The Death & Loralei Collection

by Judith Post

  Felice heaved a weary sigh. "This isn't about Lesley. The past is past. I've come to terms with it, but the dreams have returned, a new premonition. My health's slipping. This time, I want to find an answer, to prevent another accident before it happens."

  Death's dark brows furrowed. "You think whoever pushed Lesley means to strike again."

  "Yes, I do. And I want you to stop him."

  "Him. You think Lesley's partner killed him." Death's words formed a statement, not a question.

  "Yes, but I'd love to know why. They were friends since grade school, not just partners. They were making more than enough money."

  "Then why suspect him?" Death asked.

  "Because Gordon could be a hothead and quite nasty when he wanted to. I never understood why Lesley was so fond of him. Maybe you overlook someone's flaws when you've known them long enough."

  Loralei shook her head, uncertain. "If you do this, you might not live to see how it plays out."

  Felice cocked her head to one side, her shrewd gaze fixed on Death. "Since I've met you and Mr. Black, I have no fears on that matter. He's everything I hoped he'd be, and your talents are buffered with kindness. If anything happens to me, you'll see it through. So will Lane. I can rest in peace."

  Lane carefully placed his huge hand on Felice's shoulder, gently trying to comfort her. He looked at Loralei. "Let's do this."

  She gave a quick nod. "Scythe?"

  "Why not?" He rose to help her clear the table, grimacing at the empty tart plate. Then he wiped the table clean while she fetched her crystal ball. Ebony came to sit beside her. She never did a reading without her cat.

  "I have to warn you," Death said, "that most spirits revert to their mortal bodies when they return here. If Lesley fell to his death, he may not be a pretty sight."

  Felice waved his concern away. "Lesley will be beautiful to me, even bludgeoned and bloodied."

  Death tossed a meaningful glance in Lane's direction, and the detective moved his chair closer to Felice.

  Loralei placed both of her hands on the crystal ball and concentrated. Her mind left Death and the others. It drifted away from this realm. She felt her spirit lift, too, leave her body, and soon found herself searching in thick mists, calling the name, "Lesley Thrumm!"

  A tall, elegant man approached her. "You've come to lead me to Felice."

  "You knew I was coming?"

  "I keep close tabs on my wife."

  "So you'll return with me to help her for a moment?"

  A smile curved his lips. "For my Felice, anything."

  Loralei had never met such a willing soul. She bound his spirit to hers and knew that her hair would gray and wrinkles would form from the expenditure of energy. Then they started their journey. She could feel her body tugging at her when she neared the cottage. She settled herself into it and opened her eyes. Felice sat across from her, bracing herself to see blood and broken bones, but Lesley arrived in his lustrous, spirit form.

  Death raised an eyebrow, surprised, then turned a thoughtful expression on Felice.

  Felice beamed at her husband. "Lesley, I talk to you each and every night before I fall asleep. Do you hear me?"

  "Every precious word."

  "Then you know why I asked this nice, young lady to contact you."

  Lesley gave a quick nod. "Your suspicions are right. I can show you how Gordon killed me."

  Felice's fingers gripped Lane's hand. "Must we see it? Do we have to watch you fall to your death?"

  Lesley nodded toward the others. "It might help them."

  When Felice gave a quick, jerky nod, mists seeped through the crystal ball to fill the room. Near the French doors that led to the patio, a rooftop courtyard formed. Lesley and a stocky man with red, wiry hair stretched their legs on lawn chairs and touched glasses with each other.

  "Cheers, Gordon! To our new account!"

  Gordon took a quick sip of the amber liquid, then bunched his shoulders. "I'm all for celebrating, Les, but I'm against this new idea of tithing. What company gives five percent to help the poor? It would be smarter to reinvest."

  Lesley waved his argument away. "You get what you give. Besides, if Felice hadn't bought the building, we'd be paying a lot more for rent. It's our way of saying thank you."

  "Buy her diamond earrings or take her on a trip, but leave our profit margin alone." Gordon tipped back his head and downed the rest of his drink. Lesley did the same. Then Gordon poured them each another.

  Lesley shook his head. "No more for me. One's enough."

