by K E O'Connor
“Nothing,” I said. “Placid zombies don’t attack humans.”
“Nick’s sure the marks are from a zombie’s teeth,” Alex said.
“Why not a human?” I asked.
“Yes! That’s an idea. I heard Bert was saucy in the bedroom. Maybe he got those marks before he died,” Jen said.
I laughed. “We shouldn’t rule it out. Romantic bite marks. Bert was dating someone.”
Alex blushed and grinned. “It could be the breakthrough we need.”
“Don’t mention that theory to Nick,” I said swiftly. “Or, if you do, don’t include my name.”
“He’ll be happy to have a new idea,” Alex said.
“Then it’s your idea,” I said. “And it’s not a bad idea. Bert was a ladies' man. He had a roving eye. That could have gotten him in trouble. Maybe it roved past his current girlfriend and fixed on someone it shouldn’t.”
Alex scratched his chin. “I’ve seen Bert’s body. He’s not exactly classically handsome. I can’t imagine him getting lots of female attention.”
“He used to be a pro golfer. He won a lot of tournaments, splashed his cash around, and was always generous when he took a woman on a date.”
“Some women get weak at the knees when there are diamonds involved,” Jen said.
Alex rubbed his forehead. “Diamonds! I thought women weren’t into that sort of thing anymore.”
“Who doesn’t like a diamond?” Jen winked at me. “They’re easy to pawn if things go wrong.”
Alex spluttered a laugh. “I guess so. I’ll see what Nick thinks about the angry girlfriend theory.”
“Just be careful not to tread on his toes,” I said. “Nick likes to do things a certain way.”
“No problem. Thanks, Cassie, that’s really helpful.”
I was happy to help, but asking the question had gotten me nowhere in puzzling through what had happened to Bert.
We did a circuit of the building, checking out the recreation room and kitchen, and arrived back in the food serving area.
“That’s pretty much it,” Jen said. “We provide meals three times a day, so we know the zombies will get decent nutrition and won’t need to go out and find food. The placid zombies don’t do that, anyway. From what we know of them, if they get nothing to eat, they simply stay hungry rather than go hunting.”
“The shelter’s a great resource. They need more volunteers.” I looked at Alex. “Do you have a free evening? You can help here.”
Alex cleared his throat. “I’m not certain this is my sort of place. Don’t get me wrong, what you do is amazing. I’m more of an outdoors kind of guy.”
“We take the zombies out on trips,” Jen said. “Sometimes, we go to the beach.”
“I can help with that.” Alex’s expression brightened. “I like the beach. Let me know when you have your next trip. I might join you.”
“I always get Cassie along on the trips as well.” Jen’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “The zombies are so good with her. They follow her like puppy dogs.”
“They do not!” I glanced over my shoulder, half expecting to see a crowd of zombies behind me. It wouldn’t be the first time. They did like me.
“They sort of do,” Jen said. “I’m not complaining. It makes a big group of zombies easy to manage when you’re around. I just need to send you in the direction I want them to go, and they follow you.”
Alex gave me a quizzical look. “Is that why that Freddie guy was so willing to come with you to the shelter?”
I looked at the floor and shuffled my feet. “They do like me. I’ve never understood it.”
“Cassie’s our zombie whisperer.” Jen laughed. “Nick calls her the zombie queen.”
I scowled. “Not when I’m nearby, he doesn’t.”
“She’s a huge asset to Zee Town.” Jen slung an arm around my shoulders.
“It’s an interesting talent to have.” Alex tilted his head to one side as he studied me. “You don’t know why you have this affinity with zombies?”
Jen opened her mouth, but I glared at her, and she snapped it shut.
“Not really. Have you seen enough of the shelter?” I asked, eager to direct attention from my odd ability. I had a pretty good idea why I was such a hit with the zombies, but I wasn’t sharing my theory with Alex. “You’re sure you don’t want to sample the food?”
