by Lisa Emme
“It’s an open casket?” I blurted out, drawing a few stares from the other funeral-goers. I lowered my voice and turned to Nash. “I thought she shot herself. Why would they be having an open casket?”
“She shot herself in the chest. Not a mark on her face.” He slid out of his seat to stand beside me. “I’m going to go pay my respects. Are you coming?”
“Ugh. No, thanks.” I hate open-casket funerals. I just don’t understand why anyone would want to stare at a dead person if they didn’t have to.
Nash sauntered up the aisle, turning heads along the way. Not even the blue-haired set was immune to his steamy good looks. Several of them actually staggered to their feet and toddled on after Nash, joining him in the queue in front of the coffin. I watched for a few minutes as two little old biddies jostled for position to see who got to stand next to him, their walkers crashing into one another. Nash, oblivious to the commotion his presence was causing, nodded and smiled at the fawning women.
“Hey! It’s the flower lady!”
I looked over in surprise to see Tosh, the spirit of a young, teenage girl I could only describe as a skater chick. She could have been an extra from an Avril Lavigne music video, wearing baggy jeans that ended six inches above her converse shoes, and a black T-shirt that read Shred It worn over another white, long-sleeved shirt. Her hair was straight and black with a neon-pink streak, and she wore a random collection of studded, black leather bracelets on each wrist. Both her nose and her left eyebrow were pierced.
Tosh smirked at me and said, “Nice dress.”
I glanced around to see if anyone was watching before answering quietly, “Uh, thanks?” There was a tone in her voice that made me think I wasn’t getting a compliment.
Tosh’s face broke out into a wide smile. “You definitely ‘wore it better’.” She held her hands up, finger quoting in the air.
“What?” I gaped at her.
“Dude, you’re wearing the same dress as the corpse.”
Oh. My. God! No wonder I was getting so many funny looks. The bingo lady and I were twinsies! I scanned the church. Nash was headed back down the aisle towards me. Reading something on my face, he frowned and quickened his pace.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered at Tosh, giving Nash a hand sign to wait. “Don’t you usually hang out near St. Anthony’s?”
“Yeah, it’s too crowded there now.” She shrugged. “They all think they need Father Mike’s juju to keep them safe, but hallowed ground is hallowed ground, I’m thinking.”
“Keep them safe? Keep who safe? From whom?”
The congregation suddenly rose to its feet, and I had to follow suit. Nash slipped in to stand beside me, a question in his eyes, but the service was starting so we couldn’t talk. I searched for Tosh, but she was nowhere to be seen.
During the service, I stewed over what Tosh had said. Was she talking about other ghosts? If so, why were they afraid and in need of protection? When I added Tosh’s information to Gran’s cryptic message, the mystery only deepened.
After the service ended, I jumped to my feet, eager to leave. I needed to get some answers from Gran. Not to mention the fact that I was pretty sure it was some sort of fashion faux pas to be wearing the same thing as the dead body at a funeral, and I didn’t need to give anyone else the opportunity to notice.
“I’m heading off,” I said to Nash.
“Aren’t you sticking around for tea and cookies?” Nash asked with a grin. The last time we attended a funeral together I had insisted we were owed cookies for sitting through the long, boring service.
“Are you kidding? I can’t be seen at coffee time.”
“Why the hell not?”
Stunned by his response, I gestured with my hand at what I was wearing. “Because of my dress, of course.”
“What’s wrong with your dress?” Nash appeared thoroughly perplexed and a wee bit impatient.
“Omigod! I can’t believe you didn’t notice that I’m wearing the same dress as the bingo lady.”
“The bingo lady?”
“The dead woman,” I muttered, lowering my voice. “Mrs. Whatever-the-hell-her-name-is.”
“You are?”
I levelled an incredulous look at Nash and then turned with a growl. I strode up the aisle, shaking my head. Men! They can be so clueless. Why do women even bother? I might as well wear a burlap sack.
