by Nova Nelson
A couple things were clear, though. First, this would take some looking into; and, second, I was too tired to start now. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure. I got nothing but time.”
“Great. Can you come back tomorrow morning?”
“Of course. Unless, you know, I move on. In which case—”
“Problem solved.”
“Yep.” He grinned, and I was slightly annoyed to realize that I liked him. It was always a shame when I met someone I enjoyed only after they were dead. Of course, that happened very rarely—most people weren’t made less obnoxious by death.
Which left me even more puzzled about why Dmitri hadn’t moved on.
He let himself out through the window just as his visible form dissipated from sight, and I crawled back under the covers.
Sleep should have come easy. But it didn’t.
Because while nothing about this felt like an emergency, it was just strange enough to leave me unsettled. And what was unsettling by Eastwind standards could be downright deadly.
Chapter Six
Sunday morning came too soon. Far, far, too soon. But at least my decision to wait until 8 a.m. to open Medium Rare, rather than the usual 6 a.m. time I’d settled on since transitioning away from the 24-hour schedule, allowed me just a little more time to lie in bed before dragging myself out.
Ruby was already at the stove when I wandered down in an oversized T-shirt that went down to my knees. She had a cup of tea in hand as she flipped slices of bacon on the griddle.
“That smells amazing.”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at me. “I made enough to share.”
She brought the kettle over to the table, along with a cup of tea that was already steeping. A delightful floral aroma with a hint of citrus rose up from the cup, welcoming me to a new day. A delicious warmth spread through me at the mere scent of it.
“Can I help with anything?” I asked.
“No. I have it all under control. Have a seat. You look like you had a rough night.”
“And you look like you shed ten years.”
She chuckled. “Only ten? It feels like more than that.”
I waited until the bacon was already on the table and she’d had a seat and poured herself a fresh cup before I decided to break news to her that would undoubtedly sour her mood.
Scooping half a dozen pieces of bacon onto my plate (there were easily two dozen she’d cooked up to cover the two witches and three familiars), I said, “So, I had a visitor last night.”
She simply arched an eyebrow lazily and nibbled her bacon. “Not of the same variety as mine, I presume?”
“No. Definitely not that.”
“Too bad.”
“Indeed.” I cleared my throat. “Dmitri came by.”
“Hm,” she said. “Murder then?”
“Well, no.”
As if summoned, he appeared in the parlor over by the fire, which blazed blue to keep the place nice and cool as the summer sun was already rising in the sky. He took in his surroundings, his eyes sticking for a minute on the threatening assortment of clutter hanging from her ceiling.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I won’t banish you so long as you don’t try to possess anyone.”
I nodded for him to approach, and he did.
Once I’d explained the strange situation to Ruby, with Dmitri filling in details as she asked for them, she fell into a thoughtful silence and cupped her tea in both hands. Then, finally, she turned to Dmitri and said, “I can conclusively say I don’t know why you’re here.” She grabbed another piece of crunchy bacon and chomped into it. “I would have to look into it further. Of course”—and she addressed this directly to me—“I’m retired, so I won’t do that.” And now she smiled at Dmitri. “But lucky for you, Nora is not. And she has a not-entirely-unimpressive track record with solving this sort of thing.”
Okay, no help from Ruby. Noted. “Where would you start… if you weren’t retired?”
“The same place I would always start. Talk with the people who knew him best. They should be most familiar with his faults, and if you can convince them to speak ill of the dead, you might actually learn something useful.”
“And if I can’t get them to speak ill of the dead?”
She shrugged. “Check in with Stu. See if he’s found any signs of foul play.”
“So you think it’s murder?”
“I don’t think anything anymore except that I ought to take a trip to the library today to pick up a few new reads. I just finished Eat, Prey, Stalk and it was quite the thriller! I’m hoping to find something else in a similar vein. Nothing like an exciting read during a lazy summer!” She stood and carried her plate into the kitchen. “You know, I’ve always suspected that I would like retirement, but I never knew it would be quite so wonderful. It’s like I’ve died and gone to Heaven, except without the hassle of death or the judgment and bureaucracy of a flock of angels.”
I turned to Dmitri and fed him the line I’d had to say way more times than I’d like to admit since coming to Eastwind: “Let me put on some pants, then we’ll look into your death.”
Chapter Seven
Bryant was the obvious first choice of friend to speak with. Not only were he and Dmitri close, but he also worked at Medium Rare. Let’s hear it for convenience when I haven’t quite kicked my hangover!
But Bryant wasn’t scheduled to come in until later that afternoon, so Dmitri agreed to wait patiently until that time came. Like he’d said, he had no pressing matters and nothing but time.
I discovered two important things during that shift. First, I was officially past the age where I could have more than two drinks in a night and not get a hangover. Knowing that about oneself should not be dismissed as trivial.
And second, Dmitri was great company. When two weres argued that they’d never received their omelets—after I’d personally delivered them—Dmitri had said, “Looks like you have a couple of eggheads on your hands,” which was admittedly a stupid joke but also exactly what I’d needed to hear to go from the verge of being officially annoyed to biting back a smile.