Alex’s cheeks paled again. “No, I never want to sample the food. I should get back to the station. I promised Nick a report by tomorrow and it’s still not finished.”
“I’m sure he’s a stickler for all that dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s nonsense,” I said as we walked to the exit.
“He is thorough,” Alex agreed. “Thanks for the tour, Jen. It was nice to spend time with you both.” He gave us a wave goodbye and headed out the door.
“He’s cute. Cuter than I remember.” Jen stared after Alex as he disappeared into the gathering dark of the evening.
“He’s not bad,” I agreed. “He didn’t seem keen on helping you out here, though. Alex is a bit green when it comes to zombies.”
“As he said, being outdoors is more his thing. I wonder if he’s a surfer. I bet he looks great in a wetsuit.”
I nodded. Alex was tall and well-built. I was also sure he’d look great in a wetsuit.
“Do you think he’s going to ask you out?” Jen asked.
“I wasn’t getting that vibe from him. He was just being polite.”
Jen worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Do you like him?”
“I like him well enough,” I said. “He’s an attractive guy.”
“Then go out with him,” Jen said. “You haven’t been on a date for ages.”
I smoothed my hair. It had been a long time since I’d dated. My job kept me busy, but it was more than that. My fingers skimmed over the scar on my palm again. Loss always makes you cautious, and I had lost someone I cared about during the uprising.
I’d dated Simon for almost a year. Things had been going well. I wouldn’t say it was insta-love, but there’d been affection there, and a solid friendship. Then the zombies struck, and he was literally yanked from my arms. I never saw him again. That memory still stung.
Jen seemed to sense my reluctance. “You can date the guy. It doesn’t mean you have to marry him.”
I tilted my head back and groaned. “If Alex asks me out, I’ll say yes, but only to make you happy.”
Jen grinned at me and nodded. “There’s no harm in sampling the goods. And, if you go out, you can ask Alex more unsubtle questions about Bert Figgins.”
“Huh! I hadn’t thought about that.”
“And lucky for you, Alex must have forgotten Nick’s rules about not discussing active cases.”
“Or he doesn’t know them. Alex seems naïve. Is it wrong to take advantage of that?”
“Not if it helps to solve Bert’s murder. We all want to make sure justice is done, and the town is safe.”
“It won’t hurt to ask Alex more questions.” I nudged her. “And if he doesn’t ask me, perhaps he’ll ask you. You can do the digging for me.”
“I’m always happy to be your sleuthing sidekick.”
I spotted movement in the street and pulled open one of the doors. “It’s Stool.” I pointed at the limping dog on the other side of the road. “I’d better see if he’s okay. Nick’s always letting him out to wander off on his own.” I said a swift goodbye to Jen and hurried out into the cool evening air.
I did want to find out what happened to Bert Figgins. But first, I had a three-legged dog to help.
Chapter 8
I cursed under my breath as I hurried along the gloomy street away from the shelter, surprised by how swiftly Stool moved. Nick was such an idiot for letting his dog wander about on his own.
“Stool!” I called out.
The dog paused and turned, his ears pricking up. His tongue lolled out when he saw me in an expression of doggy happiness.
“Where are you going?
Has your useless master left you alone again?” I bent as I reached him and ruffled the fur around his ears.
Stool licked my hand a couple of times.
“Do you want to come home with me? We can have something to eat, and I fancy some company.”
Stool continued to give me his usual doggy smile, which I took to mean yes. I stood and patted my leg, and the two of us walked back to my cottage.
Once inside, I kicked off my shoes and shrugged my jacket off, dumping it on my favorite floral patterned easy chair next to the room’s small log burner.
The cottage was old, with solid, thick walls. It had been built in the eighteenth century, and the whole row of tiny terraced dwellings used to serve as fishermen’s cottages when the industry had been booming in Cornwall. These days, they housed a plethora of locals who looked after Zee Town.
I’d bought the cottage with the money my parents left me in their will. I’d rather have them alive, but what they left me meant that I could buy my cottage outright and not have to worry too much about money.