  "But this is a toast. To my bleeding heart partner and our newfound success! I still don't like this charity idea, though. Just because I'm a minor partner doesn't mean I don't have an opinion." Gordon gulped his second whiskey.

  Lesley took a small sip of his and pushed it away.

  "You're not going to waste that, are you?" Gordon reached for the almost-full glass and downed that drink too. Then he leaned back in his chair, grumbling. He was about to try a different argument when something caught his attention. He pointed to a speck far off in the sky. "What the hell is that? It's sure not an airplane."

  Lesley stood and craned his neck. "It's a hot air balloon. It's going to cross right over us."

  Gordon came to see. "Idiots! What if they don't make it? Where will they land?" He walked to the brick half-wall to get a better view, bumped into it, staggered, and started to tip. Lesley rushed to grab the back of his shirt, struggled to drag him upright. By the time he got him steady and secure, they'd switched positions. He faced Gordon, the back of his knees pressed against the bricks.

  Gordon blinked at him. His gaze shifted to the street below, and a sudden thought seemed to cross his mind.

  Lesley could read his expression. "Gordon, no…."

  "You're always going to side with your sick, little wife, aren't you? Instead of me." Gordon gave a hard shove. Lesley scrambled, fighting to keep his footing. Gordon shoved him harder. Lesley tipped over the edge and kept going.

  The scene melted with the mists.

  Tears filled Felice's eyes. She wiped them away. "Gordon always got mean when he drank."

  Lesley nodded.

  Felice turned to the others. "I feel the same premonition I felt before. Gordon's going to hurt someone again." She exhaled loudly, as though expelling the scene she'd just witnessed, then tilted her head to study Loralei. "Your hair has a thick, white streak in it. You have fine wrinkles. I hope I still have enough energy to help you."

  "No need," Loralei argued. "Lesley was more than willing to return here. He didn't even switch back to his regular form. There was hardly any strain at all."

  "Not our code," Lesley insisted. "We always keep our end of a bargain. A deal's a deal."

  Loralei's eyes went wide with surprise. "But…."

  Lesley nodded to Felice. She pressed her hand to Loralei's. Her gaze met Lesley's and she smiled before her entire body slumped. Then she closed her eyes and sighed a good-bye.

  Death stood and went to her. Lane and Loralei watched as he beckoned her spirit from her body and led her to Lesley. "You knew. That's why you came."

  Lesley took Felice's hand in his. "You spared her from wasting away. Thank you. And good luck with Gordon." A gleaming tunnel slanted behind them. He and Felice turned to the Light and strolled away.

  Lane balled his hands into fists. He pushed out of his chair and began to pace. "How do you get used to this? How can you stand watching people die over and over again?"

  "Be happy for her." Loralei glanced at her reflection in the French door's glass. She touched her hand to her hair, jet black once more. Her wrinkles were smoothed. "Felice wanted to pour the last of her energy into me. She came here, hoping to die."

  Lane took a deep breath, fighting for calm. They gave him a minute. Finally, he cleared his throat and reached for his cell phone, brisk and efficient. Probably his way of dealing with death. "I'll call the undertaker."

  Two hours later, the hearse and cops had come and
gone. They were alone once more. Lane raked a hand through his blond hair. He looked calmer. "What now? Where do we go from here? How do we stop Gordon when we don't know what he's going to do?"

  Death shrugged. "He killed for money before. I'd guess he'll kill for money again. We start digging. When we get enough information, we'll know who's next."

  A good plan. Loralei agreed with him. So did Lane.

  "Sorry I can't stay to help you." Death walked to the front door. "I have work on the Coast. But I'll be back as soon as I can." His gaze went to Loralei. "We didn't have any time to ourselves. And I want some." He crossed the porch and started down the gravel drive. Then he disappeared.

  * * *

  Loralei walked Lane to his car. When she returned to the house, she settled in front of her computer. Ebony curled on her lap. She began with a general search and discovered that Gordon had been a busy man since Lesley's death. Chapters of his life were sprinkled across newspaper headlines. He'd inherited the business, as agreed upon in Lesley's will. It grew and prospered. His wedding made the front page of the social news. Birth announcements proclaimed the arrivals of two daughters.

