Dead Jolly

by Boone Brux

  He gurgled back at me. I had no idea what he said, but it really didn’t matter. He did what he wanted, when he wanted. Came and went as he pleased, but usually showed up in time to help me. Then he’d take off, never to be seen until I needed him again.

  “So…” I propped my fists on my hips and blew out a frosty breath. “If you’re here…”

  He gurgled again. This time I understood the meaning of his reply.

  “Great.” Wrapping myself in a hug, I rubbed my upper arms. “Fred?”

  Again, Fletcher warbled.

  “Now?” I asked, panic over having to deal with Fred while my kids were still awake slapping me. Instead of answering, Fletcher simply ruffled his wings, which meant no. “Whew. Good. Later tonight?”

  Gurgle.

  “Okay.” I smiled at the bird. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  He barked, sounding like the dog down the street, which meant, you’re welcome. Ours was a weird and wonderful relationship.

  “Hey, don’t be a stranger.”

  Puffing out his chest he flapped his wings.

  “Swing by on Wednesday. I’ll leave some Christmas cookies and hot dogs for you on the back deck.” Hot dogs were his favorite. Actually, he ate anything I set in the special feeder I’d nailed to the railing out back, but he really liked hot dogs.

  Clearly pleased by my invitation, he erupted in a rooster crow, and then spread his wings and took off. Within seconds, he’d blended in with the starry night sky. Probably going on a hunt for the next best Dumpster or maybe he was winging his way back to the Underworld. Who knew. Not me. Nor did I care. I had a Santa to bag.

  Chapter Four

  The rest of my evening had been great. Lots of snuggles, several holiday television shows, and half the box of Brenda’s goodies had dulled my anxiety over Fred. By ten o’clock, I was tucked in bed, drifting into a blissful sugar coma.

  “You’re wasting your time, ya know.”

  It took a split-second for the fact that I wasn’t alone to register. “Shit!” I sprang from the bed and slammed against my nightstand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Across the room, Fred’s translucent form leaned against my tall dresser, a smug grin settled on his face. “Just a friendly visit.” He locked his fingers together, folding his hands under his ample belly. He still wore his red and white costume, including the hat, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have believed I was getting a visit from Santa himself. But I did know better. “I’ve been watching you galivant all over Anchorage, trying to catch me.” He grimaced. “It’s rather pathetic.”

  “I don’t galivant.” A chill raced over my skin, so I bent and snatched my robe off the floor. Thank God I didn’t sleep in the nude. “I hunt,” I said with a violent tug on the sash.

  “Well, you don’t hunt very well.” A laugh bellowed from him.

  “Shhhh.” I pushed my finger to my lips.

  Holding out his arms, he grinned at me. “Who’s going to hear me? I’m a ghost.”

  He had a point. Nobody could hear him but me. Still, I didn’t like being corrected in my own home while practically naked. “Whatever.” Before I’d gone to bed, I’d planned out what I would do if Fred showed up. As with most of my plans, it hadn’t worked out as I’d imagined. Despite my initial failure to keep my cool, it only took a minute to regroup. Beneath my pillow lay the canister that stored my scythe. It wouldn’t take much to release it and swing. Fred would be gone for good—as in no sweet ride with Hal, no choir of angels when he arrived. I only used my scythe for the worst spirits, but if Fred’s soul was rotting and he still refused to cross, I wouldn’t hesitate to cut him from existence. I’m kind of awesome like that.

  “Okay, so you’re here in my bedroom.” I sat on the edge of my bed and slipped my hand under my pillow, wrapping my fingers around the cool cylinder. “Why? What do you want?”

  “Like I said, I’m just checking in.” He toyed with the pile of receipts that were not so neatly stacked on my dresser. “Did you see the news report?”

  “You mean the interview with Mrs. Franklin?” My fingers tightened around the scythe. “Yeah. She seemed very…” I stumbled for the right word, but nothing came to me.

  “Moved by the spirit?”

