Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues wtz-2

by Diana Rowland

  “I think we’re more than good enough for each other,” I said.

  She dug in her purse and fished out a business card. “Look, here’s my contact info. Maybe we can meet for coffee or something someday? Start over and get off on a better foot?”

  Not in this lifetime, I thought, but I simply nodded and took the card. “Sure. I, uh, hang on.” I dug in my purse for a scrap of paper and scrawled my number on it, all the while wondering why the hell I was giving her my info. I really didn’t want to have happy girl-chat funtime over lattes, but it probably would’ve been insanely rude not to reciprocate.

  Thankfully, Marcus rounded the corner at the end of the hall and spied me. “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said. “You ready to go?”

  “If you are, sure,” I said instead of the “fuck yeah!” I wanted to say. I flashed a polite smile to Sofia. “So nice talking to you.” Then turned and walked off with Marcus without waiting for a response.

  I held off until we were back in the truck before turning to Marcus. “Have you asked Sofia what she knows about that security guard who died?”

  “I did,” he said, then glanced at me with a smile. “I promise, I did.”

  “And?”

  “She didn’t know him. It’s a big lab. Lots of people work there. Sorry.”

  I gave a stiff nod in response. “What was all that business about with your uncle?” I asked as soon as we were back in his truck.

  “What was what all about?”

  Oh, I was so not playing that game. “Why’d he have to talk to you again?”

  Marcus gave my knee a squeeze. “Just some family stuff. He was asking me how school was going and when I was going to graduate. Stuff like that.”

  He was lying to me. I couldn’t explain how I knew, but there was something about his answer that was off. Maybe they did talk about school, but there was more.

  “You never told me you were going for your masters,” I said, deciding to change the subject for now. “Where’d you go to college?”

  “University of Louisiana, Lafayette. Started out as a criminal justice major then switched to sociology.”

  “So you always wanted to be a cop?” I asked.

  “Actually, I was going to go to law school,” he said with a self-conscious shrug while I blinked in amazement. “But then my mom developed breast cancer, and I decided to stay closer to home and put off law school. Joined the sheriff’s office and been there ever since.”

  “Sorry about your mom,” I said, uncertain what else to say.

  He gave me a smile. “Thanks. She’s good now. They caught it early, and she’s been clean for seven years.”

  “Why are you going for a masters? Or are you going to go to law school now?” Was that the same as a masters? I didn’t know much about how all that worked. I sure as hell wasn’t ever going to go that route.

  “My uncle’s idea, actually,” Marcus said. “He thinks I should eventually go into politics, and he thinks going federal could be a good start.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I paused. “Is that what you want to do?”

  I wasn’t surprised when he shrugged. “Sure, I guess. I mean, I can’t see staying a cop for the next twenty years.” He glanced my way. “And, as my uncle pointed out, I have certain skills and abilities that could come in pretty handy in federal law enforcement.”

  Do you do everything your uncle says? I thought, but bit back the urge to say it out loud. I was silent for several minutes while I turned the events of the evening—hell, the entire past couple of days—over in my head. I also considered everything that Pietro had said, but also things that hadn’t been said.

  “Why didn’t you tell your uncle about me thinking the guy from the lab was maybe a zombie?” I finally said. “I felt like an idiot in there.”

  He sighed. “Angel, I’m sorry. I knew what his reaction would be. I was really hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.”

  Well you could have fucking told me that, I thought but, once again, held it in.

  We were almost back to his house when I turned to him and asked, “Why was it so important that I figure out the whole zombie thing on my own?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say. “Okay, so you made me a zombie, and then left the brain smoothies for me at the ER, and got me a job, and then left a note telling me to give in to my cravings.”

  His forehead puckered into a frown. “Right.”

  “Why couldn’t you just tell me, ‘Hey, this is what happened, and you’re a zombie now, and this is what you need to do’?” I knew what the answer was, but I wanted to hear him admit it.

  A pained look flashed across his face as he pulled into his driveway. “Angel…you were a mess. In so many ways. Making you a zombie wasn’t just about saving your life. It was about…about getting you to get control of your life again.” He looked over at me. “And it worked. Right?”

  “Oh, I don’t deny that. But I want to make sure you understand what you did. Yes, you had the best of intentions, and yes, it all turned out well and yes, you saved my life in a number of ways. But you basically put me in a rehab program against my will.” He opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “Hang on. I’m not saying what you did was wrong, and I’m not mad about that. I swear, I’m not.”

  “Then what are you mad about? Because, you sure seem mad.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not mad. I promise. But I want to be sure of one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  I met his eyes. “That you never pull that sort of ‘I know what’s best for you’ bullshit on me ever again.”

  “All right,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t think you get it. You do it a lot. I mean a lot.” His forehead puckered and I plowed on. “You didn’t tell me that your parents might be there because you didn’t want me to get upset. You didn’t tell Pietro about the body because you knew he’d dismiss it, but then you didn’t bother telling me that you hadn’t told him, which basically left me out in the wind.” His face was stony, and I clenched my hands together to keep them from shaking. “Marcus, I really like you, but I don’t need a babysitter. Or even if I do need one, I sure as hell don’t want my boyfriend to be one. Does that make sense?”

