by Boone Brux
His round, hazel eyes slid to my face. “I killed a guy.”
I leaned my hip against the counter. “Yes you did. Thanks for that.”
His brow furrowed. “Thanks?”
“If you hadn’t shot him, he would’ve shot you, and maybe the rest of us.”
I wasn’t sure if that was true. Perhaps if Doug hadn’t tried to be a hero and handed over the cash, Leroy would have escaped with the money, leaving all of us unharmed. Or in my case, not a grim reaper—supposedly. But Badder was dead and Doug would struggle with that the rest of his life. What harm would a few possible fibs do?
“Really?” The expression on his face nearly broke my heart. He appeared to be clinging to any thread that would lift the burden of snuffing out someone’s life. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Doug, you saved all our lives.” I indicated the store with the sweep of my hand. “My kids have already lost one parent. Thanks to you they didn’t lose me too.”
His posture straightened. “Wow, I did that?”
I gave him a couple of pats on the shoulder. “You really did.”
Roger approached, his brown eyes still wide with shock and his normally tan skin on the ashen side. “You okay, Mrs. Carron?”
Roger was a native kid from a bush village called Dillingham. “I’m fine, Roger. How are you doing?”
“All right, I guess.” He glanced over his shoulder at the police and then back to us. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.” I had that effect on people. Complete strangers routinely bared their souls to me in the checkout line. I always found it weird that people were willing to tell me intimate details of their lives. If only I could get my daughter to share a bit about her life.
“You know after Doug shot the robber?”
I nodded.
Roger swallowed hard. “I could have sworn I saw his ghost.”
To cover my shock I play dumbed. “Who? Doug’s ghost?”
“No.” Roger’s tongue darted out nervously to moisten his lips. “The gunman’s ghost. It was only there for a few seconds and faded when you went to the bathroom.”
I kept my face passive. “Really?”
“Yeah, he was standing right in front of you and he looked really pissed.”
Pissed was putting it mildly. I gave him a strained smiled. “Whew, glad I didn’t see him. I would have lost it big time.”
Roger clutched his hands to his chest. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I think some people are more susceptible to the spirit world.”
That wasn’t a lie. I’d always fancied myself sensitive to things like ghosts and haunted houses, whether it was a sense of being watched or a feeling of foreboding when I walked into a room. If I really was a grim reaper, that might explain my experiences. Maybe Roger’s native upbringing connected him to the spirit world. Heck, maybe he’d taken a hallucinogenic before work. Besides the robbery, I couldn’t explain anything else that had happened.
“Well, I need to get going. Are you guys okay? Did you call the owner?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Doug nodded. Through all the hoopla, his plastic comb had remained firmly in place at the side of his fro. “He’s on his way.”
“Maybe you’ll get a bonus for preventing a robbery.” They looked at each other, their eyes lighting at my mention of money. I smiled. “Mind if I grab a soda?”
Doug shook his head. “Take anything you want, Mrs. Carron. Anything.”
“Thanks.” I slipped between a police officer and the stand of postcards, trying to be as discrete as possible. If I could get my soda and leave, I wouldn’t have to talk to crazy Nate again.
I opted for the forty-four ounce jug and made a break for the front door. A cop still questioned him, but Nate glanced in my direction. Our gazes locked for a few seconds. Then he flicked his head toward me, indicating our business wasn’t finished. I silently groaned. A slick ditch would have been too easy.
Despite the crowd gathered beyond the yellow police tape, I pushed open the glass door and stepped outside. Cameras clicked and questions were shouted at me, but I kept my head down and walked briskly to my van. Why couldn’t the robbery have happened after I’d gotten my hair done?
I drove to the Northway Mall, where Vella’s Star Power Salon resided. I parked, grabbed my soda and purse, and locked Omar. The brisk breeze registered but the shivers running through me were not caused from the cold. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything, but not having much luck.