“Harry! Harry.” Nash hurried after me, catching up in the vestibule where I had hung my coat. “Wait up. Is it really that bad?” He valiantly tried to keep the smirk off his face, but failed. He grabbed my coat from my hands and held it out to help me into it.
I rolled my eyes and huffed out a breath before turning to shove my arms in the sleeves. “Of course not. I could care less about what the bingo lady is wearing. But a girl does like to know that her efforts don’t go unnoticed.”
Nash, standing at my back, settled the coat on my shoulders and wrapped his arms around me. “Trust me, Harry. I noticed,” he replied quietly, his breath tickling the back of my neck. “I noticed how this long zipper starts right here…” he paused and placed a kiss right above the zipper, sending a shiver down my spine, “…and how it runs down to the small of your back. I spent the whole service thinking about slowly pulling that zipper down and kissing your bare skin, until your dress slips from your shoulders and falls to the floor.”
Um…yowza! Good answer.
I turned in his arms, wrapping mine around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “Mmmm, I almost forgive you,” I replied with a grin.
Chapter Nine
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” I put my spoon down on my now-empty plate. “Even if you did just bribe me with chocolate soufflé.”
I was at Cirque, the swankiest restaurant in town, with Salvador and Tomas. As was the case the last time I ate there, the food was divine, prepared specifically for us by the chef. Then, we had the restaurant to ourselves—Salvador had arranged a private meal on an evening when the restaurant was usually closed. This time, however, the place was packed. Salvador wasn’t just the kingpin of the supernatural underworld, he was a mover and shaker in the norm world as well, so we had been given the best table in the house. The wait staff practically fell over themselves to serve us, and the entire restaurant eagerly watched our every move while pretending total indifference to our presence.
Salvador sat back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his hands wrapped around the bowl of a large wine glass—although I doubted it was only red wine in the glass.
“Why, whatever do you mean, my dear Harry?”
I gave my hand a little wave to indicate the restaurant. “This! This whole, forgive the pun, circus.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you up to? I don’t appreciate being paraded out on display.” And paraded was an accurate term for it.
We had arrived at Cirque in Salvador’s stretch limo, only to be met by a barrage of paparazzi—okay, so barrage might be a bit of an exaggeration. This is Riverton, after all. But there were at least two of them. Somebody had obviously tipped them off that we were coming. I should have known Salvador had some sort of spectacle planned when a familiar box with the blood-red ribbon arrived at my door. Inside was a gorgeous silk chiffon dress in a shade of red that almost matched the bow on the box. The dress was scandalously short, but with filmy cape sleeves that floated down to skim the ground at my feet. Speaking of feet, never one to skimp, Salvador had also sent a to-die-for pair of Valentino’s So Noir 100 pointed pumps in ultra-soft, black leather with gunmetal stud accents.
“Can a man not enjoy a quiet dinner with his protégé and his beloved, long-lost daughter?”
I stared at Salvador for a moment and then shook my head. “I really have no idea how to respond to that.” I paused, trying to regroup, and then I remembered the other reason I was pissed at Salvador. “And then there’s Mr. DeGrasse. The lawyer?” I arched an eyebrow at him. “You pimped me out to him.”
Tomas, sitting across t
he table from me, smirked, but Salvador merely shrugged, unconcerned at my accusation.
“I merely acted the part of emissary, the go-between if you will.” He took a long sip from his glass. “Am I to assume that you won’t be assisting Señor DeGrasse with his request?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.”
“Don’t think too long, Harry. Jobs lie in the balance.”
“Sure, no pressure.”
“But of course, of course,” Salvador replied, choosing to ignore my sarcastic tone. “Whether you accept Señor DeGrasse’s proposal or not is totally up to you. It does not fall under the purview of our agreement.”
The agreement he was referring to was our deal for the title to the firehall. Salvador had given it to me in exchange for having dinner with him, but then he had managed to renege, forcing me to renegotiate the deal so it ended up being nine months of weekly dinners instead of just one. Damn those vampire loopholes.
