1 Broken Hearted Ghoul (2 page)

I nudged her a little. She groaned, and turned away in the seat. So much for that.

“There’s still time. You could let me go right here and forget you ever saw me.”

“You’re going to have to be thankful for the time you’ve had and get on with it.” I didn’t meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. That only invited more conversation.

It wasn’t that I disagree. Life
is
amazing. Most people who were alive didn’t realize how important it was—until it was too late. Those of us already dead, and living on borrowed time? We
knew
.

We reached the mortuary, finally. It was called Simon’s. Mannequins in tuxedoes and bland, pale gowns were posed next to expensive caskets as though they were mourning people inside of them.

It was tasteless. But it worked with the place.

I pulled the van around the back to the delivery door. There was an old black hearse parked back there too. It had seen better days. As far as I knew, Abe kept this place going with his zombies. I’d never seen a normal, human funeral here.

“Okay. Let’s go inside. I know you’re scared, but Abe is waiting. It’ll be okay.” I turned to smile at him.

He was already halfway out the door.

What the hell?

“I can’t do it,” he yelled back at me. “I’m sorry. I can’t walk in like a lamb to the slaughter.”

Great.

He was running through the parking lot. “Mr. Tappman, please come back.”

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

I could probably outrun him, but I was tired and really didn’t feel like it. I hated to shoot him down—it meant I’d have to drag him back—but I took the tranquilizer dart gun from the van and aimed at him.

Abe’s hand came down on it. “I’ll handle this, Skye. Thank you.”

He was a big man—well over six feet. His arms and chest were enormous. His head and face were smooth like a baby’s butt. Most of the time, he wore dark glasses. I suspected he did it to mask his eyes that were blank white with no pupil or iris.

His skin fascinated me. It wasn’t dark or cocoa-colored. It was black. Call it jet or ebony—there was no pigment there besides black. It was shiny too, and reminded me of a rubber wet suit. I tried never to stare at him, but it happened sometimes.

“Frank,” Abe called out in a booming baritone. “Do you remember when I came to your hospital bed and you wanted the twenty years I gave you?”

“Yes.” Frank’s voice was anguished. He sounded out of breath. “But it’s so hard. I just can’t do it.”

“You’ve had your gift of life,” Abe persuaded. “It’s time to come home now.”

I was surprised that Frank wasn’t long gone. He sounded as though he was still in the line of pine trees at the back of the parking lot.

That was probably as far as he could sprint without falling over.

“I can get him now,” I whispered to Abe.

“He’ll come in,” he assured me. “He knows what’s right.”

Not convinced of that as he was, I held on to the tranquilizer dart gun, and waited.

“Please, Frank.” Abe’s gentle voice said again in a tone one might use for a hurt animal or frightened child. “I’ll be with you through it all.”

Before I could volunteer again to go and get Mr. Tappman, he slowly started walking back in our direction. His eyes were downcast, and his hands hung limply at his sides.

“I’m sorry, Abe.”

“That’s all right.” Abe put his arm around Frank’s shoulders. “Let’s get inside out of this chill.”

I watched them walk inside the mortuary. My job was done—not sure I’d get paid extra for it. Abe had done most of the work. It was only a small extra stipend when I brought someone in. I was salaried the rest of the time.

“What’s happening?” Debbie was still half-asleep, rubbing her eyes, as she got out of the van.

“Mr. Tappman decided to run for it. Abe talked him out of it.”

“What?” Debbie shivered in the early morning cold. “This is what happens?” She stared at the mortuary sign like it was written in a foreign language she was trying to understand.

“Don’t forget he was dead to begin with,” I reminded her. “He knew what he was getting into—just like I did.”

“My poor Terry.” Her dark eyes searched my face. “What will I tell him when the time comes for him?”

“I suggest you tell him, and your kids,
before
the time comes. They might not like the surprise.”

Chapter Two

Even though Abe had helped me, it was still my job to get a release slip from the mortuary attendant. It was as good an excuse as any to find out what had happened to Frank Tappman.

I know I said I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what happened when a zombie ended his twenty year extra lifespan, but the question bugged me. I wasn’t happy not knowing. Like I told Debbie—better not to be surprised.

