The Remains of the Dead

by Wendy Roberts

  The Writing on the Wall

  Sadie turned around and took a step—and went right through Trudy Toth.

  “Eww, yuck!” Sadie shuddered and goose bumps popped out on her arms. “I hate when that happens!” She wagged a finger at Trudy. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

  Trudy’s dark eyes were sad and filled with a pleading insistence that Sadie wanted no part of. Still, she felt her anger dissipate.

  “It’s okay to talk to me,” Sadie said gently. “I can hear you, so go ahead and say whatever’s on your mind. Just let it out. I promise you’ll feel much better if you do.”

  Trudy looked around the room; then her eyes fixed on the huge red stain on the sofa. There was a good chance the woman didn’t even know that her husband was dead. Sadie watched as Trudy walked around and around the room, clearly mystified.

  “This is great. I’ve got a ghost in shock.” As if the job wasn’t hard enough already.

  “Okay, listen up,” Sadie began. She cleared her throat and spoke loudly. “Trudy, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you’re dead. Your spirit is stuck here because, well, I don’t know exactly why. Anyway, Grant is gone too, but I don’t see him. I guess suicides don’t hesitate. Look, you just need to let go. Your time here is over and—”

  Trudy walked to the sofa that Grant had chosen as his final stop. She rubbed her finger into the stain.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sadie asked.

  Trudy walked to the wall and began to print, using the blood on her finger. When she was done, the macabre message read Not Grant.

  THE REMAINS OF THE DEAD

  A Ghost Dusters Mystery

  WENDY ROBERTS

  AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  ISBN: 1-4295-7912-9

  Copyright © Wendy Roberts, 2007

  All rights reserved

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to gratefully acknowledge Theresa Borst of Bio Clean Inc., who answered my countless questions regarding bio-recovery. She is a compassionate professional in her field. Any and all errors are my own.

  Hugs to friend and author Mary J. Forbes, who is never too busy to consume huge amounts of coffee while brainstorming. A debt of appreciation goes out to the Non-Bombs—Colleen Gleason, Diana Peterfreund, Jana DeLeon, and Elly Snyder—for their huge support. Additional thanks to my fabulous agent, Miriam Kriss, for believing in this story and to Kristen Weber for her superb editiorial skills.

  Most important acknowledgments go to my husband, Brent, and our four brilliant children, who endure countless boring meals and a lack of clean socks whenever I’m held prisoner by my muse.

  Dying is the most embarrassing thing that can

  ever happen to you, because someone’s got to

  take care of all your details.

  —Andy Warhol

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  1

  She dipped a scrub brush into the cleaning fluid and stroked the bedroom wall in wide, arched swipes. Although concentrating on the task at hand, Sadie tried not to ignore the person behind her.

  “It’s just not fair,” he whined.

  “Jacob, we’ve been over this a dozen times since yesterday,” Sadie stated evenly as she brought the dripping brush up once more. “Talking about it won’t change what happened. What you created. You made your bed and now you must lie in it, so to speak.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Sorry.” But Sadie laughed just the same, then took a step back to examine her work. Sometimes a little distance was necessary to see if you got it all.

  “There should be another way,” he griped.

  “Jacob, I’ll be blunt. You’re dead. You sat on your bed and blew your brains out all over this wall.” She strode toward him with a look of determination. “I’m sorry, but there’s just no coming back from that kind of decision.”

  He looked pained—and not just because the entire left side of his head was missing. Sadie didn’t blame him for hanging back—it was natural to be afraid to move beyond this life—but someone had to give him the kick in the ass he needed.

  “But it was an accident,” he said. “I didn’t know it was loaded.”

  Sadie knew that was true. She felt Jacob’s one good eye watching her intently.

  “You believe me. I can tell.”

  “Fact is, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you’d committed suicide. I don’t know why, but those who’ve intentionally pulled their own plugs have been immune to my abilities.”

  “Your family must be very proud,” he said sarcastically. “Or is your whole family nuts?”

  “I don’t know anyone else cursed with the same power,” Sadie said truthfully. “My parents don’t know, my
sister is still adjusting to the idea, and my best friend would like me to go on Oprah. But enough about me.” She pinned him with a firm glare. “You can’t hang out here. It’s time to move on.”