The deal also included a proviso that I would occasionally use my particular talents to assist Salvador when requested. I had assumed DeGrasse was one of those times. I guess I had assumed wrong.
“There is a matter, however, that does require your cooperation and possibly your particular talents,” Salvador continued.
Ah, here we go. The other shoe just dropped.
“I’m all ears.” I leaned back in my chair and signalled to the waiter with my empty glass. I had a feeling I was going to need another drink.
The waiter came, quickly replacing my glass with one that held a generous inch of tequila. Salvador waved him off impatiently.
“You have heard of this new club, Wishes?” Salvador paused, continuing at my nod. “You will visit this establishment, observe, and report back to me.”
“That’s it?”
“I think you will find that is enough. I feel this establishment is much more than it seems. Take your wolf if you would like, and Maxwell Hart has agreed to accompany you.”
Surprised, I looked at Tomas. The last time I had to go somewhere sketchy, he had been sent to babysit me.
Seeing my glance at Tomas, Salvador shook his head. “Alas, young Tomas will not be able to assist in this endeavour. Neither, might I add, will our friend Isaac.”
“Why not?”
Tomas scowled. “The place is crawling with norms and mutts,” he said, using the derogatory vampire term for werewolves, “but no vampire has been able to enter. There’s dirty magic involved, a barrier of some sort.”
“Magic!” No wonder Max was going to join me on my little field trip. If there was a rogue involved, it was the Coven’s responsibility to handle it. They had a lot of face to save after the whole DiCastro incident. “Max is better suited to the job. I don’t see what you need me for.”
“There is something in the air, my dear Harry. A shift.”
I started forward in my seat at Salvador’s words. It couldn’t be coincidence that I had heard that word again. “I’ll do it,” I replied with a sigh.
I guess Tess was going to get her wish.
Chapter Ten
“Whoa, Harry! Maybe you had better slow down there.” Barbie eyed the mammoth double shot mocha latte I had in front of me. It was my second this morning. Added to the four, yes four, pain au chocolat I had scarfed down, I had a real caffeine and sugar buzz going.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll cut myself off…after this one.” With my hyper metabolism, the buzz wouldn’t last long, and neither would the calories, but too much caffeine made for a cranky Harry, and I was already in a bad (okay, admittedly sexually frustrated) mood. Nash had been a no-show last night, much to my disappointment. Another HRN. Things were getting seriously out of hand, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that all the weird stuff lately was somehow connected.
It had been a busy morning rush in the shop, busier than usual. I wasn’t even on the schedule to work today, but I had woken up early, unable to go back to sleep (more bad dreams) so I had decided to pop in and help out. To top it off, everyone seemed to be acting weird. At least the customers were, I mean. The whole shift I felt like I was being watched, and in fact I had caught several people staring at me. Then, when I was clearing tables, I got close to one of the four tops by the window where three women were engrossed in a hushed conversation. When they noticed me, they suddenly fell silent, going out of their way to avoid making eye contact with me. It was enough to give a girl a complex.
I quickly realized that part of the reason for the rush was because customers who normally grabbed their coffee to go had decided to stay and sit, so the tables and casual seating area were packed all morning. The other reason, from what I could tell, was that all our regular customers, even our once-or-twice-a-weekers and Sundays-only customers, had decided to come for coffee today. It was a good thing I had decided to drop by because it was more than Tiffy and Barbie could handle on their own. I ended up spending most of the morning bussing tables and restocking supplies.
The rush was finally done, although the shop was still over half full with sip-n-sits (what Barbie liked to call the customers who paid for one cup of coffee and then dawdled at a table for hours). Hector was due in shortly, so I figured it was safe to sit down with my latte and relax for a few minutes. Besides, I had a call to make.
I punched in the number DeGrasse had given me and was surprised when the line went to him directly, bypassing any sort of switchboard or receptionist.
“Mr. DeGrasse? This is Harry Russo.”