At least I’d be able to relay all the events to Vella. Her quirky outlook on life was one of acceptance and what-ifs. Hopefully, she wouldn’t suggest I seek psychiatric help or up my meds—which I did not take. Vella thought everybody should be on happy pills, as she referred to them. Not me, I preferred to suffer through my pain.
The mall was quiet for a Saturday morning. Then again, it was usually quiet. Situated in the not so posh section of town, the stores in the Northway Mall came and went. There were a few steady merchants and personally, I liked the smaller crowds. But I’m sure the store owners would disagree.
The smell of hair color hung in the air and Elvis Presley crooned over the speaker system when I entered the salon. She was a diehard Elvis fan and even owned a motion activated, life-size cutout of him in her house. The damn thing scared me to death one night when I stayed with her. Stumbling down the dim hallway for a midnight pee, I’d passed her Elvis room. From out of the darkness I heard, “Thank you, thank you very much.” When I screamed Vella’s husband, Bud, ran out of their bedroom in his tidy whities, wielding a baseball bat. Let’s just say there are things that can’t be unseen.
“You’re late.” Vella lounged at her station, pawing through a celebrity magazine. “I thought you were going to be here at nine o’clock.”
Vella was from Texas, and although she’d lived in the great north for over twenty years, she’d refused to relinquish her big bleached blond hair and tanning bed. I called her Menopause Barbie—not to her face.
I plopped down in the chair next to her. “I would have but I got stuck in the middle of a mini-mart robbery.”
“What?” She tossed her magazine onto the counter “Girl, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine—well, physically fine.” I sighed. “Which is more than I can say for Leroy Badder.”
Vella shrugged. “Who’s that?”
“The guy who robbed the store. You know Doug, the kid from Iowa?”
“Big hair?” Vella held her hands out to the sides of her head.
“Yeah, he shot and killed the guy.” The memory of the blood seeping from under Leroy’s body made me shudder. “It was awful.”
“Sweet Jesus, and here I had my panties in a bunch, thinking you were having one of your pity parties.”
If anybody other than my best friend had said that to me I would have ripped their head off. But when Jeff died, she’d been right beside me, holding my hand, wiping my tears, and taking care of my kids when I’d had too much.
“Hello ladies, and I use that term loosely.” Jonathan, the salon’s receptionist, sauntered in, carrying two large cups of coffee. “Decided to get out of bed, I see.”
I growled at him and bared my teeth.
“Ooo, feisty. I like that.” He handed Vella her coffee. “I figured you’d have your barrel of sugar water, so I didn’t get you any coffee.”
Jonathan was okay. He was the stereotypical gay guy, impeccably dressed, feminine demeanor, and knew all the latest gossip. The last quality made me wary when talking about my personal life. Spilling the details of the robbery around him guaranteed the story would be making the rounds in the rumor mill within the hour.
“Actually, I’d love a cup. Thank you.” I needed to tell Vella about my slam dance with the paranormal world without him around. Pasting on my sweetest smile, I said. “Tall mocha, no whip. You’re a treasure.”
He gave an indignant grunt and looked to Vella for support.
>
“She was just in a robbery, Jonathan. The girl needs coffee.”
His eyes widened. “Really? You were at the Holiday?”
Already he’d heard about the holdup? That was exactly why I wouldn’t discuss my private life around him. “Yes and I’ll give you all the gory details when you get back—with my tall mocha.”
“Oh goodie.” He spun and headed out of the salon, his boot heels clicking across the tile floor.
“What’s going on?” Vella took a drink of her coffee and narrowed her eyes. “I know you like to mess with Jonathan, but I’m sensing there’s something more to this.”
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he was gone and looked back at my friend. Qualifying my explanation first was more for my benefit than her. Why would she believe me when I barely believed it myself? “Hear me out before you pass judgment on my sanity.”
Both of her perfectly sculpted and clipped eyebrows lifted. “Girl, you know I don’t judge.”
I refrained from commenting on that blatant lie. “After Leroy, the robber, was shot I touched him to see if he was dead.”
