Dead Girls Are Easy

by Terri Garey

  Granny Julep looked beautiful in sapphire blue. Even Audrey Hepburn couldn’t have worn the dress as elegantly as Granny did now, lying pillowed in organdy and flowers. I was glad I’d found a netted blue hat to match—pure forties, Granny would’ve loved it—and white gloves with pearl buttons.

  Organ music swelled, rising into the rafters of Trinity Baptist Church. It was the first time I’d been inside. In fact, I hadn’t been inside a church in years. The wooden pew was hard, the hymnals dog-eared and worn.

  Caprice’s cousin Jimmy had come into the store the day after our midnight visit to the graveyard and told me that Granny Julep had “passed.” I’d been more struck by his choice of words than by the news itself. It didn’t surprise me that Granny left the night Caprice was put to rest. She had fought to the bitter end for Caprice’s soul; maybe they were together now.

  I hoped so.

  Jimmy also told me that Felicia had been arrested for Caprice’s murder. It made me feel better to know that while Mojo was a low-down dirty dog for cheating on Caprice, he wasn’t a murderer—Felicia had confessed that the fatal shove down the stairs was her doing, not his.

  I’d asked Jimmy to wait while I carried the Audrey Hepburn mannequin to the back room and stripped her of her finery. I hardly even cried when I layered the dress into a box with some tissue and added the hat and gloves. I was dry-eyed by the time I gave the box to Jimmy and asked him to give it to Albert. And I was still dry-eyed now, as Granny Julep was put to rest.

  Albert sat in the front row, narrow shoulders as straight as age allowed. That grizzled head was all too familiar. I had an unwelcome flash of being in the backseat of the Lincoln, cradling Granny’s head in my lap, and then the image of a dour-faced skeleton, grim and silent. I pushed those thoughts away.

  “Thou knowest, O Lord, the secrets of our hearts.” The elderly black preacher began speaking as soon as the organ music rolled to a stop. He’d already given the eulogy; the service was almost over. “You knew the heart of Julep Joan Johnson. We rest easy in the knowledge that she’s home with You now.”

  I was glad somebody was resting easy.

  “Julep was a good woman—a loving mother and grandmother, a faithful helpmate to her husband, Albert. We honor her wishes now by gathering to sing some of her favorite hymns, and to rejoice in her everlasting life with Jesus, our Lord and Savior. Please turn to page 319 in your hymnals for ‘Nearer My God to Thee.’”

  The small church was filled with people, thick with tears and the cloying scent of lilies. The sudden shuffle of hymnals and another swell of organ music was enough to cover me as I slipped from my seat near the back and went outside. I stood in the shade near the parking lot, breathing easier and listening to the hymn while I stared out over the sea of headstones.

  I’m not sure what I was waiting for.

  For Granny Julep to sit up and say, “I need your help again, girl?”

  For Caprice to whisper thoughts in my ear?

  For Joe’s BMW to pull into the parking lot?

  I wandered up the hill into the cemetery, letting my feet lead the way. Here was where we’d left the chains and shovels when the cops showed up. Up there was the double headstone. I wound my way toward it, remembering that mad scramble in the darkness.

  And there it was, a double stone, shaped like an open book. It was very old. The chiseled inscription was hard to read.

  “In memory of Jacob Cross, who departed this world November 18, 1897. In memory of Nancy Cross, who departed this world June 3, 1919.” Below that, it said, “Together Forever,” and an inscription: THE TRAGEDY OF LIFE IS NOT THAT IT ENDS SO SOON, BUT THAT WE WAIT SO LONG TO BEGIN IT.

  Nancy Cross had lived twenty-two years without her husband, yet lay down quietly with him in the end. And someone, probably Nancy, had left a warning about wasted time.

  Well, if they’d loved each other and wanted people to enjoy life to the fullest, then maybe they’d forgive us for what we’d done on top of their grave.

  “Jacob and Nancy,” I said aloud. Joe and Nicki.

  There was that chill down the spine Evan never wanted me to mention. Only no one had walked over my grave; I was the trespasser here.

  I turned away and started down the hill just as the double doors of the church opened. Granny’s casket appeared, borne on the shoulders of six men. The procession toward the grave site had begun, the mourners following the casket in silence. The afternoon sun was bright, the sky a cloudless blue.