  Jacob slumped down in the center of the room, in the exact place where his bed would have been if she hadn’t already had the blood-soaked mattress hauled off to her warehouse to be kept in a secure biohazard room until it was picked up by the medical waste company. He sat there suspended, as if the bed were merely invisible.

  “So, then what do I do?” he asked pitifully.

  Sadie sighed. “Just relax and let it happen. Stop fighting and let go.” She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but it dropped straight through because, of course, he wasn’t physically there. A shiver of revulsion coursed through her, as it always did when she attempted physical contact with a spirit.

  “I am tired,” he admitted. “Okay, I’ll try.” Bravely closing his eyes, he let out a long, slow breath of surrender.

  Jacob, or the apparition of Jacob, shimmered first, then gradually dissipated until it was totally gone.

  “Finally.”

  Sadie blew out an exasperated breath. Sometimes dealing with the dead was frustrating. Although it was gratifying to help them go over, she wished they’d do more listening and less talking. She knew, though, that the dead just wanted to be heard, and she was the only one who could listen.

  She returned to the wall to scrub off the remaining brain matter that clung like petrified oatmeal.

  “You’re doing it again.” Zack’s voice was muffled from behind his disposable paper respirator. He walked closer to Sadie to make it easier to communicate. “I’m carrying supplies into the next room and I can hear you talking.”

  “Sorry,” Sadie said over her shoulder. But she wasn’t.

  “If you’re going to talk to the dead, at least do it when I’m not around.” Zack stood with his hands on his hips. His blue disposable Tyvek suit, respirator, and booties matched her own.

  “I can wait, but sometimes they can’t,” Sadie replied. She was sure that behind Zack’s goggles he rolled his eyes.

  “I’m bringing another load of bins to the warehouse,” he said.

  “That’s fine.” Sadie had already returned to her task. “I’ll do a bit more here and we can finish the last of it in the morning.”

  “Don’t stay too late or you’ll miss Dawn’s party.”

  “Oh, damn.” Sadie sighed. “Guess I don’t have much time.”

  “Not unless you want to go to your sister’s thirtieth birthday party smelling of decomp.” He chuckled and offered her a wink.

  Zack was right. Washing away the smell of body decomposition took longer than a five-minute shower. Reluctantly, Sadie wrapped things up at the scene early and hurried home. She spent a lot of extra time in the shower and cringed when she glimpsed her watch as she dressed and rushed out the door.

  It was only a couple miles to Dawn’s Ballard-area home, but the misty drizzle made the roads slick. Sadie carefully cornered onto Midvale and then turned up the radio volume to cover the thump thump of the wipers.

  A few minutes later she parked at the curb on Dawn’s street, flung open the car door, and ran toward the house, dodging the branches of an overgrown cedar hogging the sidewalk. At the door, she could already hear the loud chorus of “Happy Birthday” being sung within, so she didn’t bother with knocking, but just let herself inside. She quickly joined the back of the crowd of forty or so people in time for the finale. Dawn dramatically closed her eyes for her wish and blew out the candles to a crescendo of applause.

  “By the skin of your teeth,” Zack said in Sadie’s ear.

  “Has she noticed I’m late?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s had a few.”

  Sadie looked at Dawn. Her face was flushed with liquor, and she was giddy from being the center of attention. Her long brown hair was clipped up in the back, and she wore a red sweater with a plunging neckline. Sadie slipped her arms out of her jacket and tossed it on the back of a chair, then made her way through the crowd to the dining room table.

  “Sadie!” shouted Dawn’s boyfriend, Noel, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into an awkward hug. “You made it!”

  “I wouldn’t miss my baby sister’s birthday,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Better late than never,” Dawn quipped, dipping her finger into the thick chocolate icing on the cake and then licking it off.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Sadie bent and kissed her sister’s heavily rouged cheek. “Wow, so you’re thirty, huh?” She pretended to look Dawn over critically. “You’re officially old, then, and I guess that means I’m old as dirt.”

  “Thirty-two isn’t dirt. You’ve got a little time before I put you in a home,” Dawn teased. “You got your hair done. It looks nice.”

  “You think?” Sadie’s hand went instinctively to her bobbed hair. She’d added blond highlights too, at the stylist’s insistence. It still surprised her every time she looked in the mirror.