  “For a lack of better description, yes.” Twisting as I stood, I held the scythe canister against the small of my back. With just a thought, I could release the smoky blade of death. Fred would hardly have time to react. Still, he hadn’t done anything threatening besides showing up in my home—bedroom—and scaring the crap out of me. “Is this how you’re spending your free time? Seducing the women in your black book.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “How does that work anyway. I mean, you’re a ghost and they’re corporeal.”

  “It wouldn’t be possible for a lesser spirit, but I got an extra dose of Christmas magic, if you know what I mean.”

  “Too much information.” I inched toward him. If I could at least grab Fred, I’d be able to pass him off to Hal. Once a reaper had a hold of a spirit, it was nearly impossible for them to break free, nearly, but not entirely. A couple of my reaps had dragged me several knee-skinning yards before I got them under control. “Who’s next in line to receive your package?”

  “No, no, no,” he scolded. “That would make your hunt too easy.” He drifted around the foot of my bed, putting the king-sized mattress between us. “But I’ll give you a clue.”

  “Okay.” Halting my pursuit, I faced him across the bed. “But make it a good clue. Nothing vague I’ll never figure out.”

  “All right.”

  “No ancient passage from the original story of Kris Kringle,” I said.

  “No ancient passages at all.”

  “No foreign languages either.” I gave an absent wave. “Unless it’s “Philip is at the pool with Ann” in French because those are the only non-English words I know.”

  Peering over the gold rim of his glasses, he lifted a bushy white eyebrow at me. “Do you want the clue or not?”

  Duly chastised, I stiffened my spine and sniffed. “Yes, please.”

  “Never forget me.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “Are you coming onto me or is that the clue?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re too young for me. That’s the clue.”

  “Never forget me? That’s it?”

  “Yep” He laid his finger beside his nose and winked. “That’s it.”

  It took a split second for me to recognize the departing gesture. I launched myself across the bed and swiped for him, but he vanished into thin air. My body hit the mattress, bounced once, and slid off the other side of the bed, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap. “So close.”

  Parts of this job were truly amazing. Passing on souls to a better place, mingling with ethereal beings, even living a secret life could be kind of awesome at times. This part, thrashing my way through a reap…not so much.

  Elbowing my way onto the mattress, I crawled back into bed and collapsed. “Never forget me,” I muttered. “Seems a little narcissistic. Stupid ghost.”

  I rolled over and shoved the scythe cylinder I still held in a death grip, pun intended, back under my bed where I kept it. I needed to find a better spot. With Christmas on the horizon, there was a high chance that the spawns of my loins would nose their way through my usual hiding places in search of their Christmas presents. I had no idea what would happen if one of them opened the cylinder. Hell, I didn’t even know if they could release the scythe. That was probably something I should ask Hal about. The very thought of the boys swinging my scythe at each other propelled me out of bed and to my closet safe. Once I locked the canister away, I climbed back in bed and curled up under the covers, hoping I’d drop off into a dreamless coma, because no doubt tomorrow would be chalked full of more dead ends.

  Chapter Five

  I glared at the broad muscular chest of my boss, Constantine. “And you still haven’t
located him?”

  “No, well, kind of.” Forcing my gaze to his equally amazing face, I grimaced. “He dropped by my bedroom last night.”

  That got everybody’s attention. Even Violet spun away from the radar. She manned and supervised the impending departure radar, which was probably the most important piece of equipment in the GRS Command Center. Always dressed in purple, Violet was one of those women that looked polished no matter how harried they were. She smelled great, was perfectly accessorized, and her light brown skin had a natural golden glow I’d reap my own mother for. I’m not proud of that fact. “Go on,” she said, gunning for a bit of juicy gossip. “We want details.”

  Constantine flashed a warning glower at her. “What Violet means is…” His attention shifted back to me. “Did Fred give you any clues about his next haunt?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Violet argued. “And Lisa knows it.”

