by Clare Kauter
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“Adam, you’re infuriating.”
“Because I’m right?”
I sighed exasperatedly. “No, because you’re – you’re – OK, yes, you’re right!”
He just smiled. I wanted to storm away but I needed to ask him some questions first.
“How’s Gracie doing?”
“She’s good. Despite it all, Reagan took good care of her. Apart from shooting people in front of her, of course. She’s going to need to see a psychologist for a while. Ellie and Tim will make sure she gets all the help she needs.”
I nodded.
“Oh, and one other thing,” Adam said, taking a mobile phone from his pocket. “Harry’s insisting that he gave you his permission to break into his office and search his computer.”
I frowned. “What? I don’t…”
Adam handed me the phone. “So I have no reason to fire you,” he said.
I just gaped at him. “You… you mean…”
“I mean you’d better be ready bright and early tomorrow for your training,” he said. He glanced behind me and saw something that seemed to grab his attention. I turned and saw a woman sitting at the bar. Eye roll. For someone so smart, sometimes he could be really predictable. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Oh, I’d better give you these.”
He handed me my car keys and walked off to chat up the lady at the bar. I looked down at the keys. OK, so I had no idea where the Mustang was, but it was mine again. This called for a celebratory drink.
After doing a shot of vodka at the bar to calm my nerves, I bought myself a glass of sparkling wine and returned to the group. Everyone was caught up in their own conversations now, except James who was just standing next to Jo and Celia, looking concerned at whatever they were talking about. He excused himself when he saw that I’d returned and walked over to me. I took a deep breath. Just act normal.
“She bought you tickets to an AFL game?” he said quietly. “Has she never met you?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes she’s a bit…” I couldn’t think of a polite way of ending that, so I decided to change the topic. I showed him my phone and car keys. “Guess who got their job back!”
“Charlie, that’s great!” he said, pulling me in for a hug.
No need to panic. It was just a hug. Deep breaths. Wait, no, that sounded like I was sniffing him. Oh god.
“Great,” I repeated as he pulled back from the hug. Jeez, I needed to calm down. I was acting like a crazy person. I downed my glass of wine in three long gulps, burped in his face and gestured toward the bar, then turned and scurried away. I leaned against the bar, pretending to think about what kind of drink I wanted, but in reality I was trying to calm myself down enough to act like a human again. I felt a hand on my arm and flinched, hoping desperately that it wasn’t some guy trying to pick me up. I looked up and found Celia. Phew. But also uh-oh. She was raising an eyebrow at me. Clearly she’d realised that something was up.
“Just getting a drink.”
“Looks like you could use one. Trying to get up the courage to make out with James again?”
“How did you know we – right,” I said, catching on a little too late. “You were guessing.”
She grinned at me. “You’re really gullible.”
“Thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes.
She whistled at me. “Charlie and James sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S –”
“Shut up,” I said, trying to fight back a smile.
“So are you two together now, or are you still pretending you’re just friends?”
I hesitated. What was I meant to say? Sure, I was willing to tell C that James and I had made out, but I didn’t want to tell her about my trust issues until I had more information. She and James were still very close, and I didn’t know whether she was more loyal to me or James. I was pretty sure it was me, but I’d only recently reconnected with her. I couldn’t be sure, and anyway I didn’t want to put her in that situation.
“We’re – um…”
I was saved from answering by a guy who leant across the bar in front of C. He was wearing an actual fedora (seriously! A visual representation of his douchiness) and every fibre of my being screamed that we should get away from him before he started to –
“What’s your name?”
– crack on to her. Too late.
“Celia,” she said. To the casual observer, it might have sounded like she was being polite, but I could hear the thinly concealed rage in her voice. I bit back a smile. This dude was not prepared for what was in store.
“So, where are you from?”
Argh. C’s mum was Korean, and she always got this question from weirdo guys who thought they were being interesting.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Like, what nationality?”
“Australian,” she said slowly.
“Yeah, but like –”
“Literally born in Gerongate hospital.”
“Well, I just wanted to tell you that you’re really cute.”
Vom dot com.
“I know.”
“I like your confidence.”
She shrugged. “I know a hot girl when I see one, and I see one in the mirror every day.”
He grinned. “Not going to disagree. I love Asians.”
To her credit, she didn’t visibly shudder or just scream in his face. She simply said, “And I love vaginas.”
He smiled, glancing at me and then back to Celia. “You suggesting a threesome?”
“Sure,” she said, “but you’re not invited. I’m not into dick, and from what I see that’s pretty much all you are.”
With that, she and I turned to walk away from the bar.
And found ourselves face to face with James McKenzie.
“Nice,” he said, looking amused.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it.”
Smooth, C.
After she’d left, James turned back to me. “You told her?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Well, she kind of suspected.”
“Because you were so obviously pining for me?”
“Oh, you know how I am. Languishing here while I wait for you to call.”
“I thought you might need your sleep after yesterday.”