And when a little group of Coven witches came in, so tightly wrapped in their own gossip that I could hardly take their order without them acting put out by the interruption, he fed me bits and pieces of gossip about them that really took the edge off their air of moral superiority.
But the biggest surprise of the morning happened after he’d spent two hours in the corner booth, chatting it up with Ted and Grim. As the reaper slipped the hellhound small bites of various breakfast meats, it became obvious that Dmitri had won the favor of my familiar. Or if he hadn’t, he was dangerously close. How he managed to do that without being able to physically toss the hound food was beyond me.
I was hoping Stu would make his usual visit, but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. Between the alcohol consumption and the dead body, if the deputy had even been relieved from his shift yet, he would likely go straight home to sleep.
Bryant was almost an hour late for his shift, and, boy, did he look terrible. I would have been mad, but I couldn’t easily forget that one of his closest friends had died the night before. The fact that he hadn’t simply called in sick was admirable enough, and I let the tardiness slide without comment.
“You sure you’re good to work?” I asked as he tied on his apron.
“What else is there to do?”
“Mope? Sleep?”
He blinked. “Oh yeah. I guess that sounds way better than working.” He sighed, spreading his arms. “Well, I’m here.”
“Great. Before you get started, I need to talk to you.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I should have let you know I’d be running late. But I totally lost track of time, and it was all I could do to—”
“No, no. It’s not that. It’s… something else.”
He squinted his swollen eyes at me for a moment before his mouth fell open. “He visited you?”
&nbs
p; “Let’s talk out back.” I leaned to the side to see around him and waved to Ted. The reaper perked up and I pointed to Dmitri. Ted nodded and got the spirit’s attention, directing it my way. I waved him over and a moment later the three of us were standing in the hot afternoon sun behind the diner. I could hardly see Dmitri in this bright of light, but I could hear him just fine.
“Tell him his tail’s looking great today.” Dmitri smiled mischievously.
I was not telling him that.
Bryant stared at me unblinkingly through glassy eyes. “So, he was murdered?”
“Not as far as I can tell.”
Dmitri piped up again. “Seriously, tell him his tail’s looking exceptional today. Extra fluffy.”
I continued to ignore him as Bryant asked, “Then why did he visit you?”
“It’s possible,” said the spirit, “that the reason I’m stuck here is that I need to tell Bryant, one last time, that his tail looks amazing.”
Again, ignoring the spirit, I said, “I’m not sure. Something is keeping him here.”
Bryant hitched a silver eyebrow. “Unfinished business?”
Dmitri was yelling now. “Yes! I need him to know that his tail—”
I balled my hands into fists until my nails dug in, and ground out, “He wants you to know your tail looks… good today.”
For a split second, Bryant looked at me like I might be insane. And that was fine. I pretty much lived my life in a state of questioning my own sanity, so I totally understood where he was coming from.
But then his eyes narrowed, and he hissed, “Is that son of a banshee with us right now?” And before I could answer, he began whirling around, searching futilely in all directions and shouting, “If you tell her that story, I’ll make sure you never rest in peace!”
Oh, now I was intrigued.
As Dmitri howled with laughter at his friend, I couldn’t help but inquire, “What story?”
Bryant stopped in his tracks and said, “No, not a chance, Nora. It’s just this thing that happened at Sheehan’s a long time ago and…” He shook his head. “Not important. Maybe his unfinished business is that his stupid hide left me hanging at the scufflepuck tournament last night.”
Dmitri was still chuckling as he said, “Doubt that’s it. I don’t care much about scufflepuck.”
“I don’t have to tell him for you,” I reminded Bryant, “he can hear just fine. You just can’t hear or see him.”
Bryant nodded. “Right, right… So, wait, I can say anything I want to him right now, and he just has to sit and listen? He can’t argue back?”
I saw where this was going. “Yeah, but that’s really not why I’m—”
“Hey, Dmitri, guess what? I thought your vegetable stew sucked! I always hated it. Who makes stew and doesn’t add meat?”
Dmitri met my eyes. “I wasn’t a fan of it either. I just loved watching him pretend to like it.”
“And it needed more salt!” Bryant continued angrily, and I reminded myself that people mourned in strange ways. “And a little rosemary wouldn’t kill you! That stuff grows like weeds around here. Not hard to get ahold of it.”
While this all seemed very cathartic for him, he did need to get back to work and before he did that, I had some important questions I wanted answered.
But I let him go on for a little while longer at the behest of Dmitri who explained it would be good for the werewolf to let it all out.
And let it all out, he did.
Minutes later, after Bryant had admitted that he hadn’t ever paid Dmitri back for his share of the party they’d thrown together eight years ago and he’d only said he had because he knew Dmitri wouldn’t have kept track, I stepped in. “Feel better?”
Bryant looked exhausted. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Usually people want to tell the ghosts of their loved ones that they’ll miss them and won’t forget them, but I guess airing all your dirty laundry is fine. Everyone grieves differently. Regardless, I do have some questions for you.”
