Deader Still: A Bridget Sway Novel (A Paranormal Ghost Cozy Mystery Series)

by Jordaina Sydney Robinson

  “Yes. My locker information, please?” I said, holding out my hand.

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head at me, looking perfectly terrified. He held up his hands in surrender and stepped back. “Your locker is your locker.”

  “Are you telling me that regardless of how many dead ghosts get stuffed into it, regardless of how many times it’s a crime scene, regardless of how many of my uniforms are ruined, I can’t change it?”

  His perfectly husky voice hitched up an octave as he spoke. “Your locker is your locker for the eternity of your afterlife. Please don’t jinx me,” he whimpered and stepped back. His broad shoulders touched a cupboard as he moved. On the contact he yelped and spun around, hands covering his mouth. His head swivelled in my direction. “I’m so, so sorry,” he wheezed and dived into the back office, slamming the door behind him.

  “Well, isn’t that just perfect?” I turned my back on the unhelpful Alex version 2.0 and headed to the departures room.

  I’d been standing on the departure circle for at least ten minutes before I felt the pull of the assessment centre. I landed in the corridor outside the assembly hall this time and Gracie ushered me inside and into the same seat as yesterday. She took her place at the front next to Jenny and Matthew, who were speaking to a lady I nearly mistook for Sabrina from the back. She wore the same lime green jumpsuit as Sabrina and had the same blonde hair, but where Sabrina was buxom this lady was overweight.

  When she glanced over her shoulder at us I realised no one would mistake her for Sabrina from the front. She was easily in her seventies and had a natural expression of someone sucking a lemon. They had formed a huddle as if they were trying to block everyone else out. Yes, because that was a healthy attitude for a trainee GA leader to have.

  Jenny detached from them and clapped her hands twice to get everybody’s attention. “Now, I’m sure you’ve all heard, but in case you haven’t, we have some terribly sad news. Dr Watson died yesterday.” Murmurs and shocked gasps rippled through the group. “I will be overseeing this group for now but another doctor will be coming in to help with the final assessments. We have an extra pair of hands for now in the form of Nancy, who will be taking on my old responsibilities. She was kind enough to volunteer to help us out, so let’s give her a warm welcome.” Jenny gestured to the lady in the lime green jumpsuit, whose face briefly morphed into a huge smile as she gave everyone an energetic wave of her hand before her expression returned to lemon sucking. I disliked her immediately. From the smattering of clapping she received as a welcome, I was guessing most people felt the same.

  “How can we die? Aren’t we dead yet?” a teenager, who looked like he belonged in a boyband, two seats to my right asked.

  “Do we have to die again? Is that when we go to Heaven?” a female voice towards the back called out.

  “I know this is very confusing for you all but we need to keep on schedule. Keep these questions for later.” Jenny patted her hand in a motion that asked everybody to put their hands down. The same motion that Dr Watson and Eleanor used. It made me wonder if they were taught that at GA academy.

  “I think we’re entitled to know if we can die,” said the man who'd arrived with Warren the day before. He didn’t raise his hand. I liked him. “Surely that’s a basic human right to know if you can die or not.”

  Jenny stared at me for a long moment before responding to him like it was all somehow my fault. “No, Tommy, it's not. You all need to understand that when you died, your ‘basic human rights’” – Jenny made air quotes around the words – “changed.”

  Silence reigned for a few seconds while the group took in that little nugget. I sat back and waited for the uproar. That comment was like a spark to a pool of gasoline. The whole group ignited as one. Everyone spoke at once. When they realised no one could hear them over everyone else, they raised their voices and continued. People were up and out of their seats. Crowding Jenny. Crowding Matthew. Crowding Gracie. Crowding Nancy.

  The only people who remained in their seats were Warren and me. I glanced over at him and he flashed me a huge grin and two thumbs up. I gestured around the group and raised an eyebrow, asking if we should intervene. His grin widened impossibly and he slowly shook his head. I couldn’t even see Jenny anymore. This was going to turn into a mob and I was pretty certain, despite not being involved in any way, I would somehow get the blame.

