Night of the Living Deed
Page 29
Paul and I decided to give Maxie and Kitty, who were still hooting it up with laughter on a regular basis in the living room, some privacy, and took a walk in the backyard. Taking a quick peek, I could see that Kitty looked fifteen years younger, and I was thrilled to have played a part in that.
Paul, a bemused smile on his face, kept looking at me as if trying to decide on the proper time for something.
“What?” I finally said to break the tension.
“I liked being a detective with you,” he blurted out.
“Well, aside from the threats to my life and my daughter, I sort of liked it, too,” I said. “You’re good at what you do.”
“I know,” Paul said, and then smiled at his audacity. “I was thinking maybe we could continue doing it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just every once in a while,” he said, putting up his hands to slow things down, it seemed. “I’d like to take on the occasional case. To keep my mind occupied. You have no idea how dull being dead can become.”
I thought about that. “I suppose not, but I’m not crazy about the danger.”
“We’ll only take safe cases, and only when you’re not too busy. You would have to sit for an exam and get a private investigator’s license, since we obviously can’t use mine. But I can certainly help you with the test, and you don’t have to investigate anything you don’t want to. Okay?”
“Well . . .” I had to play this right.
“Well, what?” Paul was already wary.
“You need me to become a private investigator.”
“Yes.” He looked at me, waiting for the shoe to drop.
“I need you to supply ‘paranormal experiences’ to tourists.”
Paul smiled. “I don’t know if I can convince Maxie.”
“I think it’s possible the problem with Maxie will be holding her back.”
Paul smiled, and we walked a bit farther. Soon, we’d have to turn around, as Paul was about to reach his border.
“Meeting you has been an interesting experience,” I told him. “Don’t ever tell Maxie, but I’m almost glad she dropped a bucket on my head.”
“I won’t tell.” A pause. “I was thinking our first . . . well, second investigation . . .”
“Another day, Paul,” I said. “Another day.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
E. J. Copperman is a native New Jerseyan and an award-nominated screenwriter, mystery author, and freelance journalist who has written for the New York Times, Hollywood Scriptwriter, Writer’s Digest, Entertainment Weekly and many other publications.