“Yes, Miss Russo. I’m glad to hear from you. Have you come to a decision?”
“Yes, I have. And yes, I will attempt to raise your zombie, but there will have to be some hard-and-fast rules about how things will be handled…for safety reasons.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.”
“I’ll put together a list and send it to you later today. You can review it and then decide if you want to move ahead.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure whatever safety precautions you wish to take will be acceptable. I’ll have my client and her brother sign the nondisclosure contract and courier it over to you by end of day.”
“The nondisclosure contract?”
“Yes, Mr. Arroyo insisted that there be one in place if you were to agree to help us. It simply states that whatever occurs, you will not be held legally responsible, and that my client, her brother, as well as his attorney, will not discuss you or your particular talents with anyone. A failure by any of the parties in this regard would result in compensation being paid to you in the amount of ten million dollars.”
“Ten million dollars!” My voice had risen, and I looked around the shop to see if anyone had noticed. Barbie raised a questioning brow, but I pointed to the phone at my ear and then lowered my voice and continued, “Ten million dollars if they blab to anyone?”
“Well, yes. If it were to get out to, say, the media, or something like that. I assume this is acceptable?”
“What? Oh, yes. More than acceptable.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get the papers to you as soon as possible. Do you have a date and time in mind?”
“I need a few days to prepare. I’d like to do it as close to the new moon as possible. The new moon is Tuesday, so sometime early next week. I’ll have to get back to you. I want to make sure I have everything I need first. Where was Mr. Koenig buried? Depending on which cemetary, getting in there at night without getting arrested for trespassing might be an issue.”
“Not to worry. I’ll take care of access to the gravesite on my end. Mr. Koenig was interred at Hillside.”
I nodded to myself. I shouldn’t have been surprised. If there was such a thing as a high-class cemetery, Hillside was it. The oldest cemetery in Riverton, it was the resting place of all of Riverton’s rich and influential corpses. Being raised a witch, I didn’t buy into the whole burying-your-dead ritual. Witches burned their dead—you can’t raise a zombie from a pile of ash.
“Great,” I replied. “That will mak
e things easier.”
The door dinged as I was signing off with DeGrasse, and Mrs. Flannigan, a neighbourhood local, came in for her daily sweet treat.
“Good morning, Mrs. F,” I called out to her, pasting on my customer service smile.
She paused, a frown on her face, and then with a sniff in my direction, turned on her heel, and marched over to Barbie to place her order. That was weird. Mrs. Flannigan may have been an odd bird at the best of times, but today she was acting positively loopy.
Concerned, I started to rise from my seat. “Is everything okay, Mrs. F?”
“I’m fine, thank-you very much,” she replied, her words clipped. She waved me off, muttering something about “not abiding a cheater” and “gold-diggers”, grabbed her to-go cup of coffee and cinnamon roll, and stomped out the door. Tiffy, who was standing right beside me, gave me a baffled look. She was still learning about human behaviour, and this apparently required an explanation.
“Don’t ask me,” I said, holding up my hands in defeat. “I think everyone has gone a little nuts this morning.” I didn’t get a chance to say more because Tess burst in the door waving a newspaper at me.
“Harry! You’re famous!”
“What?” I snatched the paper from her hands.
“You made Page Six!”
Page Six was the society gossip page. It was usually reserved for celebrity gossip because there wasn’t much to report in Riverton in terms of society news. I flipped through the paper, laying it out flat on the counter.
“Holy crap!” I gaped at the page in front of me. They had gone for a full-colour spread, and I and my attention-grabbing red dress were front and centre. The first picture was rather tame and only showed Salvador giving me a hand out of the limo in front of Cirque (although let’s say it was a good thing I was wearing panties). With the second though, they had gone for a more provocative pose, choosing to use a picture of the moment when Tomas stepped out of the limo and put his arm around me, hand on my ass. That they didn’t use the photo of the moment immediately after when I removed his hand by grabbing his thumb and threatening to break it if he tried that again, just shows how biased the news can be.