I’d decorated my cottage to reflect the fact I lived almost a stone’s throw from a beautiful sandy beach, with magnificent rolling surf and stunning sunsets. There were watercolors of local fishing scenes, and the walls downstairs were white, the plaster uneven. The kitchen was a bespoke oak design, made to fit the rectangular shape. I had a small, low maintenance courtyard garden, perfect for sitting out on a hot summer evening while sipping a glass of cider. Upstairs, there was a compact bathroom and two double bedrooms.
I walked through to the kitchen, Stool at my heel. “What do you fancy tonight, boy?” I always kept a bag of dog biscuits in the cupboard to ensure I had something in for Stool’s frequent visits.
Stool’s gaze followed me around the kitchen as I pulled out a bowl for him and a plate for me. I filled his bowl with dried biscuits and placed it on the floor.
He happily got to work on the food while I made a supper of salad, feta cheese, and crackers.
I took my food outside to the courtyard and sat at the table, enjoying the last remnants of the summer warmth as I ate.
When Stool had finished his food, he joined me and laid down by my feet, his head on his one front leg and eyes half-shut, a contented sounding grumbling coming out of him from time to time.
In the peaceful evening atmosphere, I took the time to get my thoughts together following Nick’s accusations about Bert. I couldn’t believe a zombie was involved in this murder, and I knew I wasn’t. If Nick tried to prove otherwise, we would come to blows.
Bert had been a decent man, although too fond of the ladies. I should focus on that angle. One of his lady friends had decided to get revenge. A jealous lover could be dangerous. I didn’t know Bert well enough to know who he’d entertained.
I shook my head, still no clearer about Bert’s unhappy ending, and returned to the kitchen to wash my dinner things, including Stool’s bowl.
“You be a good boy,” I said to him. “I’m in need of a bath after my busy day.” I ran up the narrow wooden staircase, filled the bath with warm water and bubbles, undressed and dived in.
It was bliss, exactly what I needed to distract myself from the upcoming stress of the carnival, the worry about what had happened to Bert, and protecting my zombies from Nick’s accusations.
Of course, they weren’t my zombies, but Jen was right; they seemed to like me, and I felt protective of them. Ever since the incident when I got the scar on my hand, the zombies were important to me.
I was rinsing conditioner out of my hair when a thudding began on the front door.
I clambered out of the bath, wrapped my hair in a towel, another around my body, and scampered down the wooden staircase.
Stool stood by the front door, a doggy grin on his face as he watched me approach. “Can you bite them if they’re trying to sell something?” I reached the door, opened it and peered through the gap.
Nick stood outside, his usual angry look plastered across his face. “Do you have my dog?”
I pinched my lips together. “Stool may have come home with me. He only did so because you’d left him to wander off on his own.”
“I didn’t let him wander anywhere,” Nick said. “After he appeared in your office, I took him home and shut him in the back garden. He had the run of the place, all the toys and food he could eat, but he never stays put. I don’t know how he jumps over the wall with only three legs.”
I frowned, not certain I believed Nick. I couldn’t figure out why Stool wanted anything to do with him. He must see something I didn’t. Maybe when Nick relaxed, he was more fun to be around. It was a side I’d yet to experience.
“Can I have my dog back?” Nick asked, after we’d glared at each other for a few seconds.
I opened the door wider. “He’s right here. As you can see, I haven’t hurt him.”
Nick’s gaze went to the rather short towel I’d wrapped around my body, his eyes traveling down my still damp legs. “I didn’t realize you were in the bath. I could have waited.”
“From the angry thudding on the door, it suggested otherwise.” I gripped the towel around my middle, my cheeks glowing as I realized how exposed I was.
Stool licked a blob of bubbles from my bare leg.
Nick shrugged and averted his gaze, focusing on Stool as he finished his bubble removal job.
Stool sniffed my bare leg before limping out the front door. He sat between us.
