Chapter 4

The few hours of sleep I got before I had to wake up, get dressed, and drive Matty down to Bonaventure to pick up Pascal for his shift weren't enough to deal with the bombshell Harrow had dropped in my lap.

He hadn't turned me in. It didn't sound like he planned on it either. Unless I failed to cooperate.

But if I lent him my expertise, told him the full story, I might end up confessing to a whole lot more than he could pin on me without me acting as the unwitting guide to my own self-destruction.

"Aren't you going to ask me about my date?"

"I'm sorry, Matty, I forgot." I packed away my worries. "How was your date?"

"I was kidding." He elbowed me. "You had a rough night, and your morning wasn't much better."

"Still." I pulled into the cemetery parking lot, next to the restrooms. "I want to hear about it."

The small building waited a dozen yards away, so we had to chat fast before he conked out for the day.

"Keisha is nice." He got out and waited for me to join him. "We went bowling, and she let me win."

"I like her already." I looped my elbow through his arm. "Are you guys going out again?"

"I want to, but I like her." He walked under a live oak, and even though he knew better, he tugged free a string of Spanish moss he twirled around his finger. "She doesn't know what I am, how my condition will progress. It's not fair to start something with her when I don't know how long I'll be around."

To avoid breaking hearts, aside from his own, he avoided the girls he liked to spare them.

"Asking her on a second date isn't asking her to marry you." I squeezed his bony shoulder, hating how he lived like he was dying. "Just something to think about."

We reached the restrooms, and he ducked into the men's side to check that the stalls were empty.

When he didn't pop out again, I counted to ten then followed him in, blushing the whole time, certain one of these days I would get caught in there and have a lot of explaining to do.

"Would you feel better if I waited for you next door in the mornings, Francita? I bet the ladies' room is nicer." The silver-blue outline of Pascal Suarez drifted down from the ceiling. "I'm willing to take one for the team."

"Um, no." I held out my hand, focused on our connection, and he linked our fingers. "That's not happening. Stay on your side, Suarez."

"Hey." His features blurred in this shape, but I swear I saw him wink. "I'm looking out for you here."

"Mmm-hmm." I was used to the flirtatious youngest Suarez and knew he was teasing. "I bet."

Matty noticed our handclasp—my side of it anyway—and meshed our fingers on the opposite side. They both knew the drill. I already had their consent, so I didn't require words or tools to guide Pascal into his host. I held on to them, allowing each of their energies to flow through me to the other. Then I let Pascal go, moved behind Matty, and kept my grip light on his upper arms while Pascal walked slowly into him.

"I'm good," Pascal reported a few seconds later. "Ready to go?"

After a lightheaded moment passed, I nodded, and he stuck his head out to scout for visitors.

"The coast is clear." He waved me on. "Put some pep in your step."

Hustling before we got caught, which would make our morning pickups even more awkward, I waited to question him until we had both strapped in for the short ride home. "What time did you go to bed?"

Spirits didn't sleep so much as they learned how to zone out for long stretches of time to recharge.

"Dusk." He popped his knuckles in rapid succession. "I knew I had to wake up early for work."

"I went for a run this morning." I braced for his reaction. "And I met someone."

"Of course, you did." He tipped his head back. "Francita, when I told you that life is short and you should get out and meet people, I didn't mean picking up glooms in the cemetery. This guy— He is alive, right?"

"Um."

"You don't know if he was alive?"

Thinking back, I should have asked myself that sooner. "He did say he was no good with the living."

"Ay, Dios."He closed his eyes. "I knew I should have made Matty take you clubbing."

"Hard no to clubbing." I angled my body toward him. "The spirits thought the guy was spooky."

"Guys who hang around graves to pick up women are generally."

"I see now I went about this wrong." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "The idea of me interacting with a male of the species is so shocking, you didn't make it past that. But this could be important. I didn't get beyond Leigh's grave before the spirits begged me to leave. They told me to run or he would devour me."

"Devour you?" A shudder rippled through him. "That doesn't sound good."

"You have no idea what they meant?"

"No." He rubbed the back of his neck. "What can you tell me about him?"

"He was tall. Pale. He dressed well. He was polite. Apologetic even. For startling me." I noticed the time and backed out slowly. "I got a call, checked the ID, and he was gone when I looked up."

"I don't like this." He started bouncing his leg. "I'll talk to Pedro and Paco tonight, see what they know."

"Thanks." I puffed out my cheeks. "I've never seen him before, so I doubt I'll see him again."

That didn't stop me from wondering what he had been doing there in the first place or how he got mud all over his clothes.