“Ick, did you wash your hands?”
I looked at my fingers. There should have been blood on them but there wasn’t. “Yes,” I lied. “Like I was saying, I checked to see if he was dead.”
“Was he?”
“Sort of.” I took a deep breath and plunged forward with my story. “When I stood, his spirit lifted out of his body and went right through me.”
Vella shifted in her chair and crossed her legs, her focus zeroing in on me. “Go on.”
The story rushed out of my like air from a balloon. When I was finished, I took a deep breath. “Nate gave me his card and said we needed to talk.”
She tapped her long nail against the side of her cup. “The Angel of Death has a business card?”
“I know, right? What kind of reaper doesn’t carry a scythe, but has a business card?” I shook my head. “He’s probably some kind of stalker. The guy knew all sorts of shit about me. The whole thing was beyond peculiar.”
“Well, I think it’s safe to say this Nate is a little touched in the head.” She took another drink and seemed to contemplate what I told her. The bubblegum pink nails of her other hand drummed against the arm of the chair and she pursed her lips, squinting at me. “Can I see his card?”
I dug in my pocket and handed it to her.
“Grim Reaper Services. Well that’s just stupid.” She pointed to the lettering at the bottom with her thumb. “There’s an address.”
I tilted my head to get a better look. “4831 B—” I snatched the card from her and stared at the address I knew so well. “That’s where Jeff used to work, but it’s the General Resource Services building not Grim Reaper Services.”
“All right, this is getting weirder than my Uncle Clem’s lingerie collection.”
“I’m not even going to ask.” Vella’s family contained more freaks than a circus sideshow and her supply of stories was endless. “Am I supposed to believe death is renting office space from General Resources?”
“Look, both businesses have GRS as their initials.” Vella leaned back, giving me a look that said she’d formed her opinion. “This guy is bad news, no doubt about it?”
“What about Leroy Badder’s ghost and the elevator to Hell?” How could she not think I was crazy when what I was asking was irrational? “I know what I saw.”
“Maybe it was some of that post dramatic stress syndrome they’re always talking about.”
“You mean post traumatic?”
“Whatever.” She jabbed a finger at me. “It hasn’t been that long since Jeff died. Maybe this was your brain’s way of coping with a life and death situation.”
“I guess that’s possible.” I looked at the card again. Something very creepy was going on and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like whatever this Nate guy had in mind. “But Roger, one of the cashiers, said he thought he saw Leroy’s ghost too.”
“Mass hysteria.” She set her coffee on the counter. “We used to see it all the time when the evangelist healers came to town. Everybody wailing, getting right with Jesus. One time my Aunt Edith said she and a bunch of her churchin’ ladies saw the blessed mother sitting on the altar, eating a burrito.” Vella made a drinking motion with her hand. “I think the old gals imbibed a little too much blood of Christ, if you know what I mean.”
“Mass hysteria, you’re probably right.” I smiled, trying to ignore my gut instinct that what happened, really had happened. “Hopefully I’ll never see Nate again.”
Vella sighed. “Too bad he was cute.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“A cute guy gave you his number—I’m just sayin’, too bad the cute ones are crazy.”
“Yeah, just my luck.” Not that I was in the market for a boyfriend or even a booty call. “Do you know he said I didn’t have what it took to be a reaper?” His statement still grated, even if he was a psycho, serial killer.
“That’s because he’s never seen you wield a weed whacker.”
“Exactly.” I harrumphed. “I’d make a freakin’ awesome reaper.”
“Damn straight.” She stood and pulled the scrunchie from my hair and threaded her fingers through my limp locks. “It would be kind of neat, don’t you think?”
She scraped her nails along my scalp and my eyes slid shut. “What would?”
“Being an Angel of Death.” Her hands rested on my shoulders. “Helping people cross over.”
I opened my eyes. “What happened to me didn’t feel neat. It felt violent and sticky.” She continued to massage my head, but the look on her face told me that brain of hers was conjuring up all sorts of scenarios. “What?”
