First Grave on the Right Read Free Page A

Sussman said, “you look hot even with the slight disfigurement.”
    I stopped and turned toward him. “What did you say?”
    “Um, you look hot?”
    “Let me ask you something,” I said, easing closer. He took a wary step back. “When you were alive, like, five minutes ago, would you have told some chick you’d just met that she looked hot?”
    He thought about that a moment, then answered, “No. My wife would divorce me.”
    “Then why is it the moment you guys die, you think you can say whatever you want to whomever you want?”
    He thought about that a moment, too. “Because my wife can’t hear me?” he offered.
    I stabbed him with the full power of my death stare, likely blinding him for all eternity. Then I grabbed my handbag and keys. Just before I shut off the lights, I turned back and said with a wink, “Thanks for the compliment.”
    He smiled and followed me out the door.
    *   *   *
    Apparently, I wasn’t as hot as Sussman thought. I was freezing, in fact. And, naturally, I’d forgotten my jacket. Too lazy to go back for it, I hurried into my cherry red Jeep Wrangler. Her name was Misery, in homage to the master of horror and all things creepy. Sussman oozed into the passenger’s seat.
    “The grim reaper, huh?” he asked as I clicked my seat belt.
    “Yep.” I hadn’t realized he knew my job title. He and Angel must have had quite the talk. I turned the key, and Misery purred to life around me. Thirty-seven more payments, and this baby was all mine.
    “You don’t look like the grim reaper.”
    “You’ve met him, have you?”
    “Well, no, not really,” he said.
    “My robe’s at the cleaners.”
    That got a sheepish chuckle. “And your scythe?”
    I shot him an evil grin and turned on the heater. “Speaking of crimes,” I said, changing the subject, “did you happen to see the shooter?”
    “Neither hide nor hair.”
    “So … no.”
    He slid his glasses up with an index finger. “No. I didn’t see anyone.”
    “Darn. That doesn’t help.” I turned left onto Central. “Do you know where you are? Where your body is? We’re headed downtown. This might be you.”
    “No, I had just pulled into my drive. My wife and I live in the Heights.”
    “So, you’re married?”
    “Five years,” he said, a sadness permeating his voice. “Two kids. Girls. Four and eighteen months.”
    I hated that part. The people-left-behind part. “I’m so sorry.”
    He looked at me with that expression, that you-can-see-dead-people-so-you-must-have-all-the-answers expression of so many who’d come before him. He was about to be very disappointed.
    “It’s going to be hard on them, isn’t it?” he asked, surprising me with the direction of his thoughts.
    “Yes, it will be,” I answered honestly. “And your wife will scream and cry and go through a depression from hell. Then she’ll find a strength she never knew she had.” I looked directly at him. “And she’ll live. For the girls, she’ll live.”
    That seemed to satisfy him for the moment. He nodded and stared out the window. We drove the rest of the way downtown in silence, which gave me unwanted time to think about dream lover. If I was right, his name was Reyes. I had no idea if Reyes was his last name or his first, or where he was from, or where he was now, or any other thing about him, for that matter. But I knew his name was Reyes, and I knew he was beautiful. Unfortunately, he was also dangerous. The one and only time I’d met him was years ago, when we were both in our teens. Our one encounter was full of threats and tension and skin and his lips so close to mine, I could almost taste him. I never saw him again.
    “There it is,” Sussman said, dragging me from my thoughts.
    He’d spotted the crime scene several blocks away. Red and blue lights undulated along buildings, pulsing through the pitch black morning. As we drove closer, the bright spotlights set up for the investigators lit up half a city block. It looked