1 Broken Hearted Ghoul

by Joyce Lavene; Jim Lavene

  “Debbie,” she replied. “Nice to meet you.”

  “She’s got nice manners too. You could learn something from her, Skye.”

  “Thanks. I still need my release form, even though Abe talked him inside. Where is he?”

  “I’ve got it.” He opened the door to his tiny office. “Third slab on the right and straight on ‘til morning. Did I ever tell you that I played Peter Pan in an off-Broadway production?”

  “About twenty times in the last two years.” I grunted as Debbie and I stepped inside. The whole place was like a refrigerator. “I’m sure hearts were broken when you left the theater.”

  “I’ll bet that was a lot of fun.” Debbie managed to smile at Brandon as she sat down in one of the terrible green plastic chairs, and crossed her legs.

  “Yeah. It was great.” Brandon stared beyond the cold office for a moment, as though he could still see the footlights and hear the applause. Then he smiled. “But that was a long time ago. Now I’m here.”

  “You might be able to join a little theater group or something.” Debbie reacted to his sadness and longing.

  “You’re a keeper.” He shook his head, and looked for a release form. “Those days are gone, I’m afraid. They won’t be back again.”

  “You shouldn’t feel that way.” Debbie encouraged with a toss of her dark hair, her full red lips smiling. “You only need a little time to get started. Would you like me to help you look for something?”

  Brandon signed our release slip with a flourish of his left hand. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up. I’m into hustling pool right now. The bar is right down the street. What more could a man ask for?”

  “Well, the offer is always good.”

  He took her hand in his and kissed it. “I’m definitely gonna ask Abe if you can be my assistant. I have a feeling Skye doesn’t appreciate you like I would.”

  Debbie shivered violently at his touch, but managed to keep smiling.

  I grabbed the release slip, and shoved it in my pocket. “So where did Abe and Mr. Tappman disappear?”

  “Busy. Try again later.” His gaze stayed on Debbie.

  He wasn’t going to tell me. That wasn’t surprising. I’d asked before—same response. One day in the next twenty years, I’d figure it out. I’d probably be sorry, but I’d know the truth.

  Debbie glanced at me as if she was afraid to look away from Brandon. I remembered the first time I’d met him. He had that effect on people.

  I’d help her out this once. “I’m going home now. If you want to stay, Debbie, I’ll see you later.”

  “Oh no! I have to get home and make breakfast for my children, and my husband. Terry has therapy later today. They’ll be expecting me.”

  “All right. Let’s go. See you later, Brandon.”

  She was free of his leering gaze. I was a little put out that he hadn’t shared all that with me until I’d known him over a year. Not that I really cared. I just thought it was weird that he’d spilled his guts for Debbie the minute he met her.

  Brandon’s farewell sigh was theatrical and exaggerated. “All the good ones are taken. See you later, Debbie. You too, Skye.”

  I walked out of the mortuary slowly, with a long look at the closed doors to the cold room. Still no sign of Abe or Mr. Tappman. The mystery of what happened to the zombies after I dropped them off wouldn’t be solved that day. But I had patience, and twenty years. I’d figure it out.

  It was almost as cold inside the mortuary as it was outside. Debbie got in the van, and turned up the heat.

  I started the engine, and drove toward our homes at the outskirts of Nashville. Traffic was still negligible. Most people were beginning to get up and get ready for school and work. They were shaving and showering—doing a million things that they did each day without thinking.

  “What happens to Mr. Tappman now?” Debbie asked.

  My question coming from her lips. “I don’t know. I guess he gets buried or cremated.”

  Debbie looked out the side window at the older buildings and houses we passed. “I need to know what to say to Terry. I can’t tell him that he only has twenty years to live, without telling him what will happen when it’s over.”

  “I think that’s obvious.” I put on my sunglasses. “It would’ve been the same thing that would’ve happened to him if Abe hadn’t agreed to let him have another twenty years. Dead is dead.”

  “I’m surprised, now that I know you, that Abe didn’t want Terry in his service instead of me since he’s a police officer. I don’t know what I can offer him.”