  “Yes, I do.” First, I addressed Violet’s concerns, if they could be called that. “No, he did not gift me with any holiday magic.” I crossed my arms over my chest, giving her a hint of a pout. “He said I was too young for him.”

  “That is just wrong.” Her plump purple lips rounded in disapproval. “I did not need to know that. Now I won’t be able to get him and all those old ladies doing it out of my head.”

  “You asked.”

  “I know I did, but—” She waved her hands in the air and spun back to the radar. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “If you two are finished?” Constantine cut in.

  “Right. So, anyway,” I said, attempting a serious business face. “Fred gave me a clue. He said, “Never forget me.””

  A few seconds of silence ticked by before Constantine spoke. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “That’s it. I did attempt to capture him, even contemplated using my scythe, but figured the situation didn’t warrant it.”

  “Not yet.” He swung to face a bank of computers to his right. “Cross reference the women in Fred’s little black book and the phrase ‘never forget me’, Suzanne.”

  The woman’s fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in his request. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see smoke rising from the keys. A minute later she stopped and leaned closer to the monitor. “Mrs. Margret Smith owns a gift shop named Forget Me Not Gifts. It’s just off Northern Lights and 36th Street.”

  “Sounds promising,” Constantine said. “Text Carron the address.”

  “Roger that, boss.” Suzanne snatched up her GRS issued phone and with equal texting skills, shot off the address to me. A second later my phone buzzed. “You’re all set.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but she’d already returned her attention to her computer screen and was back on task. “So, we go to the gift shop and question Mrs. Smith. What if she’s already had an encounter with him? From what it sounds like, he hasn’t revisited any of the women.”

  “It’s all we’ve got right now.” Constantine threaded his fingers through his chin-length black hair. My fingers itched to join them. Who could blame me, the guy was out of this world gorgeous. I meant that literally. The one thing that kept my libido in check around him was that I was almost certain he wasn’t human. He couldn’t be. Not with those cut cheekbones and that sexy dangerous aura he exuded. “As crazy as it sounds, Fred seems to possess a trace of actual magic.”

  “Wait.” Shaking myself free of his animal magnetism, I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my head. “Fred is magic? As in, he’s a real Santa?”

  “Not exactly. His belief in Kris Kringle stretches beyond rational thought. And since his true desire is to spread love and Christmas cheer, his soul’s vibration hums on a higher level where he can access abilities human and newly crossed spirits usually can’t.”

  “So that’s why I was assigned to him,” I said, totally making the situation about me. One of my grim reaper super powers was the ability to reap paranormal beings. So far, I’d reaped an evil vampire, and evil vampire’s ghost, and a couple of demons. Plus, there was this one time when I almost reaped a friend of mine. That happened when my uncle went on strike and I’d ended up ferrying souls across the River Styx. Good times. “Because his mojo is uber strong and you need my paranormal reaping powers?”

  From the pregnant pause preceding Constantine’s comment, I knew that wasn’t why I’d gotten the assignment. “Okay, let’s say that’s the reason.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said through gritted teeth.

  The electric doors to the Command Center slid open and Nate strode in. “Sorry I’m late. I had an errand to run.”

  Sure, as his new girlfriend, which I wasn’t sure I could be categorized as, I didn’t have the right to grill him on his whereabouts, but as his partner, my nosiness had no bounds. “What kind of errand?”

  “None of your beeswax,” he said, throwing one of my favorite lines back at me.

  I begged to differ. It was totally my beeswax, especially if it had anything to do with a Christmas present for me. Though we hadn’t talked about exchanging gifts, I figured we probably would. Over the last few weeks I’d picked up on some elusive behavior from Nate, so I’d gone ahead and ordered him a special pair of gloves from one of the GRS vendors that produced merchandise specifically for reaping. Not too personal, but not too impersonal. Currently, the present sat in my closet, wrapped and ready to gift, but I didn’t want to make things awkward, so I held off on giving it to him.

  I shrugged. “Whatever, I don’t even care what you were doing,”

  “Good,” he said.