“I did. I slept in until, like, an hour ago.”
“Not languishing too much, then.”
I shrugged. “You’re not that special.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer the absence of my company a little longer. I’m here to meet someone.” Ouch. Way to let a girl down gently, James. He caught the look on my face and added quickly, “It’s a work thing. Not…”
Well that was a relief. What now, though? How was I meant to get out of this party if I couldn’t leave with James like I normally did? Over McKenzie’s shoulder I caught a glimpse of Adam walking towards the exit, arm-in-arm with the woman from the bar. I shook my head. What a cad.
“I have to go,” said James and my gaze flicked back to him. “Sorry. You could always call in Will to take my place for tonight.”
“I wouldn’t mind Will taking your place permanently. He’s much more reliable.”
James smiled. “If I didn’t know there was absolutely no chance of him taking you up on that offer, I might be jealous.”
I bit back a smile, but before I had a chance to respond with something flirty a thought occurred to me. “Well, maybe I’ll call him anyway. I haven’t had a chance to hang out with him properly lately.”
James nodded. “Good idea. I – sorry, my phone’s ringing.” He rolled his eyes. “I have to go.”
I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage without you somehow.”
He smiled and stepped towards me, then stopped, thinking better of it. For the best, given that my friends were nearby. I was not ready to have that conversation with anyone other than Celia. He reached towards me and squeezed my arm. I slapped him on the shoulder.
> “Bye,” he said, laughing and walking away.
I rolled my eyes at his back. Hard. Then I took out my phone and called Will.
“Fancy picking me up from a party?”
“Why are you at a party on a Tuesday?” He paused. “And why are you calling for a lift home at 7.45?”
I shrugged, then realised he couldn’t see and said, “I always leave my friends’ parties early. It’s like a tradition. It would be weird if I stayed to the end.”
He paused. “It’s truly a wonder you have any friends left.”
Tell me about it. “Are you coming to get me or not?”
“How could I resist when you ask so politely?” he said. “Where are you?”
I gave him the address and organised to meet him out the front in ten minutes. I managed to slip out of the bar unnoticed and headed to the front valet section of the hotel. I jumped into the car when Will pulled up.
“You look nice,” said Will. “Almost like you’re trying to impress someone without looking like you’re trying to impress them.”
Will knew me too well. I rolled my eyes, pretending he was wrong. “Anyone who thinks that deeply about their outfit might be slightly insane.”
“Don’t disagree with you there.”
I hit his arm. Softly, though, because he was driving and I didn’t want to die.
“So, what do you want to do tonight?” he asked. “Now that I’ve sprung you from that horrible gathering of all your friends and the night is yours. Get dressed in our pyjamas and watch terrible movies together?”
I paused, taking a deep breath to steel my nerves. It was now or never. Well, actually, I could ask later. It wasn’t like I was on a tight schedule. I shook myself. It was now or later. But I was choosing now.
“How about you show me that letter Topher left you?”
*** The End ***
Did you like this book? Please leave a review on Amazon – even just one sentence really helps me out. Thank you for your support!
Also by Clare Kauter:
The Charlie Davies Mysteries
Losing Your Head
Unfinished Sentence
Graceless
Short Fuse (Prequel)
Damned, Girl!
Deadhead
Sled Head
Hell’s Belles
About the Author
Clare Kauter is a semi-professional lawn bowls champion and compulsive liar who writes books in her spare time. She describes her books as “mystery with a twist-ery and fantasy with banter-sy" - and advises that if you don’t like puns, you should back away now.
Clare began writing her first novel at age 13, and eventually that book was published as Losing Your Head (the first of the Charlie Davies Mysteries). She also writes the ‘Damned, Girl!’ series, set in a modern fantasy world.
Website: clarekauter.com
Twitter: @clarekauter
Instagram: @clarekauter
Facebook: Clare Kauter
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Have you read
Deadhead
(Damned, Girl! Book One)?
Here’s a bit for you to try…
Chapter One
The lady in my kitchen was stuck up and stupid but I needed her money so I swallowed hard and put on my best Customer Service Fake Smile™.
“Was there anything in particular you’d like me to ask him?”
She was crying into the toilet paper I’d given her when she’d asked me for a tissue. Not that I didn’t have any tissues to give her; there was just something satisfying about watching annoying clients cry into toilet paper. You do what you can to keep yourself amused in this business.
“I just want to know if he’s… happy!” She began to sob with loud, shuddering breaths. I tried my best to look sympathetic, although I suspect my facial expression may have been one of disgust rather than compassion. I didn’t understand crying loudly in front of people. It wasn’t something I did very often. Usually only when I was in a public place and desperately wanted to get my own way. It’s amazing what people will do to get you to shut up. But these tricks don’t work on me.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll make sure to ask. Just before we get started though, I’m afraid we have to discuss the subject of fees. It is much harder summoning the spirit of a deceased animal, as I’m sure you can appreciate – what with the language barrier and all – and hence for animal clairvoyance I charge double my standard rate.”
