Grim Expectations (Aisling Grimlock Book 5)

by Amanda M. Lee

  Grim Expectations

  Aisling Grimlock Book Five

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  31. Thirty-One

  32. Thirty-Two

  33. Thirty-Three

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Copyright © 2016 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  One

  “I would rather not.”

  “But … you have to.”

  “Still, I would rather not.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll cry.”

  I pursed my lips as I regarded the petulant countenance of Petunia Dandridge. No, I’m not making it up. That’s her real name. I double-checked my file and everything. The portly woman was dressed in an oversized white dress sporting more pink rose buds than a floral shop could shake a stick at during prom season. Her beefy arms were crossed over her chest and the glare she lobbed in my direction meant business. Unfortunately for her, this was my last bout of business for the day, so I was in something of a hurry.

  “I really don’t want to,” I hedged, forcing a smile even though I wanted to unleash a bevy of four-letter words and kick the stubborn spirit in her special place. Oh, don’t worry. Even though she doesn’t have male parts, it still hurts. I know from personal experience with my arch nemesis. Yeah, I have an arch nemesis. It’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds.

  Petunia was dead but undeterred. “You have to do it,” she argued. “I won’t go with you unless you do it, and I have a feeling you need my cooperation to do … whatever you plan on doing with that stick in your hand.”

  She was wrong. I’m a grim reaper – no joke – and the scepter she gestured toward absorbs souls and prepares them for ferrying whether the deceased wants to play nice or not. “You’re wrong.”

  Petunia wasn’t convinced. “It’s just one last tea party … and a few emails,” she challenged. “What do you have going on that’s more important?”

  Well, that was a loaded question. Even if I could ignore my charges – which wasn’t an option if I wanted to get paid – that didn’t mean I had nothing in my personal planner today. I was moving in my with my boyfriend, Griffin Taylor, and I had to finish packing soon or he would throw away all of my shoes. I needed to spend quality time with my best friend and current roommate, Jerry, because if I didn’t he would cause a public scene, and no one wants that. Oh, and that’s on top of my back-from-the-dead mother possibly wandering around munching on souls when she thinks no one is looking. Yeah, I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one, too.

  My name is Aisling Grimlock and I’m a mess. I have a job I hate – okay, only sometimes – and a life I’m trying to arrange in a manner that at least appears less messy and more organized. Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it, too. That essentially means I don’t have time for tea parties and emails, though.

  “I don’t like tea,” I offered, opting to change tactics. “I mean, I like it when it’s over ice and mixed with vodka or something, but tea by itself is pretty boring.”

  Petunia made an outraged face. “Tea is what ladies drink.”

  “I’m not a lady.”

  Petunia looked me up and down. “Are you one of those he-she people I’ve been hearing about on the news?” She didn’t look thrilled with the prospect. “If so, don’t you dare use my bathroom.”

  I wasn’t insulted that she thought I might be transgender. That doesn’t bother me in the least. I was insulted that she thought my shoulders were wide enough to once belong to a man, though. I’m not exactly thin, but I don’t look like a linebacker either. “Not last time I checked.”

  “Are you sure?” Petunia was dubious. “You look like you could be a man. Let me see in your pants.”

  I took an involuntary step back from her. “No way!”

  “I knew it!”

  “I wouldn’t crow so loudly,” I suggested. “You don’t know anything. I’m not a man in women’s clothing – and I’m a size eight, mind you, so no man could fit in these pants – but that doesn’t mean I’m dropping my panties for you. I barely do that for my boyfriend.”

  “What does your boyfriend think about you having a penis?”

  In her head, I figured Petunia thought she was embarrassing me. I grew up with four brothers and an evil arch nemesis. I’d already forgotten more embarrassing moments than Petunia could possibly deliver. “He doesn’t care as long I don’t drool on his chest during the night,” I replied. “He’s pretty open to new things.”

  That wasn’t exactly an exaggeration. Since hooking up with me, Griffin has discovered that paranormal beings are real (and often evil), my best friend has no boundaries and will walk in on us in the tub without knocking, and my father keeps a shotgun handy for when Griffin gets handsy. That’s on top of my aforementioned mother coming back from the dead and possibly eating people. Very little shocks Griffin. He’s a saint in my book … and I’m not just saying that because he’s smoking hot and looks amazing naked.

  “Oh, you’re one of those, aren’t you?”

  “One of those what?”

  “One of … those,” Petunia intoned, drawing out the final word as if she was explaining new math to me and I had no choice but to understand it.