  I stood on the seat of my chair, put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and blew the shrillest whistle I could, just like my dad had taught me. It was the only useful skill he’d given me. Every head whirled in my direction, their angry eyes focused on me. And that was when I realised the flaw in my plan. As in, I didn’t have one past the whistle.

  Warren laughed, arms folded, and leaned back in his chair. “What are you going to do now, Red?” If they turned on me, no help would be forthcoming from that quarter.

  I held my hands up so they could see I was totally helpless, as in please-don’t-attack-me helpless. “Okay, I know you’re all freaking out, and I don’t blame you. I’ve been dead nearly two weeks and I’m still freaking out about it. I doubt I know much more than any of you, but you’re right. You should know this stuff. You should know if you can die. That is a basic human right. Ask me anything and I’ll try to answer. My name’s Bridget and that vampire-looking ghoul down there is Warren.”

  Warren waved his arms in front of himself. “Leave me out of it. I’m not getting involved in this. I’d quite like to pass this assessment, thank you very much.”

  Tommy reached out and helped me down from the chair. “And you’re exactly what’s wrong with the world today. Dead or alive, you only think about yourself.” He turned his back on Warren and sat in the chair next to me. “Bridget, give it to me straight, am I dead?”

  “How about we start with an easier question?” I asked.

  “That’s not an easy question?” Tommy asked.

  I shook my head. “Not so much.”

  The group began to drift back from the front and crowd around me, murmuring. All I could see was a wall of angry, panicked faces. Now I understood why Sabrina was the criminal mastermind and I was only the apprentice … because if they turned on me right now, I had no way out.

  Chapter Seven

  I was sunbathing in the Italian Gardens with the sleeves and legs of my jumpsuit rolled up when Sabrina stood over me, blocking out the sun.

  “You look like a purple turtle.” Sabrina angled her head as if to get a better look at me. “On its back with its legs sticking out of its shell.”

  I shaded my eyes so I could look up at her as she moved to the side. “You say the nicest things to me.”

  “Yeah, I’m a good friend. How was your assessment?” She dropped down beside me and handed me a tuna pasta salad and bottle of water.

  I opened the plastic container and dug in. I was starving. “Didn’t happen.”

  Sabrina sniffed at her pesto pasta. She forked a small piece and nibbled the end. “How come?”

  “Jenny The Idiot almost caused a riot by refusing to explain whether we were dead or not to the newbies.” I opened the bottle of water and took a sip. “Isn’t Edith supposed to be meeting us?”

  Sabrina shrugged as she held up a piece of pasta and squinted at it. “Have you noticed how many people here are stupid? Like, really stupid? As if all common sense has disappeared from their brains? It makes me wonder if the bureau’s putting something in the food. Or maybe they’re gassing us, department by department.”

  “Oh!” I snapped my fingers and pointed at her. “Someone called Nancy from your department is subbing as a GA leader. How does that work?”

  “So that’s what that was about,” Sabrina said before taking a sip of her water. “Sometimes, the team leader comes over and asks for volunteers but they never tell you what you’re volunteering for.”

  “Why would you volunteer without knowing what you’re volunteering for?” I asked.

  Sabrina pointed to
me. “Exactly. The first time they asked for volunteers I raised that point. Nearly blew my cover as a well-adjusted member of the team. Apparently, well-adjusted people just volunteer.”

  “Why?”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Because they just do. But now I know what it’s for I’ll volunteer next time they ask.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake! I just want a peaceful five minutes. Is that too much to ask?” I threw my fork into my pasta and Sabrina stared at me, third piece of pasta halfway to her mouth. I held out my hand to her. “We’re being summoned.”

  Sabrina dropped her fork back into her pasta and grabbed my hand, a smile taking over her face. “You think she’s got a case?”

  I stashed the bottle of water in my pocket and clung on to my lunch with my free hand. “Yeah. A case of the crazies. Or a case of the inappropriate timing. Or a case of the let’s-get-Bridget-kicked-out-of-the-afterlife-by-embroiling-her-in-my-illegal-schemes.”