“No price is too high for my Noodle.”
Excellent.
Now, before you get on your moral high horse and yell at me about taking money from a grief-stricken woman, just hear me out: this was a lady who had disposable income to spend on communing with the spirit of her dead pet. She clearly knew nothing about the spirit realm whatsoever and hadn’t bothered to do any research. She’d just assumed that I could talk to her dog. Now, let’s think about this…
She wanted me to ask. Her dead dog. Questions.
I love animals, but even to me this was a bit far. Firstly, she wanted me to summon the spirit of her dog (and let’s be fair, dogs don’t come when they’re called at the best of times, much less when they’re dead). Spirits don’t just hang around once they die. They pick the conservative party upstairs or wild times for eternity downstairs unless they’ve got some unfinished business to attend to. Most animals, especially pampered pet poodles, do not have ‘unfinished business’. The only ghost animal I’d seen in the last week was a cockroach coming back for a crumb he hadn’t finished. When he realized he couldn’t eat it, he moved on. Animals don’t tend to get hung up on the past. They go with the flow. And if, by some miracle, I did manage to summon a dog, I couldn’t be sure it was her dog, could I? Even if I were sure it was hers, how on earth was I meant to talk to it?
Nevertheless, there was a lot of money at stake here, so I shut my eyes and gave it a go. I took a deep breath and with all my energy, projected my voice into the astral realm….
“Here puppy! Come on, who’s a good boy? Come to Nessa, that’s a good boy. Noodles! Noooooodles!”
Suddenly I heard a bark at my left ankle. I opened my eyes and looked down. To my astonishment, there was a dog there. A ghost dog. I’d actually summoned a dead dog. I looked away from the dog when I heard huffing and chair scraping from across the table.
“I didn’t come here to be made fun of! I hope you don’t expect –”
“Is Noodles a poodle with a pink diamante-studded collar?”
She stopped in her tracks. “You – you actually –”
“Yes,” I said. I was used to this reaction. People always thought I was having a go at them when I spoke to ghosts the way I spoke to normal people. Or dogs. They expected me to put on a sing-songy voice and talk in riddles, with perhaps the occasional head-twitch or possession. Reality was much tamer. Spirits were basically just the same as they used to be, but dead. You tried to talk to a ghost like you see people do on TV and the ghost would think you were crazy.
Noodles had also noticed the lady moving and started growling loudly, teeth bared. Eventually he inched towards her.
“What’s he saying?” she asked.
“Um… Difficult to know right now,” I said.
Noodles had advanced right up to her, no longer growling but doing the dog equivalent of shooting her dirty looks. He lifted his leg and began to wee on her shoe, still glaring at her face.
“How about now?”
Noodles ran back over to me, tail wagging. I leant down and patted him when suddenly he disappeared in a puff. His business in this world had concluded.
“He’s much happier now he’s seen you,” I said, trying not to stare at the ghostly urine dripping from the lady’s foot.
* * *
A breeze rustled the leaves of the fruit trees as the pinkish light of dusk settled over the cemetery across from my house. Some people found it odd that I lived across from a cemetery. I found it calming. If there was one place ghosts didn’t like to
hang out, it was here. You’d only get the occasional newbie passing through, and they tended not to bother me. They had bigger concerns. Like being dead. Besides, it was good for business. When you deal in death, living near a cemetery gives you some street cred.
It had always seemed like a bit of a sick joke to me that Watergrove cemetery was dotted over with a variety of fruit trees. How cruel could you be? The first thing the dead guys would see as they floated up out of the grave would be these very alive trees bearing very edible fruits which they could never again touch. Most of the deadies who ended up at my house whined for several minutes about something to that effect, before moving on to whine about something else. Usually to do with being dead. They had very one-track minds, these ghosts. As though death had taken something away from them. I mean sure, they couldn’t touch anything, but they could be invisible and fly and walk through stuff. Surely it wasn’t that bad.
I wandered out to the herb garden in front of my house and picked some coriander. I was having tacos for dinner, but the coriander also had the added benefit of keeping away any stray ghosts who thought about haunting me. Like most people, ghosts can’t stand the smell of coriander. It’s like garlic and vampires. Taco Tuesday was a good night to keep away all the supernaturals.
Well, almost all of them.
Halfway through mashing up the avocado for my Holy Moly Guocamole (to go with my Salsa-tional Tomato Salsa and Cream-azing Cashew Cream), I heard a weird noise behind me. A squishy noise, like play-dough footsteps. (I don’t quite know what that means either. Just roll with it; it’s poetic.)
I didn’t bother turning around. I knew who it was already. It would be some representative from the Green Wattle Coven, coming to hassle me again to join them. They’d become convinced that I had magical powers ever since three of them turned up when I’d first moved in, promising to rid my house of rodents. Apparently around the cemetery there were big problems with pest animals. When they found out I’d already taken care of the mice and the cockroaches, they were in absolute awe.