  I wasn’t sure either, but didn’t say so. She was a very nice, friendly person. No point in yanking her chain. “I told you about Kate, and why I accepted Abe’s offer. It’s the same thing. Explain to Terry that you agreed to take his service with Abe so he could be alive to help raise the kids. He’ll understand.”

  “Thanks, Skye. Would you like to come in and meet him?”

  I’m not the most sensitive person in the world. Being a street cop for ten years toughened me up a lot, I guess. Losing my husband had made it worse. I kind of figured that’s why Abe wanted me to do this job.

  Maybe that’s what he saw in Debbie. She was so gentle and understanding with people—maybe he planned to train her to talk them in—like he had with Mr. Tappman.

  I tended to reach for a weapon if I couldn’t get to them before they sprinted. Lazy, maybe.

  I could see Debbie was anxious and upset about telling her husband that he wasn’t exactly alive anymore. What the hell? “Sure. I can come in for a minute. It’s early.”

  It was another twenty minutes before we reached Debbie’s home. It was a cute little log cabin that was at the end of a winding dirt road. Smoke was curling from the chimney, and baskets of red and gold pansies were blooming on the wide front porch, despite the cold. Kids bikes vied with handmade rocking chairs as we went up the front steps.

  “Wait right here a minute.” She shed her jacket, gloves, and scarf in the entryway. “Let me make sure Terry is decent. He isn’t expecting company.”

  I looked around the entryway. There were needlepoint pictures of the cabin, and some flowers in a summer meadow. She’d probably made the pretty mountain tapestry too. The place looked like her—kind of cute and cozy.

  It made me feel old and cynical. I was never cute or cozy, but Debbie made me feel hard ass and mean. I didn’t like it.

  A little girl stared at me from the stairs. This had to be Debbie’s daughter. She was the same age as my daughter, Kate.

  “Hi there. I’m Skye. I work with your mom. You must be Raina.”

  She didn’t say anything. With a seven-year-old of my own, I wasn’t surprised. Kate was a little more outgoing, but on the whole, kids of that age were wary of strangers. After all, we’d taught them to be that way since they were born. I couldn’t blame them.

  “She’ll be back in a minute.” I hope.

  Debbie’s thirteen-year-old son, Bowman, started quickly down the stairs, nudging his sister to the side.

  “Oh. Hey. Sorry.” He glanced at his sister. “Say something. Don’t just stare like a zombie.”

  I put my hand in front of my face as I smiled. It was an odd comparison to make. “Hi. I’m your mom’s partner. Skye.”

  Raina finally said a very soft hello, and ran back upstairs.

  “Ignore her.” Bowman continued down the stairs, and introduced himself. “I didn’t know mom was working.”

  “We just started working together. She probably didn’t think to tell you.”

  “What are the two of you all doing anyway?” His dark eyes and handsome face looked distinctly like a male version of his mother.

  Before I had to answer that, Debbie came back for me. She kissed Bowman on the cheek. “You know I was a graphic designer for a while right out of college. We’re graphic designers.”

  She sent him to the kitchen to wait for breakfast and shrugged. “He’ll never know the difference. Come this way.”

&
nbsp; Terry Hernandez was sitting in a wheelchair beside a roaring fire in a stone hearth. He wearing a heavy, probably handmade, blue sweater. His legs were covered by a thick blue plaid blanket.

  His hair was bright red, and appeared uncombed, since it stuck up all over his head. His face was filled with freckles, except for the part that was covered by a red beard. His dark eyes spoke of pain and fear.

  Debbie had told me that he was with the Highway Patrol. He’d been shot during a robbery, and would never walk again. He would have died on the operating table, but Debbie made her deal with Abe so that her husband would come home again for twenty years.

  I was surprised that Abe hadn’t given Terry back the use of his legs. He’d healed me, and every other zombie who worked for him. But again—not my business.