Brandon greeted us before we could reach the cold room where the bodies were kept in most mortuaries. There was no sign of Frank or Abe.

“Ladies! Welcome! I was beginning to think we’d gone out of business. It’s been at least twelve hours since the last drop off.”

He was as colorless and white as Abe was black. His washed-out blond hair, and cool blue eyes, were no relief from that ghostly image. Slight and small, he seemed to be a teenager—until you looked closer. There were thousands of fine lines in his face.

“Mr. Tappman ran,” I told him as Debbie looked around with her arms crossed over her chest. “I hate it when they try to run.”

“She’s new.” Brandon grinned, and sniffed at Debbie. “Not dead either. Hi, there. I’m Brandon.”

“Debbie,” she replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“She’s got nice manners too. You could learn something from her, Skye.”

“Thanks. I still need my release form, even though Abe talked him inside. Where is he?”

“I’ve got it.” He opened the door to his tiny office. “Third slab on the right and straight on ‘til morning. Did I ever tell you that I played Peter Pan in an off-Broadway production?”

“About twenty times in the last two years.” I grunted as Debbie and I stepped inside. The whole place was like a refrigerator. “I’m sure hearts were broken when you left the theater.”

“I’ll bet that was a lot of fun.” Debbie managed to smile at Brandon as she sat down in one of the terrible green plastic chairs, and crossed her legs.

“Yeah. It was great.” Brandon stared beyond the cold office for a moment, as though he could still see the footlights and hear the applause. Then he smiled. “But that was a long time ago. Now I’m here.”

“You might be able to join a little theater group or something.” Debbie reacted to his sadness and longing.

“You’re a keeper.” He shook his head, and looked for a release form. “Those days are gone, I’m afraid. They won’t be back again.”

“You shouldn’t feel that way.” Debbie encouraged with a toss of her dark hair, her full red lips smiling. “You only need a little time to get started. Would you like me to help you look for something?”

Brandon signed our release slip with a flourish of his left hand. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up. I’m into hustling pool right now. The bar is right down the street. What more could a man ask for?”

“Well, the offer is always good.”

He took her hand in his and kissed it. “I’m definitely gonna ask Abe if you can be
my
assistant. I have a feeling Skye doesn’t appreciate you like I would.”

Debbie shivered violently at his touch, but managed to keep smiling.

I grabbed the release slip, and shoved it in my pocket. “So where did Abe and Mr. Tappman disappear?”

“Busy. Try again later.” His gaze stayed on Debbie.

He wasn’t going to tell me. That wasn’t surprising. I’d asked before—same response. One day in the next twenty years, I’d figure it out. I’d probably be sorry, but I’d know the truth.

Debbie glanced at me as if she was afraid to look away from Brandon. I remembered the first time I’d met him. He had that effect on people.

I’d help her out this once. “I’m going home now. If you want to stay, Debbie, I’ll see you later.”

“Oh no! I have to get home and make breakfast for my children, and my husband. Terry has therapy later today. They’ll be expecting me.”

“All right. Let’s go. See you later, Brandon.”

She was free of his leering gaze. I was a little put out that he hadn’t shared all that with me until I’d known him over a year. Not that I really cared. I just thought it was weird that he’d spilled his guts for Debbie the minute he met her.

Brandon’s farewell sigh was theatrical and exaggerated. “All the good ones are taken. See you later, Debbie. You too, Skye.”

I walked out of the mortuary slowly, with a long look at the closed doors to the cold room. Still no sign of Abe or Mr. Tappman. The mystery of what happened to the zombies after I dropped them off wouldn’t be solved that day. But I had patience, and twenty years. I’d figure it out.

It was almost as cold inside the mortuary as it was outside. Debbie got in the van, and turned up the heat.

I started the engine, and drove toward our homes at the outskirts of Nashville. Traffic was still negligible. Most people were beginning to get up and get ready for school and work. They were shaving and showering—doing a million things that they did each day without thinking.

“What happens to Mr. Tappman now?” Debbie asked.

My question coming from her lips
. “I don’t know. I guess he gets buried or cremated.”

Debbie looked out the side window at the older buildings and houses we passed. “I need to know what to say to Terry. I can’t tell him that he only has twenty years to live, without telling him what will happen when it’s over.”