His face drooped when I said it. “Oh… yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have just come clean like that before murder’s been ruled out. Might make me look kind of… suspicious.”
“Maybe, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you killed Dmitri. He didn’t share this with you, but he had a heart condition that was basically a ticking clock. I mean, more than hearts already are.”
Bryant tilted his head to the side. “He did? Why didn’t he tell me this?”
“I didn’t want you to worry about it, you idiot,” Dmitri said.
“He didn’t want to worry you. There was no point in worrying because the doctors said there was nothing he could do about it. They didn’t really know what was causing it, only that it could take him at any moment—in two days or twenty years.”
Bryant massaged the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess that could be said of anyone, though. You never know when it’s your time.”
“Too true,” I replied. “The point is, I’m pretty sure it was his time, but not totally sure. I want to rule out the possibility of murder, so I need you to tell me anything you know about him that might have made someone want to kill him.”
“You mean, outside of all the stuff I just said?” he asked sheepishly.
“Yeah, outside of that, which all seemed pretty minor anyway.”
“People have murdered for less.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Bryant considered the question for a moment, and then replied, “No, I just don’t see why anyone would. You’d have to ask him.”
“I have. He doesn’t know either. What about unfinished business?”
“What about it?”
“You know of any he might have overlooked or… withheld?”
Dmitri crossed his translucent arms over his chest. “I don’t appreciate the lack of trust.”
But Bryant just shook his head. “Nothing I know about outside of the unfinished business we all have at any given point in time. He might have some unpaid bills, or maybe he wants to see some woman again, or he doesn’t want to move on from eating Franco’s Pizza’s beef lasagna twice a week.”
I nodded. “I can sympathize with that one.”
“Right. So can everyone who’s eaten that stuff. But I’m sure there are other people who’ve died in Eastwind recently and didn’t linger to have another bite.”
I sighed. “Agreed. Well, you’d better get back to work, but if you think of anything else, let me know.”
He nodded but didn’t immediately make for the door. “One last thing,” he said hesitantly. “Seeing as how this might be my last chance to talk with Dmitri, even indirectly…”
“Yes?”
“Would you ask him if I can have his Zatrian drums?”
I didn’t bother reminding him that Dmitri could hear him just fine. It was a tough concept for people to remember; it went against their natural instincts for communication to be one-way like this.
Dmitri replied and I relayed the message. “He says of course but you’d better get in there and take the drums before they start looking over the will. Spare key to his house is nestled in the crook of the fig tree in his backyard.”
“Great! I’ve always wanted a pair of Zatrians. Okay, back to work. Tell Dmitri…” but then he remembered and stared into the space where I’d just addressed the spirit. “I’ll miss you, buddy. Hope you move on soon. And thanks for the drums.”
Chapter Eight
The great thing about this case was the lack of urgency. It was rare that I had time to think about the full scope without the ghost in question badgering me.
I was pretty sure there was no foul play involved in this one, and Dmitri had a good head on him about the irrelevance of time in his current predicament, so whenever he could wrap it up and carry onto the next place worked for him. A day, a week, a month… I could tell it didn’t matter that much to him.
And having a ghost to keep me entertained, rather than one who seemed bent on dri
ving me to an early grave, was a pleasant deviation from the norm.
As usual, I had a good idea of the next move to make (Ruby had laid it out pretty clearly, anyhow) but I felt no need to hurry from one location to the next, working up an unnecessary sweat in the process.
Regardless, it wasn’t prudent to not take any action on his behalf, so after my shift on Monday, Dmitri, Grim, and I made for the sheriff’s department to meet up with Stu and get an update.
I was playing translator between Grim and Dmitri as we strolled out of the Outskirts and toward the station (this time it was Dmitri who couldn’t hear the other party and not the other way around). After Grim’s story of his most recent weekend getaway to the Deadwoods concluded, Dmitri said, “I do wish I’d have gone there. It just always seemed so dangerous. In hindsight, even if something had killed me out there, I wouldn’t have lost much time.”
“It’s not as fun as Grim makes it out to be,” I said.
His eyes popped open wide. “You’ve been in the Deadwoods?”
“Yep. A couple of times, unfortunately.”
“And?”
“You won’t see me planning a camping trip out there.”
“Wait a second,” said Grim. “If he’s already dead…”
I saw where my familiar was going with that. “You’re right, Grim. He would fit right in.”
“What’s that?” said Dmitri.
“Grim was just pointing out that, now that you’re dead and not in a hurry to move on, you could go see the Deadwoods without worrying.”
Were there things in the Deadwoods that could harm a spirit? It wasn’t impossible. But I decided not to mention it, because the look of excitement on Dmitri’s face was too gratifying.
He bobbed as he floated beside me. “Great point! Ted invited me out to his cabin if I got bored. I think I’ll have to take him up on it. What do you say, Grim?”
Grim wagged his tail and nodded his big, shaggy head.
“It’s settled then! We’ll start planning as soon as we wrap things up with the deputy.”