  “Terry, this is my new partner, Skye Mertz. Skye, this is my husband.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand. It was icy cold. Nothing new for a zombie, but there the resemblance ended. My instincts said that Terry wasn’t a zombie—but he wasn’t human either.

  That didn’t make any sense. Maybe my zombie-detector instincts were off.

  “When did they assign you a partner, Debbie?” Terry asked.

  “I’m doing this big project, and it’s going to take a long time,” she explained. “Skye is a wonderful graphic artist. We’re going to work well together.”

  “I look forward to seeing some of your work.” Terry smiled at me. “And I hope you two won’t be pulling many more all-nighters. We’re used to having Debbie around. He kissed the hand that had been resting on his shoulder.

  “Terry is going back to work next year.” Debbie’s eyes begged me to play along.

  “Thanks for the warning. I always drive too fast.” I was confused. Was she keeping his paralysis a secret too? She’d already told me that he’d never walk again.

  “What does your husband do, Skye?” Terry questioned.

  “He died in a wreck two years ago. It’s just my daughter and me now. Kate’s seven, like Raina.”

  “I’m so sorry. At least my family was spared that.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at Debbie. I guessed she wasn’t going to tell him about having twenty years to live after all. “Well, I have to go. Nice meeting you.”

  “You too,” he returned. “Don’t drive too fast now.”

  I smiled and waved as I walked toward the front door.

  Debbie met me there before I could leave. “Thanks for stopping in. I just couldn’t tell him—not yet. I wanted him to meet you anyway for when—”she shrugged “—you know.”

  “Us knowing each other won’t make it any easier, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I told her. “Besides, I’ve got two years on him. I’ll be gone, and someone will have taken my place. Maybe you.”

  She went as pale as Brandon, and blinked. “Not me. I hope Abe isn’t thinking that. I could never do this by myself. I don’t know how you have.”

  I smiled as I opened the door. “It helps that I was a cop before, I think. I’ll see you later.”

  I closed the door on the wonderful, homey scene in the cabin that really wasn’t wonderful, or homey. The undercurrents of lies and fear were enough to choke a hog. Debbie was going to have take care of all that before her world imploded.

  Chapter Three

  I lived in the next suburb up from where Debbie lived, past the big lake in the center of town. The suburb of Wanderer’s Lake was surrounded by expensive homes, shops and restaurants.

  I’d been raised here. So had Jacob. Many things had changed since I was a child. For a long time, there hadn’t been any growth in the area. Now it was exploding with new shops, houses, and people. It seemed like every month brought something else.

  I missed the way it had been. I liked the sleepy quiet of the lake, and the two-lane, winding road. If the area kept growing, we might as well all move into Nashville.

  Apple season in the fall used to be my favorite time. The ripe smell of apples on the trees, and in crates on the side of the road, had been everywhere. I loved the small farm stands that featured apples, pumpkins, and cabbages.

  Those were mostly gone now too, replaced by convenience stores.

  The large inn where I live was named for that time of year. Apple Betty’s Inn had been on that same curve of U.S. Highway for as long as anyone could remember.

  Jacob’s family had taken it over from his grandparents in 1941, and had maintained it through floods, fires, and heavy snows. It had remained a popular tourist stop—with guests coming from across the country—until Jacob’s mother, Addie, had passed about a year ago.

  Now the three stories only housed me and Kate—unless you counted Addie’s ghost.

  I pulled the van in back where the wide circular drive was still a parking area that could hold at least a dozen cars. I went inside through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Addie was there with Kate, making sure my daughter ate her breakfast.

  “I was wondering if you were getting back sometime or what.” Addie Mertz had been a plainspoken woman when she was alive. Nothing had changed since cancer had claimed her.

  “Things got a little complicated.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the big wood table. “Did you get that math done last night?”

  “Of course.” Kate played with her oatmeal. “Why can’t we have something else for breakfast? I hate oatmeal.”

  “Because that’s what I can still make,” Addie told her. “It’s good for you. Eat it.”

  “I like sausage biscuits.”