  I knew that was the only comment I’d get from him. “Anyway, our next stop is the Forget Me Not Gift Shop. I’ll fill you in on the details on the way.”

  “Carron,” Constantine said, stopping me mid-step in my purposeful stride.

  I spun toward him. “Yeah?”

  “If you run into Fred try to keep the physical damage and witnesses to a minimum. I don’t like getting my ass ripped from the boys upstairs.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Nate grabbed my upper arm and dragged me toward the exit. “She promises.”

  Instead of tugging free from his hold, because I really didn’t want him to release me, I glared, letting him know his bossy ways irked me. “I can speak for myself.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Once the Command Center doors closed behind us, he loosened his hold but didn’t completely let go. “We’re on the top of the ethereal shit list right now because we didn’t reap Fred right away.”

  “That wasn’t our fault. He bolted before I could get close.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He guided me into the elevator. “All they see is a ticking timebomb. With the little bit of magic he possesses, he might hold out longer, but he’s also a lot tougher to catch.”

  “That’s what Constantine said.” Already exhausted, I slumped against the back of the elevator. “Sometimes I hate this job.”

  “And sometimes you love it.”

  As the doors slid open, I gave a noncommittal grunt. Maybe I did love my job but at the moment, I couldn’t remember why.

  Chapter Six

  The bell over the door of the Forget Me Not Gift Shop tingled. Soft Christmas music drifted from the speakers in the ceiling, and the welcoming mixture of cinnamon, apples, and pine filled the air. A happy calm blanketed me as I moved deeper into the shop.

  I’d expected a tourist trap, the kind filled with dusty Alaskan knickknacks made in China. Frolicking polar bears, miniature corked bottles filled with water and gold flecks, and my favorite, the bear claw salad forks. But the Forget Me Not Gift Shop was more of an elegant boutique. Dozens of glittering crystals and snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and sparkly artificial snow artfully dusted many of the surfaces.

  Behind the checkout counter stood a woman I could only assume was Margret Smith. Though her silver hair matched the white and silver décor, the rest of her stood out in stark contrast to her sophisticated surroundings. Dressed in a lo
ng vibrant blue blazer and lots of silver and gold necklaces, her fashionable flare could have landed her on the front page of any beauty blog.

  “Hello.” She cheeped, peering at us over the rim of her royal blue glasses. “Welcome to Forget Me Not.”

  “Hello.” As I passed a holiday gift display, I snagged a World’s Greatest Grandpa mug from the front. Nate nudged me forward, causing my step to faulter. I glared at him over my shoulder. “What?”

  “Not here to shop,” he mumbled.

  “It’s for Hal.” I held up the mug for him to see.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?”

  “He’ll love it.” Loving it would be a stretch if I was being honest. More like Hal would appreciate my ironic humor. “It’s funny.”

  He flicked his head forward, silently reminding me that this was my reap and my investigation.

  “Can I help you find anything?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, actually, this to start with.” I set the mug on the glass counter. “And, I’m looking for Margaret Smith.”

  “I’m Margaret.” Her smile widened.

  “Hi, Margaret.” I held out my hand. “I’m Lisa and this is my partner Nate. We’re from General Resource Services and we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about Fred Lawson?”

  The curve of her smile turned downward and she tugged her hand free from mine. “What kind of questions?”

  “Fred was one of our independent contractors. It’s policy to run a thorough investigation when somebody dies on the job. Just to make sure there weren’t any extenuating circumstances.” This lie was getting easier to tell with each person we interviewed. “I’m sorry, I should have asked first.” I paused, giving her a consoling smile. “You did know Fred died, right?”

  “Yes, I heard about it on the news.” The smile popped back onto her face, but it was a lot less convincing this time. “Very unfortunate.”

  “Did you know Mr. Lawson very well?” I asked.

  Her burgundy swathed lips puckered as if she’d just taken a swig of lemon juice. “I did.” The pucker tightened, then she added, “We went on a date once.”