  “Stop being Miss Misery. This could be fun. We can be the afterlife detectives,” she said, gesturing between us. “Like Cagney and Lacey. Or Castle and Beckett. Or Holmes and—”

  I stared at Sabrina as she cut herself off. “Were you going to point to me and say ‘Watson’?”

  “No.” Sabrina shook her head, eyes wide. “No. No I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were.” I jabbed my pasta salad in her direction. “You were going to link me to a dead woman.”

  “You are a dead woman.” Sabrina peered into my lunch container. “That looks nice.”

  I snatched it back out of her reach. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Okay, on subject, as much as I like holding your hand,” Sabrina lifted up our hands as if to remind me I was still holding on to her. “Are we going anywhere any time soon?”

  I gave a small shrug. “Getting summoned offends me. I’m making her work for it. And I’m tormenting you for linking me to a dead woman by making you wait.”

  “You found her in your locker. You were linked before I said anything.” Sabrina bounced up and down on her patch of grass like an impatient five year old. “Now let’s go.”

  I rolled my eyes at her but let Madame Zorina summon us. We landed on the floor of her office in the exact same position we’d been sitting in at the park.

  Madame Zorina supported herself on her desk, panting, sweating and pale. “What happened? Why was that so hard?”

  “Was it?” I stood and dusted off the seat of my jumpsuit. I flopped down in one of the visitor’s chairs, flipped the lip of my pasta open and returned to my lunch. “I had no idea.”

  Edith smirked at me from in front of the centre beach-facing window but said nothing. She gestured around the office with a finger and raised her eyebrow, asking my opinion. The high ceiling was still white but someone had added an unobtrusive spherical paper lampshade. The three sash windows either side of the room let in enough light that it would hardly ever need to be turned on except in winter, but I imagined when it was it would bathe the room in a soft glow.

  Someone had stripped the flowery pink wallpaper and covered the walls in a pinkish-white matte emulsion. The wall behind Madame Zorina’s desk stood out as a dark raspberry pink feature wall with a huge, gilt framed mirror. It was a smart move. When you walked into the room it caught your eye and added authority to whoever was sitting behind it.

  Someone, and I was beginning to assume that someone was Edith, had carefully selected wall hangings that hinted at Madame Zorina’s gift but didn’t outright state it. There were no pictures of fairies and unicorns or astrology charts that had adorned the walls of Madame Zorina’s reading room. Two black and white prints of different tarot cards, with handwritten explanations of their meanings, hung either side of the main window facing the moors. An old fashioned sepia advert for séances hung on the sea-facing wall along with an image of a hand and explanations of what the lines related to.

  How had I not noticed the changes when dropping off my clothes? I turned back to Edith and gave her two thumbs up. It was cleverly done. She smiled at me, gave the smallest nod of her head and turned back to her view.

  “Wow.” Sabrina pushed herself up from the floor and dumped her lunch on Madame Zorina’s desk as she spun in a full circle. “This place looks great.”

  At least I hadn’t been the only one who’d missed it this morning.

  “Thank you.” Madame Zorina smoothed down her white A-line skirt and moved away from the desk to the coffee pot in the far corner to the right of the feature wall. “I’ve worked really hard on it.”

  Sabrina frowned at Madame Zorina’s back, then glanced to Edith and gave her a thumbs up. Edith smiled and nodded again. Apparently, she’d decided the best way to handle Madame Zorina was to simply not fight her.

  “So, what’s the dire problem that you had to interrupt my lunch for?” I asked as Madame Zorina came to stand in the centre of the room so she could see us all, coffee in hand.

  She arched an eyebrow at me as I continued to dig into my pasta. “I’m hardly interrupting, am I?”

  I held my pasta and fork up and gestured around me. “Am I in the Italian Gardens enjoying the sunshine? No. So this is you interrupting my lunch.”

  “Don’t mind her. She’s just grumpy today.” Sabrina dismissed me with a wave of her hand while she poured herself some coffee.