“I think that’s obvious.” I put on my sunglasses. “It would’ve been the same thing that would’ve happened to him if Abe hadn’t agreed to let him have another twenty years. Dead is dead.”

“I’m surprised, now that I know
you
, that Abe didn’t want Terry in his service instead of me since he’s a police officer. I don’t know what I can offer him.”

I wasn’t sure either, but didn’t say so. She was a very nice, friendly person. No point in yanking her chain. “I told you about Kate, and why I accepted Abe’s offer. It’s the same thing. Explain to Terry that you agreed to take his service with Abe so he could be alive to help raise the kids. He’ll understand.”

“Thanks, Skye. Would you like to come in and meet him?”

I’m not the most sensitive person in the world. Being a street cop for ten years toughened me up a lot, I guess. Losing my husband had made it worse. I kind of figured that’s why Abe wanted me to do this job.

Maybe that’s what he saw in Debbie. She was so gentle and understanding with people—maybe he planned to train her to talk them in—like he had with Mr. Tappman.

I tended to reach for a weapon if I couldn’t get to them before they sprinted. Lazy, maybe.

I could see Debbie was anxious and upset about telling her husband that he wasn’t exactly alive anymore.
What the hell?
“Sure. I can come in for a minute. It’s early.”

It was another twenty minutes before we reached Debbie’s home. It was a cute little log cabin that was at the end of a winding dirt road. Smoke was curling from the chimney, and baskets of red and gold pansies were blooming on the wide front porch, despite the cold. Kids bikes vied with handmade rocking chairs as we went up the front steps.

“Wait right here a minute.” She shed her jacket, gloves, and scarf in the entryway. “Let me make sure Terry is decent. He isn’t expecting company.”

I looked around the entryway. There were needlepoint pictures of the cabin, and some flowers in a summer meadow. She’d probably made the pretty mountain tapestry too. The place looked like her—kind of cute and cozy.

It made me feel old and cynical. I was never cute or cozy, but Debbie made me feel hard ass and mean. I didn’t like it.

A little girl stared at me from the stairs. This had to be Debbie’s daughter. She was the same age as my daughter, Kate.

“Hi there. I’m Skye. I work with your mom. You must be Raina.”

She didn’t say anything. With a seven-year-old of my own, I wasn’t surprised. Kate was a little more outgoing, but on the whole, kids of that age were wary of strangers. After all, we’d taught them to be that way since they were born. I couldn’t blame them.

“She’ll be back in a minute.”
I hope.

Debbie’s thirteen-year-old son, Bowman, started quickly down the stairs, nudging his sister to the side.

“Oh. Hey. Sorry.” He glanced at his sister. “Say something. Don’t just stare like a zombie.”

I put my hand in front of my face as I smiled. It was an odd comparison to make. “Hi. I’m your mom’s partner. Skye.”

Raina finally said a very soft hello, and ran back upstairs.

“Ignore her.” Bowman continued down the stairs, and introduced himself. “I didn’t know mom was working.”

“We just started working together. She probably didn’t think to tell you.”

“What are the two of you all doing anyway?” His dark eyes and handsome face looked distinctly like a male version of his mother.

Before I had to answer that, Debbie came back for me. She kissed Bowman on the cheek. “You know I was a graphic designer for a while right out of college. We’re graphic designers.”

She sent him to the kitchen to wait for breakfast and shrugged. “He’ll never know the difference. Come this way.”

Terry Hernandez was sitting in a wheelchair beside a roaring fire in a stone hearth. He wearing a heavy, probably handmade, blue sweater. His legs were covered by a thick blue plaid blanket.

His hair was bright red, and appeared uncombed, since it stuck up all over his head. His face was filled with freckles, except for the part that was covered by a red beard. His dark eyes spoke of pain and fear.

Debbie had told me that he was with the Highway Patrol. He’d been shot during a robbery, and would never walk again. He would have died on the operating table, but Debbie made her deal with Abe so that her husband would come home again for twenty years.

I was surprised that Abe hadn’t given Terry back the use of his legs. He’d healed me, and every other zombie who worked for him. But again—not my business.