  “I don’t know what that means,” I said, tapping my scepter against my forearm to remind her I was on a timetable. “Don’t you want to go to … wherever it is you’re going?” In truth, I forgot to check the file for Petunia’s final resting place. Even though she seemed mean, judgmental and nasty, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t end up with a posh spot in one of the good places. You have to be a real asshat to go to one of the bad places these days. They have overcrowding issues.

  “I want you to have a tea party with me,” Petunia said. “That’s my favorite thing to do. Then I have some emails that need to be sent. If you do that, I promise to … jump into that stick.”

  I had a sinking feeling Petunia’s real problems stemmed from the fact that she had tea parties as an adult and didn’t spend enough time with a different form of stick, but I kept that to myself. “I don’t like tea,” I repeated. “I think it tastes like ass. That’s not a euphemism or anything. I literally think it tastes like ass.”

  “You’re a horrible person.”

  Surprisingly enough, she wasn’t the first person to tell me that. Heck, she wasn’t the first person to tell me that today. My brother Aidan, who also happens to be Jerr
y’s boyfriend and is taking over my spot in the townhouse so he and Jerry can live together, told me the very same thing when I used the last of the hot water before his shower this morning. Right now four of us were living under the same roof until the townhouse next door – the one Griffin and I were moving into – was ready. Things were tense, to say the least.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I’m not drinking tea. I don’t care how much you pout. By the way, you’re not even very good at it. I’ve been pouting to get my way since I was three and I’m much better at it than you. I’d give you pointers, but it seems kind of pointless now.”

  Petunia huffed out an angry sigh. “Then send my emails. We’ll compromise.”

  I couldn’t help but be suspicious. “What emails?”

  “Just agree to do it and we’ll get it done and out of the way,” Petunia said. “I mean, how hard is it to send out a few emails?”

  Apparently I was about to find out. “Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’ll send two emails. That’s all.”

  “Five.”

  “Two.”

  “Five.”

  “Two.”

  “Five or I’ll never go anywhere with you!” Petunia was close to losing it. That would only compound my problems.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll send five emails.”

  Petunia was all smiles. “Great. Let’s get started.”

  “THE THIRD thing I want you to know is that your breath smells like rotting fish,” Petunia recited, floating behind me as I tapped out her message on the computer keyboard. “You’re also a close talker and it’s hard to run away from fish breath when you refuse to back up. It seriously smells like something crawled in there and died. Maybe we finally know what happened to that cat that ran away years ago.”

  It seems Petunia’s emails weren’t touching final messages to loved ones – or even important business missives. No, Petunia’s final words were hateful missives to people she was forced to drink tea with over the years – and boy, could she hold a grudge. I was starting to like her. Er, well, I was starting to like her a little more than when I first met her.

  “Oh, make another paragraph,” Petunia instructed. “I want Delia to know that her husband once put his hand on my butt at a tea party.”

  I ran my tongue over my teeth as I considered her instructions. “Do you really want to do that? She probably already knows that her husband is a lecherous groper. Maybe she likes it.”

  “Who would like that?”

  I shrugged. “I kind of like it when my boyfriend gropes me. It’s especially fun when he does it in my father’s house and Dad catches us. Griffin’s face gets all red and Dad swears he’s going to shoot him. It’s kind of a fun little game we all share.”

  Petunia didn’t say anything, and when I risked a glance over my shoulder I found her glaring at me.

  “You sound like a horrible daughter,” Petunia said finally. “How does your family put up with you?”

  “I’m adorable and they love me.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Petunia argued. “How do they really put up with you?”

  “My mother recently came back from the dead and she’s probably evil,” I answered. “I’m the least of their worries right now.”

  “Well, that makes more sense,” Petunia sniffed. “Write that final paragraph. I’m not joking.”

  “Fine.” I tapped out a few sentences and then pressed the “send” button before turning around. “We’re done. It’s time to go.”

  Petunia balked. “I have another email to send.”

  “I said I would do five. That was the fifth. We’re done.”

  “But … I’m not ready to go,” Petunia whined. “I had so much more life left to live.”

  “Oh, you sound like a soap opera,” I groused. “You’re still going to have life left to live on the other side. You just won’t be living. You’ll be … hanging out as a soul and stuff.” I honestly have no idea what people do on the other side. Huh. I should probably ask my brothers about that. Reaping is a family business. Someone has to know what souls do once they cross over.

  “You have no idea what’s going to happen to me, do you?” Petunia was bordering on shrill. “How can you transport me someplace and have no idea what happens to me once I get there? That’s not how a proper business works.”

  “That’s how every business works,” I argued. “Do you think pilots care what happens to you in Disney World once you get off their plane? Do you think cab drivers care what happens to you when they drop you off in the middle of Detroit during a storm?”