  “And what are you doing?” Madame Zorina stared at Sabrina who stirred her usual drop of milk into the black tar she called coffee.

  “I’m tap dancing.” Sabrina looked from her coffee cup to Madame Zorina. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting a coffee for myself because you were too rude to offer. Edith, would you like one?”

  Edith stared at Madame Zorina while speaking to Sabrina. “Yes, please, dear. Two sugars and just a dash of milk.”

  “What are you doing?” Madame Zorina’s head ping-ponged between the two of them before she jabbed her finger at me. “And why are you eating? You’re dead!”

  I stood and scanned for a bin. “Why does everybody feel the need to keep reminding me of this fact?”

  “Over there, dear.” Edith pointed in the direction of the door. I nodded my thanks and dropped my rubbish into the bin.

  Sabrina handed Edith her coffee and perched on the end of Madame Zorina’s desk, her pesto pasta forgotten. “What have you got for us?”

  Madame Zorina’s attention flicked between us, clearly not happy. “Rebecca Walsh’s husband, Derek, died a week ago. Before he died, however, it seems he may have mislaid their life savings. Rebecca would very much like them back.”

  Sabrina rocked from side to side on the desk. “Our first deathly treasure hunt. How exciting.”

  “Were you always this sensitive, dear? Or did it happen after you died?” Edith asked.

  Sabrina shrugged. “No, I was always like this. What else do we have to go on?”

  “What else do you need? Just find him and ask him where the money is,” Madame Zorina said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

  Sabrina frowned at Madame Zorina. “So, the only details you took from her were his name and that they had money but now it’s gone?”

  Madame Zorina glanced at each of us in turn before settling her attention back on Sabrina. “Yes, why?”

  “You didn’t think to maybe get some more details, like how much is gone? Is the account completely cleared out to the penny or was it a round figure that was withdrawn? Who had access to the account? Did he have gambling problems or debts? Was he in trouble? Were they happy? Was he having an affair? Do they have children or grandchildren? Theirs or from previous relationships? Did he—”

  “What does all that matter?” Madame Zorina frowned back at Sabrina. “I’ve tried to contact him but I can’t summon him. I thought you could just hunt him down and ask him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Hunt him down and ask him? Because the afterlife is just that simple.”

  Madame Zorina placed her coffee on the central moor-facing windowsill and thrust
her hands on her hips. “If this is too difficult a task for you maybe I should find other spirits to partner with.”

  I shook my head with a sigh. “No, you won’t. I’m just not that lucky.” Madame Zorina huffed out a breath, but before she could throw another threat my way I held out my hand. “Do you have a picture? What day did he die?” If I’d been on The Bus when he’d died I might recognise him. If he’d died on my day and I didn’t, chances were he hadn’t come here. I didn’t know how Charon picked up the people who went elsewhere, all I knew was that he didn’t do it when I was with him.

  “Er …” Madame Zorina moved to her desk and flipped through the same type of brown paper file Johnson always had. Hers weren’t colour coded either. Amateur. She handed me a colour photo of him and, I assumed, his wife.

  He was portly, average height with a thick head of grey hair and a tanned but craggy face. She was on the border of overweight, only slightly shorter with white hair just past her shoulders, a great tan and a leathery face that reinforced why you shouldn’t use sun beds. They were both smiling. Genuine smiles that said they were happy and not just pretending for the camera. You could always tell a camera smile.

  “Why do you want to know what he looks like?” Sabrina asked. “Are you looking for a date to make Oz jealous? Because, while I think that’s a sound plan, I don’t think scooping up the freshly deceased is a solid strategy. They’re not exactly balanced. And he’s a little old for you. And married.” She peered over my shoulder at the photo. “And not likely to make Oz jealous.”

  “Don't you think it would be handy to know what he looks like if we're going to try to find him?" I asked, waving the picture at her.

  “Sure.” Sabrina took the picture from my hands and jabbed a corner of it in my direction. "But you didn't ask with a general tone. You asked with a specific tone."

  "Oh, you mean like I specifically wanted to know what he looked like so we’d be able to recognise him?”