  “It does. It won’t happen again,” he said, but there was a weird note to his voice.

  “Okay, so…tell me what you’re thinking.”

  He shut the engine off but didn’t make a move to get out of the car. “I…I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you this all night. Just haven’t been able to figure out how.”

  The knot in my belly started to come back. “Tell me what?”

  He lifted a hand and scrubbed it over his face. “Shit. I got called in to Major Hall’s office this afternoon. He asked me if you and I were dating.”

  “Okay,” I said, frowning. “Why on earth would he care if you and I were dating?”

  “Apparently it matters if we’re dating because…well, because you’re a convicted felon, and I’m an officer of the law.”

  I could only stare at him for several seconds. “Wait,” I finally managed. “You mean, I’m not allowed to date you?”

  He wouldn’t look at me. “Well…as long as you’re on probation, yes. It’s in our policy manual. I knew about the regulation, but it never occurred to me that it would apply…”

  “So we have to break up,” I said, though my voice sounded strained in my ears. The knot in my belly was thick and hard, but at the same time I had a kernel of relief in there which made me feel instantly guilty. Did I want to break up with Marcus? I didn’t think that was true, but at the same time I’d been feeling like things were going awfully fast. But it pissed me right the hell off that it wasn’t my choice to make.

  Marcus shook his head and finally met my eyes. “No, see, the Major didn’t say flat out that we had to break up. He just said ‘if the higher-ups find out.’” He gave my hand
a comforting squeeze, while I did my best to keep my expression even. “Anyway, I’ve figured it all out.”

  “You’ve figured it out?” I echoed. Had he listened to anything I’d said earlier?

  “We simply need to tone it down in public. Be ‘just friends.’” He flashed me a warm smile that left me cold. “I figure we cool it off for a little while, and then when I stop being on their radar, we can pick it up again and…be discreet.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”

  I stared at him for several seconds. “Do I get a say in this?”

  A puzzled look swept over his face. “Of course. But I figured you’d be less than okay with being told we had to break up.”

  “You’re right, I am less than okay with it. But didn’t you hear anything I was saying before about not babying me?”

  His mouth tightened. “I’m not babying you. I’m simply finding a way for us to be together—”

  “Yes, you found a way, you made this decision that we’ll have to sneak around. You didn’t even think to talk to me about it.” I could feel myself scowling. “I dunno, maybe, just for a change of pace, we could try communicating and talking shit out?”

  “Since when are you the expert on relationships?” he said. He clamped his lips shut and shook his head. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” I replied, fumbling for the latch on the truck door. “Fuck you, Marcus. Just because my last relationship was shit doesn’t mean I don’t know what a good one should be like. I don’t deserve this.” I managed to get the door open and practically slid out of the truck. I started toward my car, but a second later Marcus was out of the truck and in front of me.

  “Angel, I’m sorry. Don’t go like this.”

  “Get out of my way, Marcus.”

  He lifted his hands but didn’t step aside just yet. “Angel, please. I shouldn’t have brought your ex up. It was shitty of me. Now please, come on inside.”

  “I need to go home and check on my dad,” I said, then took a deep breath. “Look, I’ve had a really horrible couple of days. I don’t want to fight or anything anymore. Please let me go home, okay?”

  He sighed and stepped out of my way. I started to move past him, then paused and quickly kissed him on the cheek. “I like you. I do. But I want you to like me too, and I’m not sure you even know who I am.”

  “Angel—”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” I said, cutting him off.

  His eyes were shadowed as he nodded. He turned away and headed to his front door while I continued to my car. As I drove off, I checked my rear view mirror and saw that he was watching me leave. But for the first time in ages I didn’t feel shitty or guilty about leaving someone I cared about behind.

  Now if I only knew what that meant about me.

  Chapter 8

  Dad wasn’t home when I got there, and I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to go looking for him. I was in the mood to go straight to bed and try and forget the past couple of days and, shockingly, I actually fell dead asleep about three seconds after I climbed under the covers.

  I woke up sometime after nine in the morning, and even though I hadn’t managed to develop amnesia to block out the last forty-eight hours, at least I didn’t feel like hammered shit. After checking the driveway to make sure that my dad had come home at some point during the night, I took a quick shower, pulled on my work clothes and a jacket, then slipped out and headed on in to work. I stopped at an XpressMart for a fine, nutritious breakfast of Coke and a cherry Hubig Pie—because every morning should start with deep-fried pastry. But while I was on my way out, I paused to take a closer look at the newspapers for sale by the door. Once again there was an article on the front page about the body theft, and a quick skim confirmed that I was still being painted as a completely worthless human being who was clearly far too irresponsible to be trusted with such an important job, and why hadn’t the coroner fired me already?

  I didn’t purchase the paper. I had no desire to read any more of it. I continued out to my car and, as I drove, did my best to soothe my soul with the classic goodness of a Hubig Pie.

