by Natasha Deen
I, meanwhile, tried not to choke on mine. “Sorry?” I set my drink down on the seat that separated me and Nell. We were in the middle row of Tammy’s minivan, scarfing Tin Shack junk food and discussing the weirdness of Kent’s death, the fire, and the vandalism. At least, that was my priority. Anything I could do to steer them away from Serge and the Ouija board was good for me.
“How do you figure?” asked Craig. He sat beside Serge in the last row.
“It’s only logical,” said Tammy.
This from the girl who still thought rainbows had a beginning and end. Still, she was right, and that was weirding me out.
“Serge has been trying to contact the living. Now Kent is dead. It makes sense they’d team up.”
“If we set up a séance, we can confirm that.” Bruce shot me a pointed look from the front passenger seat. “And help both of them cross over.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” I said, “But they weren’t friends in life—”
“Things can change a man, especially death and being trapped in between planes,” said Bruce. “It’s Kent. Trust me.”
“I didn’t know Kent when he was alive,” said Craig, “but from what I’ve heard, he didn’t seem the type to go nuclear. Would he really want to destroy other people’s property?”
“Desperate times,” said Tammy, “call for desperate measures.”
“Hold on. What’s that?” Nell leaned forward and eyed Bruce’s food.
“A hoagie.”
“Why have I not heard of this?” She inched forward and sniffed his sandwich.
I elbowed her in the ribs. “Manners.”
“With him? You’re kidding right?”
“It’s one of the new food items,” said Bruce. “It’s awesome. Pepperoni, Swiss cheese, turkey, roast beef, provolone, Monterrey Jack cheese, salami, bacon, tomato, lettuce—”
“Trade you one of my burgers for half of yours,” said Nell.
“There’s more stuff in the hoagie like mustard, mayo—”
“Great. Less talk, more trade. By the time you’re done listing all the ingredients I’m going to die of hunger.”
“No,” said Bruce. “I mean, there’s a ton of stuff in here. Your burger won’t cut it. Add in your poutine and the yam fries—”
“Half the yam fries—”
“You got a deal.”
“Are you done?” I asked. “Can we get back to the issue at hand?”
“Preach. The choir’s listening.” Nell slid back and started arranging her trade.
“The problem is Serge is trying to move on and Kent’s stuck here,” said Bruce.
Tammy’s eyes widened. “Gee, you don’t think they’ll start fighting, do you?”
“I’d tell them Kent and I have shared a bed,” Serge said. “But I think they’ll misconstrue it.”
Craig hid his laughter behind a cough.
“I still think the deaths are connected,” said Bruce. “There’s no way those guys being killed around the same time is a coincidence.”
“I’ll play this game.” I swallowed some hot chocolate. “But who’d kill Kent? And how does that connect back to Serge?”
“They were both athletes,” Bruce offered.
“Who were two years apart in school.” Nell shrugged at Bruce’s glare. “What? I’m not judging, I’m playing devil’s advocate.”
“More like devil’s right hand,” he muttered. “Okay, what about church. Serge’s dad was the preacher. Was Kent connected to him at all? I mean, the pastor had a thing for—”
“Kent wasn’t a churchgoer,” said Nell.
Bruce scowled and took a savage bite of his hoagie. “Fine. You throw the ideas and I’ll knock ‘em down.”
“I don’t have any ideas,” she said. “Kent was a good guy. There’s no motive to kill him.”
“We’re sure it’s murder,” asked Tammy. “He didn’t just fall?”
I kept quiet. The official medical report wasn’t out yet, and even though I knew Kent died from being bashed on the head and there was a suspicious needle hole in him, I couldn’t tell anyone.
“Of course someone murdered him,” scoffed Bruce. “It’s the same guy who’s trying to kill Maggie.”
I punched him on the arm. “Manners.”
“What? I’m telling you something you don’t know?”
“Something I don’t need reminding of, thanks.”
“Here.” Bruce handed me part of his hoagie. “I’m sorry.”
Nell snatched it from his hand. “Too salty for Mags. I’ll take that bullet.”
“We come back to the same problem,” said Craig. “He was a good guy and there’s no motive to murder him.”
“Uh…I was wondering…did any of you guys ever hear about Kent dating?” I asked oh-so-totally-not-casually.
Bruce shook his head. “That guy didn’t even do birthday parties as a kid.”
“Are you sure? No flirting or…uh…down-low dating?”
Everyone stopped eating and stared at me.
“What’s going on, Johnson?” Nell set down her burger.
“Nothing I was just wondering—”
“You never just wonder.”
“I don’t want to break a confidence—” Oh, stupid move. That just made them lean in.
“Maggie.” Nell’s voice went calm, measured. “We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way—”
I’d seen Nell’s hard way, once. I never wanted to see it again. “Okay, don’t tell anyone but—” I took a breath, hoped Kent and his folks wouldn’t hate me for outing him and said, “—he was gay.”
None of their postures changed.
“And?” Bruce waved his hand. “And then…?”