  “We’ll pick up some frozen ones when we go shopping.” I tried to put an end to the problem. “We can eat them when I’m home for breakfast.”

  “Which is never.” Addie walked away from the table.

  She didn’t so much walk—at least not the way living people do—or even zombies for that matter. It was more a graceful, floating motion. She could still make some electrical appliances work, like the microwave. But Kate had to put the food inside for her.

  It was a big help to me that Addie was there. I never had to worry about the odd hours I kept. I knew Kate was safe. Addie knew my twenty-year secret. I didn’t plan to tell Kate, at least not until it was nearly time. She was too young to understand why I’d made this choice.

  Sometimes I wondered myself.

  I tried not to let it bother me. I wanted to enjoy the time I had. I didn’t want to be like Mr. Tappman when it was over. No regrets, I promised myself. No begging for more time.

  I cleaned up the kitchen, and grabbed a slice of toast—yes zombies eat—while I waited for Kate to get her things together for school. We don’t have to eat, but Abe said it makes living humans feel better when you eat around them.

  Addie flitted around the kitchen. “You know this is an unnatural life for a child.”

  “I don’t think child services, and the foster care program, would be any more natural, do you? I went through that. It was a different kind of hell. This is the best I can do with a bad situation.”

  I wasn’t sure who my parents were or where they were from. Someone had found me wandering around the lake with some flowers in my hand. I was about two years old. There were no relatives or friends to take me in—no one had any idea who I was or where I belonged.

  After that came a succession of foster homes where people meant well, in some cases, but things didn’t always work out. At least Kate had a mostly normal life with two members of her family.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. I feel like I didn’t help any by dying. What was I thinking?”

  “You were very sick for a long time. You held on as long as you could.”

  “Not long enough.” Her facial features were blurred, but I could see the stiffening of her lips, just like when she was alive and had disapproved of something me and Jacob were doing.

  “There’s no point in going over this again.” I looked up from the clean counter. “We’ve both done the best we could for Kate. Let’s just hold on to that, shall we
?”

  Kate rejoined us with her book bag. “Am I taking the bus home from school today?”

  “If you’re not, I’ll be there. You know how this works.”

  “I’ll see you both later.” Addie handed Kate her lunchbox. “I hate this half-life. Nothing to do but stare out the windows all day. I thought canning jelly was bad.”

  Kate and I were regularly treated to Addie’s regrets about being dead. We both kept moving toward the door.

  “And don’t forget to eat the carrots.” Addie called out to Kate.

  “I won’t, Grandma.”

  Addie was watching us out the back window as we left. The van was still a little warm. I was glad that Kate didn’t have to get into a cold vehicle.

  “Have you ever thought about being a police officer again?” she asked as we left the inn.

  That was unexpected. “No. Not really. Why?”

  She tugged at her burgundy skirt with her black leggings under it. “We’re having parent career day. I thought you might be able to come.”

  “And talk about being a cop?” I glanced at her pretty face. She looked like Jacob with her big eyes and sweet lips. Lucky she didn’t resemble me.

  “Yeah. You know about it. No one else in class has a parent who even used to be a cop. Janie’s dad is a dentist. That’s about as exciting as it gets.”

  I laughed at her droll voice. “I’ll see what I can do. What day is it?”

  “Tomorrow. Two p.m. May I plan on you?”

  “Yes, please. Plan on me.” I pulled into the line of cars at the school. “I would be happy to be your career parent.”

  “Why did you stop being a police officer anyway?”

  How do you tell a seven-year-old that her mother’s life ended on a warm summer night when she, and your father, both died?

  “It was time for me to move on.” I settled on that answer. I could tell her more when there was a remote chance that she’d understand it. “It’s time for you to go to school. See you later.”

  “Bye, Mommy.”

  Kate scooted out of the van, hefted her book bag with a grunt, and was gone.

  Her question raised more panic in my mind than all the runaway zombies could have. What if she started wondering what happened to me? What if she started asking questions? Addie was right—it was an unnatural life for a child—living with a zombie for a mother and a ghost for a caregiver.