  Loralei waded through more searches before rubbing her eyes. She carried Ebony into the kitchen, but the cat was bored and went to the French doors. She opened them a crack so that he could come and go as he pleased. She fussed for a while, making herself tea. Finally, she returned to the computer.

  Gordon became a very public personality. He was active in several clubs. His daughters won tennis tournaments. His wife hosted dinners. Loralei followed their progress until both girls were grown. Then Gordon's perfect life hit a wrinkle. His wife divorced him when rumors swirled of an affair. Gordon's finances took a hit with the divorce settlement. He fired the secretary he'd often been pictured with, and from all accounts, put all of his energies back into his work. But the economy tanked just when profits were starting to climb, and his assets sank even lower.

  Sun slanted through the kitchen windows. Loralei glanced at the kitchen clock. Past six-thirty. Her stomach rumbled. She'd had a big enough lunch, she opted for something small for dinner—a mayo and tomato sandwich on thick slices of homemade bread.

  She'd tired of searching through Gordon's life, so went outdoors to work in her flower beds. A bat cavorted in the sky, anxious for the insects she'd upset while pulling weeds. Bats meant dusk. She scooped up her wilting discards and tossed them in the compost bin, then went to a lawn chair to watch the sun set.

  Stars twinkled when she finally went indoors. She made more tea and picked up the book she was reading. When she woke the next morning, she'd never left the couch. Ebony snuggled against her side. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee drifted to her. She sat up, gazing into the kitchen. Death poured her a mug and brought it to her, along with one for himself.

  He smiled at her. "You're lovely when you sleep."

  She rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous. You hardly ever get to. It's a good thing it's not necessary for you, only a luxury."

  His dark eyes lit with passion. "It's not sleep I crave. It's lying next to you."

  She rolled her shoulders. "My muscles are stiff. Ebony hogged the couch last night. I slept all cramped up."

  Death put down his mug and reached for the cat. "Lucky bastard, you've got it made."

  Ebony arched his back and jumped to the floor, then went to the French doors. Death rose to let him out. "You know that cat is spoiled, right?"

  Loralei stood, too, and stretched. "Doesn't every cat train its owner?"

  She carried their mugs to the oak table and sat down. She motioned toward the open laptop. "Gordon's wife divorced him, and his company's having money troubles. That's where I left him last night."

  He came to stand behind her. His hands circled her shoulders, then slid lower to her breasts. "I had to leave so fast yesterday…."

  His touch was like a pebble in a pond, sending ripples of pleasure all through her. "You warned me you couldn't stay, but thank you for being here when Felice came."

  He lowered his head to kiss her throat, just below the jawline. His fingers began to slide beneath her bra, then his entire body shuddered, and he stepped back.

  "Damn it!" His face looked grim.

  Her body ached, craving more, but she knew that look. "You're needed?"

  He gave a curt nod.

  "Right now?"

  He sighed. "I have to go."

  She watched him stalk across the living room and out the front door. As he crunched down the gravel drive, his jeans and T-shirt billowed into a black robe. White bones glistened in the sunlight. And he was gone.

  She poured herself another mug of coffee, turned on some music, and willed her body to relax. This was one of the hazards of being Death's mistress. When enough people died in some horrible way, he was needed.

  She glanced outside. The light was perfect for painting. She grabbed her easel and carted it onto the patio. A half hour later, she was lost in her work.

  * * *

  Death didn't return until almost midnight. He wasn't in the mood for romance. He rarely talked about his job, but this must have been especially unpleasant. She didn't ask. She just snuggled close to him and drifted back to sleep.

  In the morning, they took their time, enjoying each other's company, finishing what they'd begun, before they made their way downstairs. Loralei felt rejuvenated. Spending time with Death always did that to her. She wanted a hearty breakfast—scrambled eggs, fried bacon, and French Toast. Death laughed when they carted the food to the table.

  "Do you think we made enough?" He dug into the bacon.

  He might tease, but when they finished, everything was gone. They did clean-up together, making small talk, listening to music, occasionally dancing around the kitchen. They did what they could to make the moment last. And then they returned to the computer and dug for more facts on Gordon.