  I looked up at the triple crosses on the church steeple and smiled, remembering what she’d called it. “Rest in peace, Granny Julep,” I murmured, “here in the shadow of the name of the Lord.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Ivy was wearing Chanel today, a gorgeous hot pink suit with black piping and jet buttons. The vivid color complimented her pale skin tones, bringing out the blue in her eyes and the silver in her hair.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I feel?” I asked her.

  I’d just finished telling Ivy about Granny Julep’s funeral. After a lot of thought, I’d decided not to tell her about the midnight trip to the graveyard. Not only was digging up a corpse too bizarre to admit to, it was illegal, and I wasn’t interested in getting Joe in any trouble.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  Patience must be a virtue they teach in shrink school.

  I’d never learned it.

  “I feel like I lost a friend.” There it was. “She was a cranky old woman with a dark side, scary in a way but sweet in another. I hardly knew her…I couldn’t trust her. I’m not sure I really even liked her. But she’s gone and that makes me sad. Kinda. And kinda not.” I looked at Ivy. “What I don’t understand is why I care.”

  “You did lose a friend,” Ivy said.

  “I knew her less than two weeks.” I shook my head. “She tricked me, tried to use me…” I trailed off, preferring to forget the voodoo drums, the scattered cornmeal. “She was not my friend.”

  “You say the other woman’s spirit, the—” Ivy consulted her notes. “—duppy that’s been tormenting you, is gone.”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “You feel this happened at the same time your friend Granny Julep passed away, is that right?”

  I saw where this was going. “Yes. It’s complicated, but Granny and Caprice were linked in a fight to save Caprice’s soul.” Man, that sounded so lame. Like something I’d read on the back of a video rental. I couldn’t even begin to explain Albert’s role in all this—in assuming the loa of Baron Samedi, he’d done for Granny the one thing she couldn’t.

  By worshiping evil, Felicia made herself vulnerable to the consequences of its power; by becoming the Baron, Albert had used that vulnerability against her, letting evil aid him in bringing a murderer to justice.

  Ivy rested her elbow on the arm of the couch and regarded me quizzically.

  “Do you think Granny’s death rid you of the spirit?”

  I thought about that. Granny Julep had done her best, but I was the one who’d gotten down and dirty with Caprice, so to speak. Those chains might’ve been symbolic, but I’d felt the weight of them in my hands and on my heart. Caprice wasn’t rising again.

  Maybe that had been enough reason to give an old woman her dying wish.

  “Has it occurred to you that this woman could’ve been the source of this all along?”

  My mouth dropped open. “Of course not! Granny Julep wasn’t like that! She didn’t even know me until I went looking for her.”

  Ivy smiled at me, tipping her head to rest her chin on a finger. “You defend her like she’s a friend.”

  “Oh, all right, dammit.” Ivy didn’t bat an eye. “She was a friend.”

  “Here’s another theory for you: What if there never was any evil spirit? What if Caprice never really existed? What if it was all a wild suggestion implanted in your brain…one that died when the source of the suggestion died?”

  One of us was crazy here, and it wa
sn’t me.

  “What are you talking about? I tell you everything, and instead of answers, all I get is more questions! Are you saying that you don’t believe I’ve been talking to spirits? You think I made this up?” I felt like sinking into the leather of the chair. I’d thought this was the one place I could be completely honest.

  Ivy sat up straight, looking mildly alarmed.

  “No, no.” She started to say something, then paused. “Let me tell you something about me, Nicki.”

  I tried to care, but I was ready to walk out. Therapy sessions were bullshit.

  “My mother saw spirits sometimes,” Ivy said.

  Now you’re talking.

  “Not often. Usually right after someone died—my grandfather, an old woman who went to our church. Mother said she felt they were just saying good-bye.” Ivy’s face softened. “I’ve personally never experienced any type of paranormal phenomena, but that hasn’t dimmed my fascination with the topic. I assure you I’m being as open-minded as possible here, and so should you. But it’s my job to help you think of all the possibilities, including the logical ones.”

  I was quiet for a time. The trickle of the Zen fountain was starting to get on my nerves, so I watched the second hand on the clock that sat discreetly nearby. The clock was heavy crystal, Waterford maybe, and faced whoever sat in the chair, a tactful reminder that “time’s a-wastin’.”

  “Evan says I’m different.”

  “Do you think you’re different?”

  I flashed Ivy a look that let her know what I thought of her reversion to technique. She had the grace to smile slightly.