"I left it on."A white blur zipped across the front of my office. "I know I did. I just know it."

A quick check of my watch confirmed it. Yep. Night had fallen. Barely. It was just dark enough for one of my regulars to pop in with a frantic plea for me to lease to her for an hour.

Mrs. Minchin died with the belief she had left her stove on and that her house would burn down. No matter how many times she leased from me, she had a phobia strong enough to anchor her to her grave and a husband who enjoyed her weekly visits enough to keep paying for her to lease whenever the urge to check that her appliances were unplugged, or at least turned off, became too overwhelming.

As a matter of fact, he enjoyed it so much, he became a vampire to give them more time together.

Who says happily ever afters only happen in the movies?

"How about I call Mr. Minchin?" I blinked away the invoices I had been sending. "He can?—"

"Bertie doesn't know how the stove works. He's a man. It's a gas range too. What if he blows himself up trying to figure it out?" She shook her head. "No. It's better if I go. Maybe I can get a pot roast started in the slow cooker. He can't do much harm with that." She hesitated. "The dials are clearly labeled but..."

Mrs. Minchin might start out wanting an hour to run home and check her stove, but it spun out into her meal prepping and freezing dinners. It often ended with her cleaning the house from top to bottom and mending a few items of his clothing.

Meal prepping. For a vampire. Too bad she didn't know he would rather sip a bag of O positive than her homemade tomato soup.

How long could he hide his fangs from his wife? I gave it a few decades before she caught on. It was easy to dupe her with her infrequent visits. I only knew about his conversion because he warned me ahead of time to tell her he was out of town on a business trip while he recovered from the taxing ordeal.

"I'm sure he'll be okay." As sure as I was she wouldn't return until after she visited with her husband, her kids, and her grandkids. Then fed them dinner and sent them home with enough leftovers to feed them for a week. "Let me see what I have in stock."

"Whatever you have is fine." She spun the wedding band on her ring finger. "I'm not picky."

A prickle stung my nape as I switched over to the slim laptop I kept locked in a hidden drawer in my desk where nosey nellies couldn't find it. After logging on with two-step authentication, more grateful for the extra security than ever with Harrow sniffing around, I checked the coded spreadsheet where I tracked available loaners.

Bright-red text caught my eye, a reminder Ormewood was overdue.

Resolving to handle that accounting error later, I skimmed available options for one that would suit Mrs. Minchin's needs and preferences. For all that she wasn't choosy, I pampered my repeat clients.

"Bronco has been primed and is ready to go." I pulled up the photo of a brunette woman to refresh Mrs. Minchin's memory. "Tahoe wouldn't take but a minute to prep." I switched to a headshot of a redhead. "Do you have a preference?"

With illusions blurring their features, looks weren't important. She couldn't go wrong either way.

"Bronco is fine." She smoothed her hands down her front. "The faster, the better."

Careful to log out of the laptop, I resecured it then waved Mrs. Minchin into the garage with me. "Wait here, please."

Crossing to the wall beside the tire racks, I counted four rivets down the metal seam and three over then mashed the hidden button. A domed light mounted on the ceiling flashed warning colors only spirits and those who saw them could perceive. The same was true of the shrill bursts of sound in a high range very few could hear.

The warning system had been Pedro's idea. It alerted clients, in flesh or spirit, to stand clear for safety's sake before I escorted them down into the showroom for a pickup or a return.

Josie couldn't see or hear it, but Matty could when he was hosting one of the Suarezes.

With him working in the garage, and her rarely indoors, he was the one to accommodate.

Sixty seconds later, the warning timed out, and I activated the hydraulic lift in the second bay, extending it fully. Stepping under it, I reached for a hidden lever in the floor that rumbled once before sliding down into what appeared to be a service pit. Having a lift over a service pit? A bit odd, I admit. Most shops had one or the other. But since it was just the one, we blamed it on the building's previous owner being eccentric when someone noticed it.

With the platform at its lowest, I could see the door leading into the showroom. I paid a good witch a lot of money to conceal it from anyone without the sight. She didn't ask what was behind it, and I didn't tell her. Both of us were satisfied with that arrangement.

To anyone else, the pit had smooth concrete sides.

To me, the outline of the entrance glowed white like starlight in front of me.

All I had to do was reach for the inset handle, recessed into the wall, give it a firm pull, then step into the spacious basement where four bodies stood in glass cases. Macabre? Maybe. Displaying my goods was a necessary part of the job, though, and the donors knew what they were signing up for.

"I've always liked that you play music for them." Mrs. Minchin drifted to her chosen loaner for however long she ended up leasing this time. "You treat them with such respect. It's the reason I keep coming back. You're kind, to them and to us."

