Turns out the most impossible thing to happen to me isn’t being murdered... It’s coming back.
Fans of Warm Bodies and Santa Clarita Diet are going to love this spooky yet touching love story full of magic, mayhem, and redemption. Scroll up and one-click to delve into this sweet second-chance romance. Happily Ever After guaranteed!
Chapter One
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Grady
The day you die is usually a day that didn’t go according to plan. Of course, you rarely think about things like that on a normal day.
Instead, today I’m thinking about work as I get out of my truck and put my hard hat on. I’m thinking of my wife, who I miss already. I always find it hard to leave her when she’s cute and warm and rumpled in the mornings.
There’s a bitter chill to the wind today. Winter comes early here in the north country, but not usually this early. It’s technically autumn, but it’s supposed to snow tonight. In September.
Everyone here in Cold Springs is talking about the storm, preparing for it like it’s a mid-winter nor’easter. I just shake my head at the leaden gray sky, because what can you do? That’s life living in the north. At least the soil hasn’t frozen yet. Our team could still break ground on the condo project.
“Ms. Josephine, good morning.” I tip my hat at the homeless woman as I walk past.
She sits out here on the last piece of sidewalk of our town and talks to herself. She’s called me Mr. Grady since we first met, so I call her Ms. Josephine.
How she’s going to make it through the coming winter, I’m not sure, because her coat looks threadbare. That makes me pause, and dig some cash out of my wallet.
She looks up at me and nods, her frizzy salt-and-pepper hair bobbing. She reaches up to shake my hand, so I return the gesture, then slip the bills into her chilled fingers and curl them around the money.
“Go get out of the cold awhile, and get yourself something warm to eat. They say it’s going to snow tonight.”
She flashes me a surprisingly clear look and nods again. In her thick Caribbean accent, she says, “I will, I will. Bless you, Mr. Grady.”
I wave and walk on. “Good day, Ms. Josephine.”
I jog up the steps of the foreman’s trailer and open the door. “Morning, Boss.”
“Shut the door, Grady, you’re letting the cold in,” he grouses in way of greeting. “And I saw that,” he adds, pointing a sharp finger at me. “That homeless woman out there? She’d move on if your bleeding heart didn’t keep giving her cash. Some of us have to actually work for our money,” he huffs.
“Well, I do work for my money, so it’s my business what I do with it.” I say it as cheerfully as I can even though his attitude this morning sets my teeth on edge.
After all, in the last few years, the majority of us in this backwoods city had been one bad decision, one family emergency, one bad illness or injury away from being homeless ourselves.
How quickly Biff forgets.
When he’d hired me, I’d been as desperate for a job as he had been for decent workers to keep his business from going under.
He just harrumphs. He’s not usually this grumpy. I’d say we’re pretty good friends, as far as co-workers go. But like everybody, he has days he wants to be left alone, and I get the message loud and clear. I’m not about to let his sour mood ruin my day, either.
I clock in and give him a wave on the way out since he’s on the phone. He nods at me, so at least I know his bad mood isn’t personal.
Making my way around to the back, I pass the huge wooden sign that shows a color picture of what the condominiums are going to look like when they’re done. It seems impossible that this giant flat field of brown dirt will someday be that shiny new housing, with a park-like lawn out front for families to enjoy, but it’s our hard work that makes it happen.
I greet the crew and I’m ready to get started. Then I see something that makes me pause.
Stomping over to Travis in the excavator, I climb up onto the step and make the sign for him to cut the engine.
He does and says, “What’s up, Grady?”
I tap my plastic-covered, protected head. “You forgot something.”
Sheepishly, he says, “Oh yeah. Sorry. I’ll go get it on.”
“You do that. Safety first.” I pat him on the shoulder, because he’s forgetful, but he’s a good guy.
I go about my day, working hard, and definitely not thinking of how people could fool you when it comes to their true nature.
