Two Feet Under: The Mortician's Daughter, Book 2 Page 7

  Worried even more now, and wanting to chat with Bessie, I take a step to move inside. He doesn’t budge. He even grins as if to say I’ll have to squeeze through. But no way am I going to rub my boobs on him.

  “Move!” I hear someone say. At first I think it’s Bessie, then I see Kelsey standing there. The girl can channel sass so well. “Get out of my friend’s face.”

  “Watch the ’tude, kid.” Charles tries to sound like an adult, but it doesn’t come off. I step inside and catch Kelsey’s arm and pull her toward her bedroom.

  “I’m ready.” Kelsey hikes the backpack over her shoulder.

  “But I’m early,” I counter and keep walking, looking left to right, putting out my temperature feelers and hoping to pick up on some dead cold.

  I get nothing.

  We walk into Kelsey’s room, then I close the door. I’m too concerned to be inconspicuous. “Has he touched you?”

  “No,” Kelsey says. “He’s smart. He knows I’d cut off his pecker and feed it to my grandmother’s cats. Well, I shouldn’t call him smart, because I pretty much told him that. But he gets points for listening.”

  My gut says she’s not lying, either. “Has he tried anything. Anything at all?”

  “I wish. Then I’d have an argument I could win. As it is, he just puts off the pervert vibe.”

  “Yeah, well you need to tell your mom. And I’m serious.”

  “And say what? I think that Charles stares at my boobs a fraction of a second too long?”

  “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Thankfully I don’t have to worry. I found out last night that his band is leaving on a two-month tour to England. He’ll be gone by the time I get home from school. And hopefully, Mom will move on before he comes back.”

  I shake my head. “You still need to tell her.”

  “Let’s just go to school.”

  It hits me then that Kelsey’s afraid her mom won’t believe her. That she might take up for the guy. How screwed up is that?

  • • •

  Bessie never showed. Kelsey was kind of quiet on the drive. When I park, I turn to her before she can get out. “If you ever need a place to stay, to get away. My house is your house.”

  She gives me her I’m-tough face. “Don’t blow this out of proportion.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard you.” She gets out.

  We part ways, and I head to auto tech. It’s been such a crappy start to my day that I haven’t even worried if this would be awkward with Jacob.

  Half the class is already there. The smell of old oil and hand cleaner hangs in the big garage. Jacob is there. He looks at me and smiles. Maybe this won’t be awkward. I smile back and move to the closet where we keep the coveralls we wear over our clothes to protect them from grease and oil.

  As I’m zipping it up, Jacob walks over. I hear the bell ring, and the other half of the students pile in.

  He gets close enough that his shoulder bumps me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Good.” His word feels forced, his smile lacks luster.

  Mr. Ash stands up from his desk. “Okay guys, let’s get this show on the road. Let me give you your assignments.”

  Ten minutes later, we’re doing tests on electrical systems in the newer cars. Jacob and I are working on a Honda. I’m doing the test, and when I feel Jacob staring at me, I glance back. He wipes a hand over his face.

  My gut says he’s about to say something, and my intuition says I may not like it.

  He inches closer. “I’ve had a change of heart.”

  “About?” I stand up.

  “Giving up on us.”

  I frown.

  “No, hear me out.” His tone is pleading. “I thought about this all day yesterday. And I think you just need some time. I tried to rush you.”

  “Jacob, I want to be your friend, but—”

  “That’s exactly what we’ll be, but I’m not backing off. I like you, Riley. I really like you, and if I call it quits then you’ll give up all hope on us.”

  “But Jacob . . .”

  “We’ll just go back to the way things were before . . . I won’t kiss you. I won’t touch you on purpose. But I’m here. Right here. When you change your mind.”

  “I won’t change my mind. You’re wasting your time, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t. And it’s my time to waste.” He reaches out to touch my face, then pulls his hand back. “I’m a good guy, Riley. And this Carl jerk who already broke your heart, he’s a piece of shit. You’re smart and sooner or later you’re going to realize I’m right. When that happens I don’t want to be dating someone else and lose that chance. You’re worth the wait.”

  I exhale. “You’re wrong, Jacob.”

  “Then let me learn the hard way. I’m not telling you this to put pressure on you. I’m telling you just so you know I’m waiting.”

  • • •

  Leaving auto tech as quickly as possible to avoid more time with Jacob, I head to my locker. When I open it, a book falls out. A book I don’t recognize. A book I didn’t put in my locker.

  I kneel down and pick it up. Chills slide down my backbone when I read the title. Walking with the Dead.

  I shoot up and look left and right to see if anyone is watching. Who put this book in my locker? Does someone know? I open it to see if it’s from the school library. There’s no stamp acknowledging it as belonging to my school.

  “Hey?”

  I jump at Kelsey’s voice coming from behind me, then quickly pull the book against me.

  “What’s wrong?” No doubt referring to me practically jumping out of my skin.

  “Nothing.” I put both arms around the paperback to hide it and immediately realize that was a mistake. That little move just draws her attention to exactly what I’m trying to hide.

  “What’s that?” She motions to the book.

