination when we arrived. I took a quick step toward Quinn. “I’m sorry that you keep worrying about me, but you shouldn’t. I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what’s bugging me. I don’t understand what’s going on, and I don’t like the feeling. Why do you keep getting yourself into these situations? How does it happen? I want an explanation, Pepper. I need one. I think I deserve one.”

He was right, and I knew it.

Now that the moment had come for me to explain what I thought I’d never tell him, my stomach got queasy, and my voice wobbled over the words. “I hit my head back at Garden View,” I said, giving him the Reader’s Digest condensed version. “After that… well…” I was losing my nerve-fast-and I couldn’t let that happen. Before I could change my mind, I blurted everything out.

“I see dead people,” I told him. “They come to me because they can’t cross over to the Other Side without my help. So that’s what I do. I help them solve their murders. Or I help clear their names, like I did for Jefferson Lamar, and that’s why I get involved in all these things, and it’s not like it was my idea, but they’re going to haunt me if I don’t, so I might as well, you know?”

I froze, waiting for his response. It didn’t take long.

Quinn walked over, put his hands on my shoulders, and kissed me quick. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” he said.

“‘Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?’” He’d already moved away, and I went after him. “I just told you the biggest secret of my life, and all you have to say is maybe I’ll see you around sometime? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how if you’re not going to tell me the truth… if you’re going to hand me some story about how you commune with the dead-”

“It’s true. I do!”

“Yeah. Right. Good-bye, Pepper.” Quinn’s shoulders were rigid when he walked out of my life.

I don’t know how long I stood there, torn between running after him and crawling into that hole in the mausoleum floor and never coming out again. I only know that after a while, my team came over to find me.

They closed in on me so fast, I barely had time to wipe the tears off my cheeks.

“We’ve got something for you,” Absalom said, and handed me a picture. It was a publicity shot taken not long after the competition started, and it showed me standing near the Monroe Street entrance with my entire team. It said “Thank You” across the bottom in artsy graffiti-like lettering.

“I should be thanking all of you,” I managed to choke out the words.

“Hey, don’t get all emotional!” Absalom patted me on the back. “And get back over near the fountain. Ella brought over a bottle of champagne. We’re going to celebrate!”

They hurried off. Crazy Jake hung back. “I have a special present for you,” he said, and he shoved something in my hands and followed the rest of my team.

It was kind of hard to see what it was, with the tears in my eyes and all, but I looked down at the black and white photograph Jake had handed me.

The picture had been taken the night of our bachelor auction. There I was, breaking all the rules, standing next to the statue of President Garfield inside his memorial.

I wasn’t alone.

There on my right was the statue of the President at the center of the rotunda. There was me. There on my left…

On my left was the misty image and I’d bet anything that Jake thought it was nothing more than a reflection.

I knew better. I saw an imposing man with a beard. And I wondered what Jake would say if he knew he’d taken a picture of the ghost of President James A. Garfield.