***
Grady
It’s already snowing when it’s time to leave, the heavy clouds making night come sooner than it should. The evening sun has given up trying to shine through the thick storm clouds and snow, and it’s almost dark. The snow is already starting to stick, so the other fellows waste no time leaving the parking lot and getting started for home. My vehicle and Biff’s are the only ones left. But my truck heater needs a little coaxing to get warm, and the steering wheel is just cold enough that I decide to wait for it, so it can blow on my hands as I drive home. I stare out at the line of trees in front of me, the world hazing behind millions of tiny blowing snowflakes. The snow falls faster and thicker. Yeah, okay, this one might be something to worry about. The storm has a foreboding to it that I’m just starting to feel.
I text my wife while the truck warms. Reception is bad out here, so it’s the easiest way to communicate.
Just got off. Need anything from the store? Want me to bring home dinner?
No, I went shopping earlier. And I’m already cooking.
What are you making?
Chicken something.
Ah yes, chicken something. My favorite. My breath puffs out in front of me as I chuckle. Maisie is a great cook, but a bit like a mad scientist or an artist in her methods. She never knows what she’s going to cook until she starts doing it. Lucky for me, I’m not picky and it’s delicious and satisfying ninety-nine percent of the time.
We don’t talk about that other one percent, because she’s also a perfectionist, sensitive, and feels bad when she burns dinner or adds too much salt or heaven forbid, makes me something with kale.
Be safe, her last message says.
Always, I text back.
The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull out of the parking lot.
As I make my turn, I happen to look over at the site. Huddled against the fence is Ms. Josephine, the snow starting to build up on her coat and hair.
That image sticks with me.
The roads are empty, and the light at the first intersection makes the snow look red as it blinks on and off in the darkness.
No one’s coming, but I don’t move. It’s cold, it’s snowing, and Ms. Josephine is sleeping on the sidewalk.
Would I find her dead when I came in to work tomorrow? Frozen to death?
There was more cash in my wallet than I’d handed her this morning. I could give it all to her. It would make things a little tighter for the week, but I couldn’t imagine my wife being pissed about that. She’s the tenderhearted one. No way she’d give me crap for getting a homeless person a hotel room on an unusually cold night.
I make a U-turn and pull up to the fence. Ms. Josephine hasn’t moved. I put the truck in park and get out, squatting on the sidewalk in front of her.
“Ms. Josephine?”
She looks up from her hood, and I puff out a little sigh of relief that she isn’t already dead. I hadn’t been totally sure, as unmoving and covered in snow as she was.
I take out my wallet and hand her the wad of cash. “It’s too cold to sleep out here. Go see if you can get a room somewhere.”
“Thank you.” She looks up at me and nods, the hair poking out from her hood collecting snowflakes. But she doesn’t get up to spend her money, and she doesn’t say anything more. I sigh, then stand and look around.
That’s
when I see a glow from behind the office trailer, amplified by the white snowflakes falling through it. Someone left the yard lamp on—probably Travis—but it can wait a little longer. I’m not sure Ms. Josephine can.
“You don’t have a way to get anywhere else, do you?”
After a moment of hesitation, she shakes her head.
Looks like I was going to be late for dinner. Hand out, I say, “C’mon Ms. Josephine. I’ll give you a ride.” I can’t call her a taxi or rent her a hotel with the crappy cell service, so I’d have to take her in person.
“Thank you, bless you.” She grabs my hand with her two cold, weathered brown ones and I tug her up gently. She struggles a moment, stiff. She has to be sore after sitting on concrete in the cold all day.
I grab the full black trash bag she always has with her and toss it into the box of my truck. We get in, and she presses her hands to the heater vents as I crank up the blower.
“Is there somewhere else I can take you? Besides a hotel?” Perhaps the Salvation Army, but if I remembered correctly, they had a cut-off of four p.m. And that was two hours ago.
She briefly meets my eyes, but shakes her head. “No.”