“Well, looks like no harm’s been done.” Nick bent and patted Stool’s head.
“You know I love Stool. I’m only looking out for him.”
“Sure you do,” Nick said. “He’s still my dog.”
I shook my head. Stool seriously needed to figure out what he wanted in an owner. A friendly, dog biscuit ready owner who always looked out for him, or a sullen, scowling, annoyingly handsome grump who didn’t know dog treats existed.
“Come on, boy.” Nick turned to leave. “Oh, and Cassie, a word of advice. Stop poking around in Bert’s murder.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve been asking about his death,” Nick said. “You’ve spoken to Bill and Alex. Stop it.”
I tightened my grip on my towel. “I’m doing nothing wrong. I was just being friendly.”
“You might muddle up people’s memories if you keep prodding and interfering. And I still need your statement. You’re not in the clear just yet.”
“I’m simply curious about what happened. I don’t believe the zombies had anything to do with Bert’s death. Neither did I.”
“The evidence suggests otherwise.”
“What’s your evidence?”
He turned back and arched an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m sharing that with you?”
“If you mean the bites on the body, they aren’t conclusive. We all have teeth.” I snapped mine together. “Can you confirm that Bert died sometime between midnight and three in the morning?”
“Why?” His expression grew wary.
“So I get the facts right. I want to make sure I have a good alibi.”
“Cassie! You’re trying my patience.”
I grinned. “No, I’m simply making sure I’m innocent. The same goes for the zombies.”
“That’s debatable.”
“If you plant the idea that zombies killed Bert, you’ll scare people. That’s not fair. If you do, I’ll know to come looking for you.”
“Is that a threat?” Nick’s face hardened.
I clutched the towel tighter. That had been a bit aggressive. “Not an intentional one.”
Nick sighed. “Have you seen the body? Examined the wounds inflicted on the victim?”
I shifted from side to side. “No, but our zombies wouldn’t do that.”
“You don’t know all the facts. Keep your nose out of the investigation before you mess it up.” Nick turned and walked away without saying goodbye.
After a few seconds of Stool looking from me to Nick’s rapi
dly receding form, he slowly limped away, his tail down.
I scowled into the darkness. How dare Nick suggest I was messing up his investigation? An investigation he wasn’t even doing well since he was convinced that zombies had murdered Bert. That couldn’t be true.
I gave the door a loud slam and stomped back to the bath, but the cooling water no longer looked inviting.
I drained it, dried my hair, changed into my most comfortable pajamas, and decided to forget all about Nick.
But I wasn’t forgetting about Bert Figgins. I’d figure this murder out and prove to Nick that the zombies had nothing to do with it. And neither did I.
Chapter 9
The beautiful early morning sunshine that bathed the cobbled streets as I walked to work didn’t offset my frustration at Nick’s rudeness last night.
I was so engrossed with thinking about the witty things I’d say to him the next time we met that I didn’t pay attention to a movement out of the corner of my eye.
The air was knocked out of me as I collided with the body. We fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
I’d hit a zombie. A musty, stale scent invaded my nostrils as we lay on the ground.
I blinked a few times, my head aching from where I’d hit the sidewalk. “Amelia?” I recognized the zombie on top of me. She was one of our oldest residents and had been over seventy when she’d changed into a placid zombie. She was sweet and completely harmless, but she had a tendency to walk into people. Her eyesight hadn’t been good when she was living. In her zombie form, it only seemed worse.
Amelia gave a gentle gurgle and rested her forehead against mine.
I gently pushed her to one side. “Let’s get up, shall we?” I stood and held my hands out to Amelia, grimacing as I noticed one of her wrists was twisted at an unnatural angle.
Amelia stared up at me, a soft smile on her wrinkled face.
“It looks like you need help.” I eased Amelia to her feet, making sure not to move her injured wrist.
We walked slowly to Sunnyside Surgery, the doctor’s surgery on Trewithen Road. The injury looked nasty, and I wanted a professional opinion.