She shrugged. “If you were a reaper, would you have wanted to help Jeff pass?”
“No.” The word popped out of my mouth.
Her hands stopped and rested on top of my hair. “Why not?”
Why wouldn’t I have wanted to help my husband pass? So many people would do anything for a chance to say goodbye. “Because when I found out that Jeff had been in a car accident, he was already dead and there was nothing I could do about it. If I’d known he was going to die and there was still nothing I could do about it—” I paused, my throat tightening at the thought. “I don’t think I could handle that.” I looked at her. “It’s a burden I wouldn’t want to bear.”
She held my gaze in the mirror for a few seconds but didn’t say anything more about death. “So, what are we doing today? Short and sassy? Platinum?”
“Manageable and get rid of the roots.” I made a chopping gesture half way between my shoulder and chin. “Maybe a few inches off to clean it up, but I still want to be able to put it in a ponytail.”
“Come on, let me do something daring.”
I’d had enough of daring for one day. What I needed was safe. “Maybe next time.”
She grumbled under her breath and spun my chair to face the back of the salon. “Your shampoo bowl awaits, Milady.”
Getting a new cut and color would make me feel better, but I had another worry now—like I needed that. Nate knew who I was, which probably meant he knew where I lived. It was one thing to have my safety put in question, but there were my kids to think about. A chill ran through me. Either he had lied to me to make contact, which wasn’t good, or what Nate told me was true, and I was looking at a life-long sentence as the newest Angel of Death at Grim Reaper Services.
CHAPTER THREE
I left the salon with a slick new do and my scrunchie around my wrist. The change had been subtle, but I definitely felt better. On the drive home my mind replayed the events at the Holiday station. I wasn’t sure I bought Vella’s mass hysteria or post-traumatic stress explanations. In my gut I knew I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Something had happened. But no matter how hard I tried to cram the incident into a neatly defined compartment, it just didn’t fit—and I really needed it to fit.
I turned o
nto my road. The section of Anchorage where I lived in was what I referred to as established. Homes ranged from 1970’s split-levels to newer duplexes and condos. My house was a well-worn, but sturdy, 1979 two-story, located on Resurrection Lane. Though the street was named after Resurrection Bay, the irony that I was trying to resurrect my life, not to mention the whole reaper thing, was not lost on me.
As I pulled into our driveway, I couldn’t help but think all I needed was a few junk cars in the yard and a hound dog on the porch to complete my house’s tired appearance. Home repairs had been low on my list of priorities, because of grief and limited funds. To say I’d been shocked when I found out how small Jeff’s life insurance policy was would be a gross understatement.
I’d yet to deal with the sense of betrayal I harbored about that. I mean, how much of a bitch would that make me to be pissed over money when I’d just lost my husband, and the kids, their father? Plus, I blamed myself for not being more involved in our finances—and a lot of other aspects of our life as a couple. Like I said, my self-esteem hit rock bottom and dwelling on what I could have done better would be like pouring lemon juice into a wound.
A fat raven sat on the railing of my front deck. Anchorage has the biggest ravens in the world. They were well fed from the Dumpsters and tourists, and were roughly the size of a Welsh Corgi. This bird must’ve frequented all the feeding hotspots. The way it stared at me, all harbinger of doomish, sent another wave of foreboding through me.
The grating squeak from my van door opening hadn’t spooked the raven like I’d hoped. It just sat there, peering down at me. Even when I started up the front steps, it didn’t fly away.
“Shoo.” I waved my hand. Besides giving me the heebie-jeebies, I didn’t want bird poop on my deck. Melting bird poo in the spring is beyond gross. I crept a few steps higher. “Go on.”
The raven cocked its head and made a gurgling sound that reminded me of a telephone ringing. Its whole demeanor gave me the impression it was trying to talk to me. Then the bird looked to the sky. I followed its gaze and noticed five more ravens circling like black vultures.