“Okay, no problem.” I take out my phone and text my wife.
Going to be a few minutes late.
Okay. Love you.
She’s probably already cooking, or she would have asked why. Smiling, I send my last text. Love you too.
Ms. Josephine notices me grinning like a fool. “Your wife?” she asks, motioning at the phone.
“Yeah.” My grin turns into a full-blown smile. “She’s great.”
“How long have you been together?”
“We’ve been married five years.” And I’m still as lovesick as the day we walked down the isle. I’m a lucky guy and I know it.
Ms. Josephine smiles at my obvious infatuation, and it’s a nice smile, a warm one.
“How about you? You married?”
Her smile falters, and I mentally kick myself. I was only trying to make polite conversation, but I should know better. If she was, she likely wouldn’t be homeless.
“I was married, but he is passed on,” she says. “Ten years ago now.”
“I’m sorry.” I can’t imagine losing my spouse. Just the thought makes my heart contract in pain.
“It’s okay. Time heals all wounds.”
“Any other family?”
“I have two daughters. One lives out of state.” She turns her head away and down. “The other does not remember me.”
Her statement confuses me, but I don’t want to bumble the conversation again by prying. “Do you want me to call her?” I ask, gently, as I pull away from the curb. “Your daughter who’s out of state?”
But she shakes her head. “She does not know the condition I am in.” Ms. Josephine looks down at her hands. “And she would not understand the reasons for it.”
Was that true? Maybe, maybe not. But I don’t presume to understand her circumstances or family dynamics, so I leave it alone with a nod.
After we park at the hotel, I open Ms. Josephine’s door for her. She stands there a minute, straightening her clothes and smoothing her hair while I grab her bag out of the back.
“Ready?”
She nods and I lead the way through the double doors.
When we go to the desk to check her in, the clerk looks down his nose at her. Glaring at him, I sign the credit card slip for her room. She doesn’t deserve anyone’s disdain for simply being down on her luck. The people in this town... I swear.
“Do you want me to carry your bag up for you?”
“Thank you, but no,” she says with a smile, and reaches out her hand.
We shake and she thanks me again for the room.
“No problem, Ms. Josephine. Take care of yourself.”
“Thank you, I will. And I have the feeling we will see each other again. Very soon.”
“Not too soon, I hope. It’s supposed to still be chilly tomorrow, and we might be snowed in. Stay here as long as you can and then find someplace warm to stay, okay?”
“Ok, Mr. Grady. Thank you again.”
With a smile and wave, I exit the hotel and go back to my truck, feeling good about myself. But I’ve still got to swing back by work and turn off the yard light before I can go home and eat dinner with my Maisie.
Chapter Two
Grady
I pop my collar as I get out of my truck back at the work site. The snow is getting heavier now, and picking up speed.
In the deep silence of dark snowfall, I hear something that makes me pause my steps. It’s the engine of the backhoe.
I listen closely for a second to make sure, but there it is. I’ve heard that sound five days a week for years now; there is no mistaking it.
What the hell?
I walk through the opening of the fence and in the back of the trailer, behind all the other parked equipment and stacked supplies. In the glow of the portable lights I’d returned to shut off, I see Travis in the backhoe, no damn hard hat on, and Biff standing there beside some guy in a suit. Behind them are two larger fellows standing there with their arms crossed.
Travis not wearing his hard hat again pisses me off, and I’m confused as to why these guys are still at the site after hours.
“Boss?”
He spins around and looks at me, eyes wide. The suit beside him turns slower. Then Biff's face grows red and he stomps over to me. “What the hell are you doing here, Grady? You should have gone home.”
“I started to, but the homeless lady was out in the snow. I came back to call her a taxi, but—”
“You shouldn’t have come back. Leave, right now.”
He grips my arm and pulls me away from the others standing at the edge of the light, but details are starting to filter into my brain now, and my heartbeat jacks up.