  “I don’t know. It fell out of my locker, but I didn’t put it in there.” I hit my locker closed. “I gotta go.” I hotfoot it away before she asks more questions.

  Before she asks to see the book.

  Before Kelsey realizes her best friend sees and talks to dead people.

  Chapter Seven

  Unfortunately, Kelsey can hotfoot it as fast as I can.

  “What kind of book is it?” And there it is. The question I’m running from. So what am I going to do now?

  Just like that I realize I’m completely overreacting. This was just meant as practical joke, a mean one, but no one knows it’s true. “Something about ghosts. Someone’s just trying to pick on me because my dad’s a mortician.”

  “Did you see who put it in there?” Her snappy tone says she’s ready to retaliate.

  “No.” I still hold the book tight.

  “It’s probably Jamie or one of her minions.” Kelsey says it loud and proud and glares at one of those minions as we pass by.

  “That’s what I suspect.” My own voice is low. I’m not nearly as nervy as my best friend.

  “I can’t stand those bitches,” Kelsey says.

  “Me neither.” The words are barely off my lips when another suspect rises on the list. Rises all the way to the top.

  Lunch Lady. Is she back at school now?

  “Wait.” Kelsey touches my arm. “You have a lock on your locker. How did anyone get the book in there?”

  “I don’t lock it half the time.” And that’s true. “But I will from now on, though.”

  And if Crazy Cashier Lunch Lady is here, we’re going to have a chat.

  • • •

  When I drop Kelsey off after school, I go inside to make sure her mom’s perverted boyfriend is actually gone before I leave Kelsey there alone.

  He and his suitcase are gone, so I leave Kelsey to work on the social media posts she writes for the restaurant her mom works at. When I get back in my car, Hayden’s sitting shotgun.

 
“Did you spend the day in your body?” I ask.

  “Yeah, most of it.” He doesn’t sound thrilled, and I breathe in his discontentment as it swells in the car.

  I smile at him and almost lean in to kiss him before I see Jacob pull into his driveway across the street from Kelsey’s house. I back out of Kelsey’s garage.

  When I pull away, I see Hayden looking at Jacob. Hayden’s shoulders drop half an inch. He looks away. A wave of longing and loneliness swells in my chest. He misses his best friend and his life. Which is the reason I don’t want Hayden to know Jacob is still holding out hope that I’ll date him.

  “How was school?” he asks as if he doesn’t want to wallow in sadness, either.

  “Okay.” I remember the book. “But frustrating.” I tell him about finding the locker surprise, Kelsey walking up to me, and my suspicions about the lunch lady being behind it.

  “The same one who you saw when you nearly got taken out by the eighteen-wheeler?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “She’s still not back from her leave of absence.”

  “Then it’s probably like you said. Someone trying to pull a prank on you.”

  “Yeah. It’s just . . . freaky is all.”

  “Did you look at the book?”

  “I read the first chapter.”

  “And?”

  “And it reads like all the other ghost books I’ve read. Like fiction.”

  “Then it’s just a prank.”

  “Probably. I plan to read more of it tonight.”

  He nods. “If you could stop this, stop seeing spirits, would you?”

  “Depends on the day you ask,” I answer honestly. “Sometimes it feels so . . . right, like I’m fulfilling my legacy or something—especially when I see someone pass over. But other times, I feel like I’m in over my head.” I swallow. “And considering I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t do this, then I guess I wouldn’t stop.”

  “I wish you’d moved into town before . . . before the accident.”

  I look at him. “Me, too. At least we went to the camp together.”

  “True.”

  “And we’ll have plenty of time when you wake up.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I know it’s because he’s not sure it’ll happen. Which means I have to keep the faith for both of us.

  “Who are we going to see first, the foster mom or the caseworker?”

  “The foster mom. She lives in Dayton. The other is in a home in Catwalk. I figure since Dad will probably work late tonight I should do this one first. That way if he calls me later, I’ll be in town, and I can get home quicker.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to tell her?” he asks.

  “Tell her?”

  “There has to be a reason you want to find the guy.”

  “Yeah. Thought about that last night. I’m going with the truth.”

  “The truth?”

  “Yeah. For one part, then I’m going to lie through my teeth for the other.”

  He chuckles. “The good news is you’re getting better at it.”

  I look at him. “Better at lying?”

  “Yup.”

  “How do you know I lie?”

  He offers me a sad smile. “I know you, Riley. I can tell.”

  I look back at the road. Note to self: try not to lie to Hayden anymore. But what if it’s for his own good?

  • • •

  I park in the driveway of a small older home in a not-so-good neighborhood. Some of the houses even have tagging from what looks like a gang. The house needs a paint job and perhaps a shot of calcium to strengthen its bones. Part of the porch is leaning to one side, making it look like an elderly person hunched over with age.

  I remember Mr. Brooks saying this was the house the woman was living in when she fostered him and his brother. Was this a better place to live back then? I can hope.

  When I go to reach for the car door, Hayden speaks up. “If I get any sense of danger, you’re leaving, got that?”

  “It’s just an old lady.” I step out of the car. Cold February wind has me pulling my sleeves down.