  “Well … no. This is different, though.”

  It was different. I couldn’t muster the energy to care, though. “It’s time to go,” I said, adopting my most pragmatic tone. “I promise you’re going to enjoy the trip.” That was a total lie. I had no idea if souls were even aware of what was happening when they were being transported. “This is really going to be a good thing for you. I promise.”

  Petunia was desperate to delay me. “Do they at least have tea?”

  I had my doubts about souls imbibing anything – which is why I never want to die because going without alcohol seems like cruel and unusual punishment – but there was no way I could admit that to her. “You can have awesome tea parties with famous people.”

  “Oh, well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Petunia said, straightening. “I’m ready. I want to have tea with the queen.”

  I considered asking if drag queens would work, but that seemed the wrong way to go. “Great,” I said, gripping the scepter tighter. “Go with … Lemon Zinger and multiply.”

  I LET myself out of Petunia’s house five minutes later after dusting any surfaces I might’ve touched. I was slightly worried someone would notice the discrepancy between her time of death and the timestamp on the emails, but it was too late to take my actions back.

  That’s the story of my life really. I act before I think. It’s a family curse.

  In the grand scheme of things, I didn’t think it would matter. Petunia died of a heart attack – probably triggered by the caffeine from all the tea – and I didn’t expect anyone to conduct an investigation into her death.

  Since she was my final task of the day, I was in a good mood as I hopped down the steps and headed for the sidewalk. The feeling lasted only a few seconds, right up until my mother stepped on the concrete and cut off my avenue of escape.

  “Hello, Aisling.”

  I sucked in a breath to calm myself. I was still getting used to the fact that she was back … and that she kept popping up randomly while I was on jobs. My family believed she died in a fire years ago only to find out she’d been held captive and possibly turned into a soul-sucking wraith behind our backs. Part of me felt sorry for her. The other part couldn’t shake the feeling that she was evil and would kill us all. What? I already told you I’m dramatic.

  “Mom,” I acknowledged, nodding. “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” Mom said, forcing a wide smile. She was unnaturally pale and her dark hair was shot through with gray. The first time I saw her after her return she had dark veins marring her pretty features. The veins had faded – which only added to my suspicion – but that didn’t mean she resembled the mother I remembered. “How are you, Aisling?”

  We’d adopted something of a formal manner when interacting over the past few weeks. I was mostly to blame. She wanted me to pretend everything was okay and go back to a life I’d long since released. I couldn’t do that, though. I didn’t trust her.

  “I’m good,” I said. “I’m … busy. Griffin and I are moving into the new place and we have a lot of work to do on Dad’s end because the Grimley family has gone off the grid.”

  Mom perked up at the news. “I remember the Grimley family,” she said. “What happened to them?”

  “I have no idea. Dad only said they were out of the loop for the foreseeable future and we have to pick up more charges. I’m not thrilled with it, but what are you goi
ng to do?”

  “That’s a healthy attitude,” Mom said. “Fighting the inevitable is something only fools do.”

  That felt like a pointed jab. “Uh-huh. What are you doing here, Mom?”

  “Oh, I saw your car and thought maybe we could have lunch,” Mom said. “I mean … that’s what mothers and daughters do, right?”

  It’s almost four,” I pointed out. “I’m going home to Griffin.”

  “Oh, right.” Mom looked legitimately disappointed. “Well, you said you’re moving into your new place with Griffin. Perhaps we can go shopping together. You’re going to need things to decorate … and towels and stuff.”

  She wasn’t wrong. That didn’t mean I wanted to spend time with her while being forced to pick out household items I didn’t care one iota about. “I really can’t,” I said, internally cringing at the sad look on her face. “I promised Jerry he could do all of that. He’s still not happy about me moving, and I needed to bribe him with shopping to get him off my back.”

  “You’re moving right next door, though.”

  “It’s still a big change for him,” I said. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you, but … Jerry would pitch a fit.”

  “Jerry could go with us,” Mom offered. “I’ve always loved him.”

  There was no way I was going to let that happen. If Mom really was snacking on souls, Jerry might make a tasty-looking morsel. I would protect him with my life – and especially her life – if it came to it. “I can’t, Mom,” I insisted, steeling my heart against her sad expression. “We’re just so busy right now and I don’t have the time. Maybe … down the road or something … things might change.”

  “Of course,” Mom said, taking a step back and giving me room to move down the sidewalk. “I’ll keep trying to catch you on a good day when you have time.”

  “That sounds great,” I lied, not bothering to glance over my shoulder as I headed to my car. “Have a nice day.”