There’s a pallet full of red barrels with “toxic” symbols on the side. There are more barrels in the pit, some of them leaking, that Travis is covering with dirt.
He yanks me around again as I try to look back at the scene.
“This is none of your concern, Grady. I want you to go home to your wife, and forget about this. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not ‘nothing’.” I yank my arm out of his grip and stab my finger in the direction of the pit. “You’re burying toxic waste under the condo site. What the hell, Biff?”
Dozens of families were going to live there. With children. What would all that crap do to the soil? To the water supply? They weren’t even burying it deep. “You’re going to make all those people sick!”
“No, I’m not. It’s nothing serious—” he begins.
“I know what this means,” I hiss. Though I work with my hands instead of my head, I’m not an idiot. “It means you’re illegally dumping this crap where it’s going to harm a lot of people.”
“Told you he wouldn’t go for it,” I hear Travis call out from behind me. I turn to glare at him. The backhoe is idling and he’s got one arm resting on the controls.
“Where the hell is your hard hat, Travis?”
“I’m off the clock,” he mutters, looking away.
I turn back to Biff. “You’ve got to stop this, Boss. You’re making a mistake. Why are you doing this?”
Biff scrubs his mouth with his hand. “Grady, you know how hard it’s been to recover from the recession. I had to do something to keep my business afloat. To pay my mortgage, to eat, to live, Grady. I did what I had to do. I needed to make sure my family would be okay. Surely, you understand that, don’t you?”
On some level I could. But I would never sacrifice other people’s health, their lives, for my own gain. “And now? The town’s doing better, you’re winning all the bids. So why are you doing this now?”
“A cushion, Grady. A way to weather any other surprises that come along. And hell,” he says, “to be able to afford a vacation every now and then.”
Surely he couldn’t be that much of an ass, could he? Pe
rhaps he saw the look on my face, because he grabs my arm and pulls me closer.
“I’ve tried to get out of the arrangement before, but these guys wouldn’t let me. I think they’ll kill me if I refuse.”
I sneak a look at the three guys standing to the side. There’s two big slabs of beef with clasped hands, and between them a faceless shadow in a top hat and a cane, a glowing red cigar tip about where his mouth would be.
“I get it, I do. But you’ve got to stop this, Biff. You know it’s wrong.” I lean in closer to him. “Maybe you were coerced into this. Tell the police what you know, and you won’t go to jail.” Probably, anyway. “I’ll vouch for you. You know I will.” There’s something in his eyes, something like regret. I’m getting through to him.
“You’re right.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and pats it. “Let’s go talk to Mr. Lucien.”
We walk toward the suit, standing there in pressed clothes and shiny black shoes with a bright halo of light from the portable lamp behind him.
I raise my hand up against the glare, trying to see his face. Right as I do, he takes a deep drag of his cigar and lights up the bottom half of his face with eerie orange light. White bones and teeth stand out against dark skin, and a jolt of apprehension travels down my spine. His face is painted like a skull,
“Mr. Lucien, Grady here knows what we’re doing is wrong.”
“You’re going to make these families ill—” I start.
Mr. Lucien puts up a hand and snaps, and suddenly the two dark shapes come out of the shadows. One grabs me before I can take a step back, twisting my arms behind my back. Biff goes to stand next to the man in the suit, avoiding my eyes.
My heart is beating in my throat as my shoulders ache. I see what’s happening here now, a moment too late.
Betrayal.
“Don’t do this, Boss.” I beg. I thought I got through to him, I thought he understood.
Somberly, Biff nods at the two meat-heads at my back.
My knees are kicked out from behind me, and I fall into the dirt, hollering as my arms are twisted higher. My shoulders burn with pain but only for a second. The second guy steps in front of me and punches me so hard in the jaw that I fall sideways into the cold dirt, arms wrenched free of their hold. But they’re numbish now, and tingling, and I struggle to get them under me to lift myself up.
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 14