As much as I hated the hum of absolute silence, I couldn't bear leaving the loaners with nothing but the muffled shop noises for company. I had hang-ups about leaving them in the dark too. Each one got their own nightlight that clicked on when the lights went out.

"They're doing us a great service." I unlocked Bronco's case. "This is the least I can do for them."

Donors made it possible for me to earn a living and the dead to tidy their unfinished business in person.

The process for seating a spirit in a loaner was different than when the Suarezes entered Matty.

For him, I required permission from both body and spirit to bond the two for a short period of time.

For loaners, I only required permission from the spirit, and it could inhabit the donor body for weeks.

"Thank you for humoring an old woman." She patted my cheek, but I only felt a rush of cool air. "I know I must drive you crazy."

"I'm happy to give you peace of mind." I pricked my finger with a sterile lancet from a glass jar I kept on my desk, using the drop of blood to mark the loaner's forehead. "Timor mortis conturbat me."

The fear of death confounds me.

Mrs. Minchin, an old pro at this, stepped into the loaner, her presence giving it a silvery outline.

Tearing open a single alcohol pad, I cleaned the loaner's forehead. "Vita mutatur, non tollitur."

Life is changed, not taken away.

A gasp filled the space, and Bronco opened her eyes and clutched at the sides of her display case.

"Give it a minute." I took her by the elbow and guided her to a plush chair. "Let me get your juice."

From a small fridge in the corner, I removed an apple juice box, stuck in the straw, and handed it to Mrs. Minchin. She sipped it all in one go then gazed longingly at the fridge. But she knew the rules too well to ask for a second. Loaners could eat and drink, but it wasn't necessary. I preferred they didn't for obvious reasons. Abusing the privilege got you slapped with a hefty surcharge to make up for the time it took to, um, clear the pipes before a new lessee could take possession.

"How do you feel?" I rested a hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to walk around for a minute?"

"That always helps, doesn't it?" She let me help her stand then took cautious steps with my support before I turned her loose to adjust on her own. "You wouldn't think it, but balancing a body is hard."

"There are a lot of things the living take for granted that the dead have to relearn." I watched to be sure she was fully seated. "You wouldn't believe how many bruises the loaners get from first-timers. They run into walls, into doors, into people. They're used to slipping through obstructions and have to remember to go around them."

"I've done that myself a time or two," she confessed, "and I have more experience than most."

On that topic… "Do you need me to recite the rules, or can you do it for me?"

No matter how familiar with the process, no one left without reaffirming the leasing agreement.

"Do no harm." She lifted a finger. "Break no laws." She lifted another. "Honor the donor." She lifted another. "Secrecy is key." A final finger rose, a blush along with it. "No physical acts of intimacy."

In my opinion, the no-sex rule fell under honor the donor. Anything else was a violation of the loaner and an act of necrophilia, even if it didn't feel that way at the time…

Ahem.

The shop policy recital was more to remind newbies of my unbreakable rules for any tempted to do as they pleased then cite a loophole. I made a habit of not mentioning they were bound from those acts. Call it a test of good faith. They might try, on accident or on purpose, but they couldn't commit forbidden acts.

Which made the possibility of Ormewood as a killer that much more disturbing.

If I didn't know Mrs. Minchin so well, if she didn't live so close to the shop, I wouldn't have risked leasing to her until I resolved the matter of Ormewood with Harrow. But I did, she did, and I couldn't afford to be afraid of operating my business as usual.

More than that, I refused to believe Ormewood was the result of negligence on my part. Carelessness put me at risk, which put my family at risk, and I never gambled with their safety.

"Are you all right, dear?" She touched my elbow, her skin lukewarm. "You look pale."

"I haven't eaten." Not a lie since I skipped lunch. "I'll be fine once I get some food in me."

"I'll bring you back a casserole," she decided on the spot. "The chicken and poppyseed one you like."

"Thank you." I opened the door then exited into the pit. "Those buttery crackers on top are fantastic."

Gripping her elbow, we rode up to where we began, and I lowered the lift to cover our tracks.

"You good?" Pascal called from his side of the shop, his voice muffled by a couple tons of car above him. "Everything go okay?"

"The lease has been finalized," I assured him. "I'm going to take Mrs. Minchin home now."

Her eyesight hadn't been great in life, so she preferred not to drive, even with her loaner having 20/20 vision. Her husband had offered multiple times to pick her up and drop her off, but she appeared on a whim, and I didn't mind playing taxi for my best client.

"I'll be finished up when you get back." His voice grew muted once more. "Drive safe."

"I always do."