Diana Rowland - My Life as a White Trash Zombie

“Yeah, just letting my mind wander.” I waved toward the empty chairs around the table. “Y’all wanna sit? I’m killing some time.”

In answer, both men seized chairs and sat. The waitress materialized and slid my pie in front of me, then turned to Ed and Marcus. “Y’all eatin’?”

Ed smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger with fries, loaded baked potato, cinnamon apples, mac and cheese, and a side salad with ranch dressing. Oh, and a Barq’s.”

“And I’ll have a Diet Coke,” Marcus said as soon as the waitress had finished scrawling down Ed’s incredible order. “Also a turkey club with extra bacon, a cup of gumbo, garlic bread, and an Italian salad—with extra olive oil.”

I stared at the two of them as the poor woman finished writing and hurried off. “Holy shit. And I was feeling guilty for indulging in pie .”

Marcus grinned. “I can’t hold a candle to Ed. This is a light snack for him. He has the metabolism of a hummingbird.”

Ed spread his hands and gave a rueful shrug. “He speaks the truth. I have an overachieving appetite. But surely you could eat more than that,” he said with a nod to my pie. “You don’t have a spare ounce of fat on you.”

“The word is ‘scrawny,’” I retorted. “And I think I’d barf if I tried to eat as much as either of you.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “You of the legendary Iron Stomach? I think not.”

I cast a doubtful glance at him. “Legendary?”

Marcus grinned. “It’s true. Everyone knows that nothing bothers you on a scene.”

“But that’s not true!” I blurted in surprise. I could feel my face heating, and I quickly jabbed a fork at my pie in an effort to cover my sudden embarrassment. I kinda liked being thought of as hardcore, but I wasn’t keen on being known as some sort of heartless robot. “Stuff bothers me,” I muttered.

“Easy, Angel,” Marcus said, touching the back of my hand briefly. “No one’s implying you’re cold or made of stone. You’re as human as any of us.” He offered me a slight smile. “Please trust me when I say it’s a good thing when cops and paramedics say that you’re tough.”

“I don’t feel tough,” I said, unable to completely keep the sour note from my voice.

“Yeah, well, you fake it well,” Ed told me, then smiled at the waitress as she poured his coffee. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“So what are you two up to today?” Yes, I wanted to change the subject.

“Deer season opens this weekend,” Marcus replied. “We’re going to go check out the property where we usually hunt and make sure everything’s in order.”

The pie was good, but I had the faintest hint that I was missing something in the flavor. Then I realized. A day without brains is like a day without sunshine. My last brains had been early yesterday.

“You two don’t strike me as the good ol’ boy deerhunter type,” I said.

Ed chuckled. “And you would be right. But every now and then we feel the urge to give it a try. I think we’re suckers for punishment.”

“My uncle owns a fairly large parcel of land at the north end of the parish,” Marcus explained.

“His uncle owns half the parish,” Ed interjected.

Marcus grinned. “Not quite. But he is pretty well-off.” At a sidelong glance from Ed he chuckled. “Okay, he’s filthy stinking rich. Anyway. He used to take the two of us hunting when we were kids, and now it’s a stupid tradition that we continue.” His mouth twitched into a smile. “Some of that male bonding crap.”

“Uh huh.” I gave them both a dubious look. “Do y’all ever actually kill any deer?”

Ed cast his eyes upward and tapped his chin with his fingers. “Hmm… that’s a tough question.”

Marcus gave a laugh. “The answer is ‘almost never.’ Mostly it gives us an excuse to go ride around on four-wheelers, play with big guns, and then spend the next few days picking ticks off our bodies.”

“Wow,” I said. “I am so glad I’m not a guy.”

“It’s much better that you’re not,” Ed said, expression suddenly serious.

I blinked. “Er, okay. Why do you say that?”

“Well, you’d be a very funny looking boy,” he said. “I mean, with the boobies and all.”

I let out a bark of laughter and threw my napkin at him. “You idiot.”

Marcus laughed. “For what it’s worth, I have to agree with Ed, though I won’t use the word ‘boobies.’”

“You just did,” I pointed out with a mock glare.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

“So, do either of you have girlfriends who have to put up with you?” I asked, hoping it sounded nice and casual. Because that’s all it was, right? A casual getting-to-know-you question. I hid a grimace. Nope, it was totally desperate and awkward. Ugh.

“Marcus has yet to find anyone to tolerate his presence on a somewhat permanent basis,” Ed said, casting a teasing look at the other man. “But I’m willingly under the thumb of a fine woman who I probably don’t deserve.”

“You might have seen her the other day at the crime scene for the pizza guy,” Marcus said. “She had the cadaver dog. They were looking for the head.”

“Oh, right!” I remembered her. Cute and petite.

“What about you?” Ed asked with a tilt of his head. “Is there a lucky guy in your life?”

I don’t know why I was unprepared for the question, especially since I was the one who’d brought the whole subject up in the first place. “Um, kinda,” I said, fumbling for an answer. “I mean, there’s this guy I’ve been going out with for about four years….”

“Four years?” Marcus said. “Sounds serious. Any wedding plans in the near future?”

“No!” I said, then felt a surge of embarrassment at how quick I was to deny that possibility. “I mean, we’re not that kind of serious. We’re kinda on and off.” Shame flowed through me at my lack of loyalty, but marry Randy? I couldn’t see that happening in a million years. So why the hell am I still with him?

“Speaking of the cadaver dog,” I said in what was probably an incredibly obvious attempt to change the subject, “did they ever find the guy’s head?”

“Not sure,” Marcus answered. “Some hunters found a fire pit out in the swamp that had what looked like skull fragments and teeth, but it was all pretty well burned up. The lab’s going to see if they can do a DNA match to the pizza guy or the victim from Sweet Bayou.” He frowned. “There’s a lot of weird buzz going on about that case. It’s a strange one.”

“You mean other than the fact that the guy had his head chopped off?” Ed said, raising an eyebrow.

Their food arrived then, and the conversation was briefly suspended while room was found on the table for the ridiculous number of plates.

As soon as the waitress stepped away Marcus continued. “It’s looking like a setup of some kind. The guy was delivering pizzas, but the address was a house that had been foreclosed on last year, and empty even longer. His car was found in front of the house, and the bag with the pizza was on the ground in the front yard.”

Tension knotted in my stomach, and I had to force myself to maintain an even expression. “You’re saying he was lured there and then attacked.” Goddammit. Zeke ordered out for a meal all right.

“And he wasn’t robbed either,” Marcus added. “The detectives are trying to figure out if there was anything special about this guy that would have someone wanting to lop his head off.”

There was a brain in it, I thought grimly. Zeke probably chased him down, chopped the guy’s head off, then took his meal and ran.

“That’s pretty weird,” I said, trying hard to keep my tone even.