“And then, nothing. That’s it. He was gay.”
“Oh, geez.” Bruce sat back, disgusted. “I thought it was going to be something good. Who cares if he’s gay?”
“He did,” I said. “He stayed in the closet because he was afraid he’d be judged.”
“That’s so sad.” The fry slipped from Tammy’s hand back into the paper container. “He didn’t have to be afraid to come out.”
“Yeah,” said Bruce. “That’s not a secret worth keeping or killing for. Now, if he’d been a Flames fan—”
“You mean Oilers,” said Tammy.
“Flames—”
“Oilers.”
I raised my hand. “Can we—”
“Maple Leafs?” suggested Tammy.
Bruce went quiet. “Okay, Maple Leafs.”
“Fantastic,” I said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “Now that we’ve accounted for the true motive behind his killing—loving the wrong hockey team—”
“Hey, don’t get snippy.” Nell popped some poutine. “Vancouver went nuts back in twenty-eleven because of hockey.”
“I bet it was some guy from Vancouver that did it,” said Bruce. “Those west coast hippie-Canucks.”
I checked over my shoulder, looking for some support from Craig or Serge.
“Fries?” Craig held out his container to me.
“That’s all you have to say?”
He looked over at Serge, then back to me. “Fries and ketchup?”
“You were one of the guys who bought tickets to the sideshow back in the day, weren’t you?” I took some of his fries.
Craig leaned in. “Enjoy this, Mags. As time goes on and your psychic destiny takes more and more of your focus, these are the things you’ll look back on and wish you could relive.” He sat back. “That’s ten millenniums talking, trust me.”
“I’ll take the hockey theory to Nancy.” I said. “In the meantime, any other theories?”
“The only thing I can think of,” said Craig, “was that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
&nbs
p; “Okay, but he was killed in the forest. How is that the wrong place or wrong time—it’s not like he was off’d by a bear.” Bruce flicked a look at me.
“No.” I held up my hand. “Don’t say it—”
“Unless it was a Boston Bruin.”
We laughed.
“I shouldn’t joke,” said Bruce. “I bet Kent was there meeting somebody. Maybe he was seeing someone on the DL. But Maggie, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and we know it was no bear or NHL’er who tried to take you out.”
I helped myself to some of Nell’s poutine. “What could possibly have—oh!” I slapped the food back down. “I’m such an idiot! I bet I know why he was killed!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A rapid banging started, followed by the unmistakable voice of Nell, demanding to be let in.
“Answer it,” said Serge, “before she takes the door off its hinges.”
“You really got to put an emergency key somewhere,” said Nell when I opened the door. She barged inside and shucked her boots. “It’s cold waiting for you to take your time to answer a doorbell.”
“You mean the point-zero-five seconds you waited before taking matters into your hands and trying to break down the door.”
“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to move faster.” She stopped, sniffed the air like Buddha scenting raw burger. “Nancy here? Did she cook?”
“I made scrambled eggs.”
“OMG! You can’t cook! You’re not going to eat it, though, are you? That’s salmonella!”
“Calm down. Serge supervised.”
“Oh.” She tossed her coat on the banister and headed up the stairs. “In that case, can I have some?”
She jogged into the kitchen and grabbed three plates from the cupboard.
“Two,” I said. “Serge can’t eat.”
She blushed. “Right.” Her phone beeped and she blushed harder and giggled.
“Thank you for not sharing,” I said to Serge.
“How’s Kent doing?” Nell set the plates on the table while I brought the toast and eggs. “Did you find him and check on your theory?”
“Not really. Saying he’s ‘not doing good’ sounds like the world’s worst understatement,” said Serge. “Every time I try to ask him about that night, he closes his eyes and covers his face.”
Nell took a piece of toast, bit into it and slowly chewed. “It’s not always like this, is it? The way people die and move on. Most times it’s…nice, right?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I get the confused dead. Craig’s the better one to ask.”
She reached over and took my hand. “It’s a crap life you lead, lady, but there’s a silver lining.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll never leave your side.”
“That seems more like a storm warning than a silver—ouch!”
“Back to Kent.” Nell went back to eating her toast and eggs. “Wow. This is actually good.”
“Peppers, mushroom, tomatoes, green onions, some parsley, basil—”
“I’m not asking for the recipe,” said Nell. “I’m complimenting you on not turning the eggs into a toxic hazard. Now what do we do about Kent? Does Nancy have any information?”
“Not yet,” said Serge. “They’re sending in a team to check the location of the fire and see if there’s anything they can find in the way of drugs but I’m sure that’s why they set fire to the land in the first place. To destroy whatever they were growing.”
“You really think that’s why he was killed?” Nell asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes any kind of sense.” I pulled a piece of toast to me. “Nancy said the city cops have been calling her about grow-ops on Crown land, Kent jogs all the time and all over the town. Maybe he stumbled on the crop and whoever’s responsible for it saw him, killed him, then burned the crops to get rid of evidence. Maybe he was exactly what he thought: a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time.” My mouth twisted as I considered my theory. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“It’s a good a guess as any,” said Serge. “At least until we can get Kent to talk.”