  It didn't take long. His pictures started making the social columns again—always with the same woman—a very rich widow. In less than a year, their wedding made the front page of the metro section. Loralei pointed to the date. Two years ago. And Gordon's photos were already starting to appear at local events alongside the secretary whom he'd fired before his first divorce.

  "The man has a lot of nerve," Death murmured.

  "For him, it's all about money."

  "Not when it comes to his secretary." Death studied the woman's picture. "She has a hard look about her."

  "That's probably why he likes her. They have a lot in common."

  Death's lips curled into a smile. "Living with me is beginning to jade you a little."

  "It comes with age, doesn't it? You realize that there are people with very few redeeming qualities, who hurt other people. Gordon and his girlfriend both strike me that way."

  Ebony padded through the open patio doors, carrying a limp chipmunk in his mouth. Death pushed to his feet, too late. Ebony dropped it to the floor, where it opened its eyes, and took off. Inside the cottage.

  "Cat! How many times have I told you….?" Death pointed a finger at the scurrying, striped animal and it froze in place. He scooped it up to carry it outside.

  "Can you do that to people?" Loralei left the computer to follow him. Ebony curled on the rag rug by the front door and began licking his front paw, as unrepentant as usual.

  "Not if they resist, and most do." Death crossed the yard to the largest flower bed and released the chipmunk. It bolted for safety.

  It was a beautiful day, sunny and comfortable—in the mid-70s—Loralei's favorite temperatures. Mums bloomed in whites, rusts, and golds. Orange pumpkins dotted the vegetable garden. A little, transparent girl sat beside the koi pond, watching the fish.

  Tammy!

  Loralei stalked toward her. "We need to talk."

  Tammy shrugged slim shoulders. "Hi, Loralei. Hi, Death."

  Death shook his head at her. "No one's come for you yet?"

  Tammy trailed her fingers through the pond's fountain. Habit
. Ghost fingers didn't get wet. "Mom never wanted me when she was here. Why would she want me now?"

  "You don't need anyone," Loralei told her. They'd had this discussion before. "Death can take you to the Light. And once you leave here, you'll never want to come back."

  "That's what you say." Tammy patted her lap for Ebony. The cat, like Loralei, had no problems with ghosts. He glanced at Death, determined his bad mood had passed, and jumped onto the spot where Tammy sat, looking as though he were sitting on her lap.

  Loralei went to plop on the bench close to them. "I have to bind most peoples' spirits to my own and force them to come back with me. They don't want to. They're radiant and happy, and don't want to leave their new home."

  Tammy looked around the yard, at the trees and the gardens. "I like it here."

  "You'll like it better in the Light."

  Tammy glanced at the sun, past its peak. "I promised Chris I'd meet him at the barn this afternoon."

  "Chris?" Death raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Tammy's gaze slid away from his. "A kid I met after I died."

  "He's dead too?" Loralei asked.

  "Been dead a long time. A horse kicked him in the head & killed him. Told me he didn't realize he was gone until his Pa couldn't see or hear him."

  Loralei gave her a long, considering look. Was Chris the reason Tammy didn't want to leave? "If you bring Chris here, we could help both of you go to the Light."

  Tammy stood, her image sliding through Ebony. She pursed her lips, considering the idea. "I'll ask him."

  Death gave her a reassuring smile. "You could go together."

  "Maybe." Tammy turned and started toward the trees, fading as she went.

  Loralei stood too. She started for the house. "I want to see if I can find anything else on Gordon."

  "Let's walk around the property first. It's so quiet, so relaxing." They made a circle of the yard's perimeter and were heading to the house when Tammy returned. This time, she brought her friend.

  Hope bubbled in Loralei's breast. Tammy wouldn't return so soon unless she was considering leaving here.

  "Is this Chris?" Death asked.

  The boy, a tangle of long arms and legs, raised his chin. He looked to be a couple years older than Tammy, maybe twelve or thirteen with shoulder-length, soft brown hair. He wore dark breeches, a checkered, button-down shirt, and suspenders. He reminded Loralei of Almanzo from the Little House on the Prairie novels. "Tammy told me she heard you two talkin' 'bout a man named Gordon. I know someone by that name, a nasty person. He gonna hurt Miz Rosalie if nobody stop him."