  My phone beeped with a text message when I was less than a mile from the office. Anxiety slashed through me, and for an instant I was absolutely certain that I’d been fired and this was the office letting me know I didn’t need to bother coming in today.

  But no, it was just Derrel texting me an address and asking me to hurry and get the van. Stupid relief swam through me. They wouldn’t fire me with a text message, I scolded myself. At least I hoped not.

  I made short work of exchanging my car for the van and continued to the address of the death scene as quickly as I could without breaking any laws. The address seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t immediately place why. The most logical reason was that I’d picked up another dead body somewhere around there, but even so, there was something about this particular subdivision that nagged at me. At any rate, it distracted me from thinking about my growing “fame.”

  The cars lined up along the street told me that this was a crime scene—and not just a “might possibly be one” either. Two crime scene vans, three marked police cars, and at least that many unmarked…yeah, this was something big.

  Derrel was waiting for me as I got out of the van. “Murder?” I asked him as I walked to the back and pulled the doors open.

  “Yeah,” he said, his tone oddly subdued.

  I paused with my hand on the stretcher. Derrel didn’t get upset easily. Or rather, he didn’t show it very often. “Is it a kid?” I asked. “Please tell me it’s not a kid.”

  “No.” Pain filled his eyes. “No, it’s Marianne.”

  It took me a few seconds for my brain to click into gear and figure out who the heck Marianne was, but when the sound of the barking dog finally penetrated…

  “Oh, god,” I breathed, all thoughts of the stupid newspaper article flying out of my head. Marianne, who ran the cadaver search dog whenever we needed help finding a body. Marianne, girlfriend of Ed Quinn. He’d used that dog’s ability to help him locate the zombies that he would later hunt down and kill. That’s why the address had seemed familiar. I knew this neighborhood because one of Ed’s victims had been found only a couple of streets away.

  “How?” I breathed. “Do they think it was Ed?”

  Grief had carved furrows into Derrel’s face, and I realized that he’d quite possibly been working with Marianne for as long as he’d been an investigator. “He’s the primary suspect,” he said, voice gravelly. “Though there aren’t any witnesses at this time.” He exhaled. “Anyway, I just wanted to prepare you. I know that you and Marcus and Ed had all been friends for a while before…”

  I nodded, not feeling a need to finish his sentence, before Ed inexplicably disappeared during a hunting trip with his best friend, Marcus. It hadn’t been at all inexplicable to me, mostly because I’d been the one who’d told him that if he didn’t run I would kill him and eat him. Not necessarily in that order. To my credit, this had been after he’d shot me and Marcus with the intent of then chopping our heads off. I wasn’t that much of a meanie pants.

  But why would he come back and kill Marianne? I pulled the stretcher out and maneuvered it up to the house, past the unusually somber paramedics and cops. Marianne might not have been a cop or EMT, but she’d worked with them for long enough that she was definitely considered one of them. In fact, the law enforcement and rescue community had rallied around her in a touching and awesome display of support after Ed’s shocking flight.

  She was lying on her back in the middle of her living room, arms and legs splayed as if she’d tripped and fallen backward. Her eyes were open, and her face seemed calm, but a thin line of blood tracked from the bullet hole almost perfectly centered in her forehead. I swept a glance around the room, oddly puzzled. The house was neat and clean, comfortably furnished with a few knick-knacks on high shelves.
An upright piano rested against one wall. A vase on a side table was filled with flowers. Nothing seemed out of place. No sign of struggle. Then again, if it had been Ed, she’d have let him in, right? But why would he kill her?

  Detective Abadie had his head down while he made notes in a steno pad. He glanced up as I entered and gave me a slight nod—a far cry from his usual lip curl coupled with mild disdain.

  Sean and another crime scene tech were still taking pictures of the body, so I positioned myself by the wall near Abadie.

  “Do you think Ed did it?” I asked him under my breath.

  His mouth tightened. “We have no suspects at this time,” was his gruff reply, but the grim set of his eyes told me all I needed to know.

  I swallowed. “Does Marcus know?”

  Abadie gave a short nod. “He’s on his way, though he won’t be allowed behind the tape.” That made sense considering how close he and Ed had been. Abadie gave me a sudden narrow-eyed look as if wondering if it was wise to have me picking up the body since I knew both the victim and Ed. But then he must have realized that pretty much everyone here knew them, so tossing me out would be pointless.

  The crime scene techs finished their pictures. Derrel and I moved forward together as if we’d choreographed it and carefully turned Marianne over so that Sean could photograph the back of her head and the other side of her body. Derrel slipped paper bags over Marianne’s hands and taped them around her wrists with surgical tape, just in case she had any evidence on her hands or under her nails that could lead to a suspect. Finally we picked her up and placed her in the body bag. I zipped it closed, clasped the buckles of the straps that held the bag in place, and clenched my jaw against a wave of utter helplessness. Why her? Why the hell would anyone want to kill Marianne?

  I began to wheel the stretcher out when Abadie stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Angel…”

  I gave him a questioning look.

  “I don’t know if you read the newspaper,” he said, “but—”