Darynda Jones - Second Grave on the Left

“I know where Neil Gossett is,” he said, the contempt in his voice undiluted. “I know where all of you are.” He leaned toward me. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

I stood in shock a solid minute as he turned and walked to his patrol car. Cookie stared, too, her jaw slightly ajar as she watched him drive away.

“He didn’t even check the trunk,” she said.

“Is it just me,” I asked, gazing at his disappearing taillights, “or was that a really stalkery kind of thing to say?”

“What the hell did you do to him?”

“Me?” I placed a hand over my chest to demonstrate how much her words hurt. “Why do you always assume it’s my fault?”

“Because it always is.”

“I’ll have you know that man tried to maim me in high school. With an SUV.”

She turned to me then, her expression incredulous. “Have you ever considered moving to another country?”

“Oddly, yes.”

“Trunk. Dead body.” She walked to the car and unlocked the trunk lid.

I dived toward her, closing the lid before the dead guy could see me.

“I knew it,” she said, backing away from the car again. “There’s a dead body in the trunk.”

Trying to shush her with an index finger slamming against my mouth repeatedly, I whispered, loudly, like drunks do in a singles bar, “It’s not a dead body. It’s a dead guy . There’s a difference. And if he realizes I can see him, he’ll be all up in my face, trying to get me to solve his murder and crap.”

Suddenly her expression turned accusing. “You were going to let me drive around with that guy in my trunk forever.”

“What?” I said with a snort. “No way. Well, not forever. Just a few days, until I figured out who he was.”

She stepped forward until we stood toe to toe. “That is wrong on so many levels.” Then she turned and started walking home.

Darn it. I jogged up behind her, marveling at how much ground a large pissed-off woman could cover in so short a time. “Cookie, you can’t walk home. It’s still dark. And we’re on Central.”

“I would rather meet ten bad guys in a dozen dark alleys than ride in that car.” She pointed behind her without missing a step.

After doing the math in my head, I asked, “What about dark parking lots? Or dark breezeways? That would be scary, too, huh?”

She trod onward, continuing her noble quest to avoid the departed by getting herself knifed for the five dollars in her back pocket. While I couldn’t quite see the logic, I did understand the fear. Wait — no, I didn’t.

“Cookie, I have dead people around me all the time. They’re always in the office, sitting in the waiting room, hanging by the coffeepot. Why is it suddenly a problem now?”

“That’s just it. You have dead people around you all the time. Not me. And not my car.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you about the little boy in your apartment, then, huh?”

She skidded to a halt, an astonished expression on her face.

“No. Right. Forget I mentioned it.”

“There’s a dead boy in my apartment?”

“Not all the time.”

She shook her head, then took off again, and I found myself struggling to keep up with her in my bunny slippers. With a sigh, I realized I was getting way too much exercise. I’d just have to counteract it later with cake.

“I can’t believe I have a dead boy in my apartment and you never told me.”

“I didn’t want to alarm you. I think he has a crush on Amber.”

“Oh, my god,” she said.

“Look,” I said, grabbing her jacket and pulling her to a stop, “let’s just get your car home, then I’ll deal with this. We can’t leave it there. Someone will steal it.”

Her eyes lit up. “You think? No, wait, maybe I should go back and put the keys in it. You know, make it easier for them.”

“Um, well, there’s an idea.”

She took off toward her car, a new purpose driving her. I was only a little worried. At least she was going in the right direction.

“If you don’t count that time I went skinny-dipping with the chess club,” I said, only a little out of breath, “this has been the busiest night of my life.” I looked up in thought, tripped, stumbled, caught myself, then glanced around like I’d meant to do that, before saying, “No, I take that back. I think the busiest night of my life was the time I’d helped my dad solve the mystery of a gas explosion in which thirty-two people died. Once the case was solved, they all wanted to cross. At the same time. All those emotions swirling inside me simultaneously took all night to get over.”

Cookie slowed her stride but had yet to look my way again. I could hardly blame her. I should’ve told her about the little boy long ago. It wasn’t fair to blindside her with that kind of information.

“If it hadn’t been for that man who saw a college student vandalize the gas pipes, that case may never have been solved. But I was only seven,” I explained, hoping to distract Cookie with small talk. “I had a hard time understanding it all. Hey, at least your car’s safe.” I pointed to it.

She strode to her Taurus then turned toward me. “I’m sorry, Charley,” she said.

I paused and offered a suspicious glower. “Are you about to make a tuna joke? ’Cause I had my fill of those by the time I was twelve.”

“Here I am freaking out over a dead body in my trunk—”

“A dead guy. Guy.”

“—and you’re just doing the best you can. You never told me that story.”

“What story?” I asked, still suspicious. “The explosion story? That was nothing.” I’d just told her about it to take her mind off all the dead people running amok.

“Nothing? You’re like a superhero without the cape.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet. What’s the catch?”

She chuckled. “No catch. Just tell me there’s not a dead body in my trunk.”

Reluctantly, I took the key and lifted the trunk lid. “There’s not a dead body in your trunk.”

“Charley, you can be honest. It’s okay.”

I blinked in surprise. He was gone. “No, really,” I said, scanning the area. I took a step back for a better look and ran into something cold and unmoving. The temperature around me dropped, sending a chill down my spine. It was like walking into a freezer, but I didn’t want to alarm Cookie. Again.

“Nope,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “no dead guy in there.”

Her mouth thinned knowingly. I stepped to the side and looked around as if searching the area. From the corner of my periphery, I studied the tower standing beside me. Dead Trunk Guy was staring down at me yet not seeing, his face completely void of emotion. I resisted the urge to wave a hand, to snap my fingers. It would probably only irk him anyway.

“Is he standing beside you?” Cookie asked.

I must have looked at him too intently, because she’d picked up on my façade of nonchalance. With a sigh of guilty resignation, I nodded.

“Hurry.” She snatched the keys and rushed to the driver’s-side door. “Charley, hurry, before he gets back in.”

“Oh.” I booked it to the passenger’s side and slid in. Cookie still thought it was possible to outrun the departed. I let her believe it as she started the engine and tore out of the parking lot like a banshee hell-bent on doing whatever banshees do.

“Did we ditch him?” she asked.

I was torn. On one hand, she needed to know, to understand how the other world worked. On the other, I had a burning desire to make it home alive with little to no car parts protruding from my head or torso or both.

“Sure did,” I said, trying really hard not to stare. The situation reminded me of the time in college when I was headed to class, turned a corner, and came face-to-face with the resident streaker. It was hard not to stare, then or now, mostly ’cause Dead Trunk Guy had taken up residence in her lap.