“Then? What happens next?” Nell paused, fork midway to her mouth.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The fork clattered to the plate. “You don’t know?”
“I’m not a cop. I figure Nancy will talk to the police about gang activity or whatever groups grow drugs in this area and they’ll go from there.”
She shot me an exasperated look.
“What? I transition souls for a living. Solving murders is something else—”
“Serge, where are you?” asked Nell.
“By the window.”
She flailed her arm in his general direction. “You solved his, didn’t you?”
“No. We knew who killed him. We just had to prove it.”
“We don’t have anything on Kent,” said Serge. “And he still doesn’t remember much of anything.”
Nell glanced at the text. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah?” I leaned back in my chair. “What do we have?”
“He was killed over Thanksgiving, his body was dumped in the woods, the murder is tied to the laptop—”
“What about the doctor gossip. Stuff gets around a hospital,” I said. “Did you hear anything?”
“I checked with my sources—”
“Your dad—”
“And he doesn’t know any gossip about Kent.”
Serge came to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Can he even tell you if the gossip was related to work or a patient? Isn’t there something about doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“Yes,” she said, “but there’s also daddy-daughter trust and I don’t break that.” She gave me a wicked grin. “Except right now.”
“Still…” Serge’s freckles bunched together with his frown.
“I have my ways.” She gave us a smug smile and helped herself to more eggs.
“By which you mean you whine and beg until he’s finally gives in.”
“If it works for two-year-olds, then it’s good enough for me. Besides, this town only has seven doctors. It’s more like a club than a profession in Dead Falls. Dad asked around. No one knows anything. Kent was a good guy and everyone liked him.”
“Did your dad know anything about Mrs. Meagher and her medication?”
Nell shook her head. “I’m starting to think she’s self-medicating.”
“That doesn’t sound right. She said ‘they’re adjusting my dosage.’”
“She wouldn’t be the first person to speak about herself in the third person plural,” said Nell. “Try it with me, ‘we are not amused.’” “That’s it.” I took her plate. “No more eggs for you.”
“We are not amused.” She yanked the plate back.
“Funny.” I sat down.
“The pill container she uses to hold the Abriule is an old container,” said Serge. “The label is from a billion years ago and it was a prescription to treat strep throat.”
“I’m going to say it again, she’s self-medicating. If a doctor had really prescribed those meds, they would have come in a proper container. But if they’re being kept in an old bottle, maybe she’s buying them off the internet.”
“Kent paid all the bills,” I said. “So much so, that Mrs. Meagher didn’t even know he was dead because the automatic payments kept going through. Which means she never goes online to check her bank account. Which probably means she doesn’t go online to check any bills. Does that sound like someone with enough tech-savvy to go online and order anything?”
“I suppose not,” Nell sighed. Her phone beeped. “Hold that thought.” She turned her phone so I could see the screen. “We have a problem.”
I took the cell, read the text, and rounded
on Serge. “What did you do!”
“That wasn’t me,” he said, after he’d read the text and stepped back from the phone. “Whatever weird stuff happened last night with the Ouija board, Tammy, and Bruce, that’s on them.”
I read the text again. He visited. And he’s not happy. “Text Tammy back.” I handed Nell the phone. “Ask her what she means.”
She did, and we hovered over the phone, waiting for the responding bing. When it came, our heads pressed together as we read. Too weird to text.
“They have to come over and use the Ouija board,” said Nell.
“You want me dead? I’m already in enough trouble. Can you imagine what Dad will do to me if he finds out I was playing with an Ouija board?”
“You have to do something,” said Nell. “They’re messing with forces they don’t understand. Who knows what they’ll call forth.”
“Nothing,” I said. “They’ll call forth nothing because they’re not supernatural.”
She pointed to the text. “And yet something came through.”
Good point. There was only one thing to do. “Okay, but no Ouija boards.” I texted Craig, then hit the send button.
“It was so weird.” Tammy started talking as soon as she and Bruce came through the front door. “After we hung out last night, Bruce and I thought we’d try to talk to Kent. Let him know that we may have figured out who murdered him. We took out the board”—She kicked off her shoes and tossed her coat to the side —“and started calling on Serge.”
“Wait. You’re contacting Kent by calling Serge? What am I missing?”
“More like what screws are they missing,” muttered Nell.
Tammy wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug scented with citrus perfume. “Serge has been dead longer. We thought he could work as a go between.”
“That’s nice,” said Serge. “They gave me a job in the afterlife. Gopher.”
Nell read his text and snorted. “Ghostpher.”
He laughed.
“We started calling him and suddenly, the board started to shake and rattle,” said Tammy. She started up the steps.
“But no roll?” asked Serge.
I gave him a questioning glance.
He rolled his eyes. “Come on. Doesn’t anyone listen to Elvis anymore?”