  “I guess I’m looking at things a little differently these days,” I admitted.

  “Since the NDE?” Ivy prompted.

  “Since the near death experience, yes.” I wasn’t comfortable reducing the event to an acronym yet. “I think a lot more about the future, and I worry that I’m wasting the now.” It was hard to express. “And I wonder about God a lot. I mean, was that who I met when I died? Was it Buddha, or Allah or Krishna?” These were the thoughts that had begun to keep me up at night. “How are we supposed to know which religion to follow? How do we know which one is the right one? How are we supposed to know what to do?”

  Ivy looked thoughtful. “Good questions, for which I may have at least one answer.”

  I’d believe that when I heard it.

  “Religion itself is a universal concept. People gravitate toward whatever they feel brings them closer to that concept. But most major religions do share a common thread, that of holding ourselves to higher principles in our dealings with our fellow man. Even voodoo.”

  “Huh?” She’d finally given me an answer, but I’d lost it in the translation.

  “Treating others as we would treat ourselves, Nicki,” she said gently. “The word ‘voodoo’ is from the French, vous, meaning you, and deux, meaning two. ‘You, too.’ Based on my research, voodoo at its very heart is based on the belief that what you do is what you become.”

  “As in ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,’” I said slowly. “So I’m just back where I started, and I still don’t know who or what’s behind the Light.”

  Ivy gave me an elegant shrug, not even trying to argue the point.

  “Do we have to know? Are we meant to know?” she asked.

  What a rip. My only answer hadn’t been an answer after all.

  Now all I had were more questions.

  “Hey, babe.” I had to smile when I heard Joe’s voice on the other end of my cell phone. He’d never called me “babe” before, and I liked it. “I have to be at work by midnight, but I was hoping to see you. How about I come over and grill us some steaks around seven? You can invite Evan if you want…tell him to bring his friend Butch.” Joe’s voice lowered, turning playful. “Unless you want me all to yourself, in which case I’ve been a very bad boy.”

  As tempting as that thought was, I got a clear mental picture of the four of us out on my back deck, a family, drinking wine and having dinner.

  “Sounds great. I’ll give Evan a call, and spank you later.”

  “Promises, promises,” Joe teased. “Steaks for four, then. I’ll bring the wine.”

  “No need…I’m sure I have some.”

  “I’ll bring more.” The way Joe said it raised my radar. “Listen, did you ever get a chance to look at those pictures I left you? The pictures of Kelly?”

  “Sure did,” I said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do you want them back?”

  “No. I got a phone call a few minutes ago from the private investigator I hired to find her. Looks like her Peace Corps records have been updated—she’s in Santa Domingo.”

  “Santa Domingo?” I had no idea where that was.

  “Maybe Evan and Butch will have some advice on what to do next, hm?”

  “Do next?” I didn’t seem to be able to put more than two words together.

  “I’m assuming that once all the divorce stuff is out of the way, you want me to tell Kelly you two might be sisters, right?”

  There was a pause.

  “Yeah. Of course I want you to tell her.”

  Joe waited for a couple of heartbeats. “You wanna talk about it?”

  “Not right now. I just came from Ivy’s and I’m all talked out.”

  “I’ll see you at seven, then.” Another hesitation. “I miss you.” Then he hung up.

  I thought again of the four of us on my back deck, drinking wine and having inner—one big, happy family. The gay couple, the straight guy, and the girl who saw dead people.

  Kelly’s wholesome image intruded, and I sighed. What if she still loved him? What if she wanted him back?

  I could only hope Joe would prefer leather and lace to denim and plaid.

  Oh well. Who said life had to be easy?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Huge thanks to Erika, my wonderful editor, for helping me make this book the best it could be; to Annelise for her calm confidence and business savvy; and to Christina for her contagious enthusiasm and steady support. May the roads rise up to meet them, and the wind always be at their backs.

  About the Author

  TERRI GAREY is the author of paranormal comedies about life and death. A former computer analyst, she now works full-time devising demented tales from the dark side. Ever an optimist, Terri sees more twisted tales in her future.

  Please visit Terri at www.tgarey.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  By Terri Garey

  DEAD GIRLS ARE EASY

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEAD GIRLS ARE EASY. Copyright © 2007 by Terri Garey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Mobipocket Reader July 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-147490-3

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  About the Publisher

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  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22