  “I thought you liked it long. What made you cut it?”

  “Just felt like it.” Sadie shrugged. There was no way Dawn wanted to hear the truth—that it was difficult to get the smell of body decomp out of her hair when it was long.

  “Help me hand out the cake. And don’t sneak out early. We got a surprise for later.”

  Carrying as many cake-loaded paper plates as she could manage, Sadie served and smiled until her face hurt. Then her mouth curved down and she frowned at Dawn sucking face with Noel in the corner. Damn, if they didn’t look happy. Too happy.

  Snagging the last two pieces of cake, Sadie went in search of Zack. She found him in the living room, drink in hand, talking to a pretty redhead. He looked good out of a hazmat suit. He wore snug Levi’s and a green long-sleeved T that brought out the olive in his complexion and clung nicely to his broad shoulders. He’d let his dark hair grow out a bit lately and it softened the determined look of his square jaw. He had no trouble attracting the ladies. His trouble was keeping them, although Sadie sensed he was not the relationship kind.

  So as not to interrupt his chances with the young woman, Sadie hung back and perched on the arm of an overstuffed sofa. Carefully balancing the two plates of cake, she pretended to be interested in the conversation between two women nearby.

  “So, what do you do?” the redhead asked Zack, tossing her hair flirtatiously.

  This should be good. Sadie leaned in just a little. She couldn’t help herself.

  “I’m involved with a niche cleaning company,” Zack replied, straightening to his full height, just shy of six feet.

  Not a bad line, Sadie thought. She’d used that one herself. All would be hunky-dory now if the redhead let it go.

  “How about you?” Zack asked. “Let me guess—you’re a model.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes.

  “I’m a dental hygienist.” She smiled, pleased with the compliment, and sipped her drink daintily. “What exactly is a niche cleaning company?”

  “Nothing too interesting,” Zack replied smoothly. “How do you know the birthday girl?”

  “We’re neighbors. I live just a few doors down.” She reached out and picked invisible lint from Zack’s shirt. “So what kind of things does a niche cleaning company clean?”

  Time to attempt a rescue.

  “Cake, anyone?” Sadie asked. Getting to her feet, she thrust the two plates of cake toward Zack and his potential lover.

  “Just what I was waiting for,” Zack said, his black eyes locked in a serious gaze with Sadie’s.

  She smiled back. She was pretty damn sure Zack wasn’t talking about the cake. He looked relieved to be momentarily rescued. Taking both plates, he offered one to the redhead. She looked the type to be on a perpetual diet, and sure enough, she refused the cake, so it was returned to Sadie.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing,” Sadie remarked to the model-type hygienist as she dug a fork down through the layers of the
cake and brought a bite to her mouth. Between the chocolate layers was custard filling. The gooey texture and color reminded her of the bodily fluids they sponged up after a death that had been left unattended, but it didn’t faze her. Sadie eyed Zack. He was looking at the custard too and possibly thinking the same thing.

  “I heard you mention that you’re a dental hygienist,” Sadie said around a mouthful of cake. “That sounds really interesting. Doesn’t it, Zack? I bet you meet all kinds of different people, from all walks of life.”

  “Not really,” she said with a smirk. “You’ve seen one mouth, you’ve seen ’em all.”

  We laughed politely.

  “I bet your niche cleaning company involves something like toxic waste, right?”

  “Sort of,” Zack replied. “There is definitely bio-recovery involved.”

  Well, I tried, Sadie thought, and she made her way back across the room to where one of Dawn’s girlfriends was liberally pouring drinks from a makeshift bar. The friend fixed Sadie a very strong gin and tonic and tossed in a large wedge of lime to bob amongst the ice cubes. Sadie sipped her drink, then turned to look across the crowded living room to see if Zack had managed to extricate himself from the woman’s career-directed questions.

  Sadie could tell the exact moment when the redhead got it. First, a look of wide-eyed, jaw-dropping surprise crossed her face. It was followed immediately by pure, unadulterated revulsion.

  Sadie managed to hide her bemused grin behind her drink. Being a social leper was a by-product of their line of work. Her enjoyment of Zack’s discomfort faltered when her mother and father walked through Dawn’s front door. She hadn’t expected them to show, since Dawn had mentioned she’d already shared a birthday lunch with the parental unit earlier in the day.