  Hayden appears beside me. “Yeah, but she might have a child or a grandchild who’s up to no good.”

  “Let’s play it by ear.” I step up on the porch.

  “Yeah, my ear! Got it?” His tone’s tense and abrupt, matching what I’m feeling.

  I start to knock.

  He reaches for my hand. “Let me go in first and see who is in there.”

  “I didn’t come all this way not to talk to her,” I say.

  “Just let me make sure it’s safe.”

  I crater and nod.

  In mere seconds, he reappears. “It’s safe. It’s just her.”

  I knock. When no one answers, I ask, “Where was she?”

  “In the kitchen. Knock harder. She may be hard of hearing.

  I bang on the door harder.

  “Can you go back and see if she hears me?”

  He does. I knock again and wait.

  He shows up again. “She knows someone’s knocking. She’s eyeballing the door, looking nervous.”

  “Was there a back door in the kitchen?”

  “Yeah.”

  I jump off the porch, walk to the backyard. The door has windows in it, and I can see her sitting at the kitchen table.

  I knock.

  She stands up, stares at the back door as if frightened.

  I offer my best I’m-just-an-innocent-girl smile and wave.

  She stands there as if trying to decide if I’m a serial killer or a Girl Scout. Girl Scout wins. She starts moving my way.

  “What do you want?” Her voice, aged and afraid, carries through the door.

  “I’m hoping you could help me find one of the foster kids you took care of several years ago.”

  Wrinkles on her face soften as the fear fades. She opens the door. It squeaks as if it hasn’t been opened in a while.

  “Mrs. Limber?” I ask.

  “That’s me.” She steps back, and I take it as an invitation. Hayden steps in beside me. The woman pulls herself in as if cold. “Who are you looking for?”

  “His name is Ramon Brooks. He and his brother were here. I think they were here like eighteen years ago.”

  She sighs, and that sound seems to come from her soul. One she’s held in for a long time. I swear she shrinks an inch.

  “You remember them?” I lean closer.

  She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Ramon and Carlos. I let them down. They found a home for Ramon. I begged to keep them together. They were close. It broke Carlos’ heart. I imagine it did the same for Ramon. But they said Ramon, who was nine, was young enough to get a real home. I even contemplated adopting Carlos. But I got cancer. Breast cancer. They took him from me. I tried to get him back when I went into remission. They wouldn’t give him to me. They said it might come back.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “It’s one of my life regrets.” She meets my eyes. “They say some kids come through the system already too damaged to help. I try to convince myself that it was that, and not me letting them down. Because both those boys ended up in prison.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Yeah. One of them with a murder charge.”

  “Which one?” Hayden asks, looking at me.

  Mrs. Limber motions to the table as if asking for me to sit down. “Why are you trying to find them? You’re a little old to be one of their kids.”

  “No, I’m not their kid.” Now comes the lying. “Actually, I’m distantly related to them.” I take a chair as she does.

  “Well, as hard as it is to say this, it might be best to stay distant.”

  “Which one committed murder?” Hayden asks again.

  I give him a look that says I’ll explain later and focus on Mrs. Limber. “There’s a little bit more to it than that.”

  “What little bit?” she asks.

  “Mom and I were
contacted through a transplant center.” I spin the story of how Mr. Brooks had been notified about having a daughter who was really sick with liver disease. How he’d agreed to donate part of his liver but was killed the day before the surgery. I even throw in the bit about how he died protecting another prisoner. “Now his little girl, who’s only six, needs someone to donate a piece of their liver or she’s going to die. Mom and I aren’t a match. So we’re hoping we might find Ramon, and if he has the same rare AB blood as his niece, he’ll agree to help her.”

  “Sad stuff.” She places her trembling hand on the table. “But it’s nice to know he had good in him. When I heard the murder charge, I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Yeah. So do you remember anything about Ramon? Is he still in prison?”

  “I wish I could help. But that was ten years ago that I heard about him. I do know that he was adopted by the family who took him from me.”

  Bam! Maybe that’s why I can’t find anything about him on the Internet. He would have taken their name. “Do you who they are?”

  “No, sorry. I do know it was an Hispanic family. But Mrs. Klasky would have that information. She was their caseworker. She’s the one who told me about them both having gone to prison. Last I heard she was in a home, but I think she’s still alive.”

  • • •

  “You knew he was in prison for murder?” Hayden asks as we drive away from Mrs. Limber’s home.

  I look at Hayden. It’s almost dark, but I can still see his expression, and there’s anger brightening his blue eyes. “It’s listed as manslaughter,” I say, knowing there is a distinction.

  “You are not going to do this. Just quit. Help a different ghost.”

  I hate making him mad, but . . . “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You go see that little girl and you’ll know why. She’s so sweet, and I can’t not try to help her.”

  He slumps back in his seat and goes silent. I almost feel the urge to tell him to put on his seatbelt, but realize that’d be stupid. All of a sudden the radio turns on. A little shocked, I look at him. I know he did it. It’s way cool, but one glance at him and I know he’s too mad to talk.

  So I just drive and listen to the music.