Dead Man Talking (19 page)

“Knew you were up to something you shouldn’t be up to. Figured you must be with the way you been readin’ over files and hurryin’ out at all crazy hours. Had to follow you,” he said. “Didn’t think I could do that very efficiently on a bus.”

“But . . .” I opened my purse, pulled out my car keys, and dangled them in front of his face. “I’ve got my keys. How did you—”

His laugh rumbled through the Mustang. “You think not having keys can stop me? You’re crazier than I told Bad Dog you were.” He wheeled out of the parking lot and cruised down Lorain Avenue, heading back toward the cemetery. At the next red light, he popped open my glove box and reached inside. He handed me the new voodoo doll I’d seen at the cemetery that morning, the one with the leather dress and the fluffy hair.

“That there is a juju guardian,” he said. “It provides protection from evil.”

And he must have known what I was going to ask, because he kept right on talking. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Pepper, but I can tell you one thing. If you’re going to go messin’ with a man like Bad Dog Raphael, you’re going to need all the protection you can get.”

11

O
ver the next week, a couple weird things happened. For one thing, the next episode of
Cemetery Survivor
aired, and when it did, we found out that in spite of the couple Sammi vs. Virgil knockdowns, our team and Team One were tied, points-wise. After the show aired, something even more surprising happened. We had more fans than ever. Go figure. Apparently, a lot of people were watching the show, and the more calls the station got and the more people who showed up outside the gates of Monroe Street, the more the whole superstardom thing went to everyone’s heads. Greer was sure her next stop was network news. Mae and her bunch (doesn’t it figure?) said they were humbled, and just grateful they could promote their good deeds to a wider audience. And my team? My team loved feeling like rock stars.

I was on the fence. From what I’d heard, the last episode opened with a shot of Sammi choking the life out of
me. I knew this because both my aunts called my mom to update her, and my mom called my dad to tell him. Dad’s phone access was limited, but that hadn’t stopped him from leaving messages, and Mom was text messaging like every ten minutes, asking if I shouldn’t see a doctor, and did it still hurt, and had the bruises gone away yet, and wouldn’t I be better off in Florida with her and away from cemeteries and dangerous people?

Honestly, I’d be happy when this restoration gig was over. If I didn’t have to worry about TV and landscaping and headstones and the like, I could get back to Garden View, where my biggest worry was how to avoid Ella so I could get some ghostly investigating done.

As if all that wasn’t enough, on the Thursday after the show aired, I got another bouquet of flowers, this time at Monroe Street. Like the last bouquet, this one included a card, but just like with the last bouquet, the card wasn’t signed. In fact, all it said was, “I watched you.” Unlike the last bouquet, I was smart enough not to call Quinn to ask if he had anything to do with the flowers. I hadn’t heard a word from him since that day he walked out of my apartment, and I sure hadn’t called him. I wasn’t going to be the first one to cave. Besides, I knew Quinn well enough to know he knew me well enough to know that he couldn’t buy me off with a mere bunch of daisies and a couple sprigs of greenery. His offense called for roses. Red roses. I knew he knew it, too.

As for these flowers . . .

I tossed the card and the problem aside. I had bigger fish to fry and more pressing things to think about. Like the appointment I had that evening with the notorious Reno Bob Oates. If he was still as nasty as Darcy Coleman said he was, he sure hadn’t sounded like it when I talked to him on the phone the night before. But then, I
hadn’t mentioned I was coming by to find out if he killed Vera Blaine.

“Looks like you’re all set for the day.” I’d seen Bianca’s silver Jag roll into the cemetery, so I wasn’t surprised when she walked over to the tent/office where I was gathering what we’d need for the day. She looked me over and nodded her approval. We were scheduled to do some digging and hauling, so I’d worn jeans and a T-shirt, but they were clean and stylish and I was (it goes without saying) meticulously put together. “Do you like working at a cemetery?” Bianca asked.

Suddenly face-to-face with my idol asking the question I dreamed she’s someday ask me, I found myself at a loss for words. I laughed away my uneasiness. “I can think of a thousand places I’d rather work,” I said.

“Like
La Mode
?”

My heart shot into my throat. “Are you asking—”

“Oh, just putting out some feelers.” She laughed, too, in a noncommittal sort of way. “I like to keep an eye out for promising young talent. I think you could really make an impact on the local fashion scene. You’ve got a sense of style, and obviously, the good taste to go with it, and I’ll tell you what, you’d look fabulous in our clothing. You’d show it off to perfection and sell a bundle in the process. If there’s ever an opening for what we call a wardrobe consultant at the shop—”

“You’ll call me?” I blurted out, then scrambled to save face. “Nothing like looking too eager,” I said, cringing.

Bianca didn’t hold it against me. “There’s nothing wrong with being eager,” she said. “In fact, I admire enthusiasm. It shows you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want.”

“I am. I do.” My smile was perky enough to suit a
La Mode
wardrobe consultant. “I will.”

“Good. Then we’ll talk.” And with that, Bianca went back to her car, got out a picnic basket, and headed over to the section where Team One was working.

Digging and hauling aside, I was still walking around with my head in the clouds that afternoon when Greer called us together. She’d been lurking around all week, of course, following us with that damned camera and the cameraman who did as he was told without ever saying a word. This was the first meeting she’d called since the last episode aired, and like my team, I’d heard local PBS ratings were up and donations to the station were, too. All thanks to us. Like them, I was hoping for a little rah-rah and some congratulations to go along with it.

What we got instead was Greer, in a gray and dumpy suit. “Now that we’ve got people watching,” she said without preamble, “it’s time to start educating them. This is our opportunity to add a little culture to their lives.”

“They don’t watch for no culture.” We were in Team One’s section, and Absalom pushed off from a headstone with an angel atop it. “They watch to see Reggie and Delmar.”

“Yeah.” Delmar grinned. “And they watch to see Sammi kick Pepper’s butt.”

If he wasn’t smiling when he said it, I would have held it against him. The way it was, the red abrasions on my neck were just starting to fade, so I was feeling magnanimous.

“This week, they’ll watch because we’re going to invite people to our tea.” Mae beamed a smile all around. It was stiff around the edges. “Of course, you’re all invited, too.”

“Don’t need your stupid tea.” Sammi tossed her head. “We’re gonna knock your socks off with our—”

I shushed her fast. So far, the art show was our secret. I didn’t need her leaking it, especially before Team One
hosted its tea. As old and sweet and pink as she was, something told me Mae wouldn’t be above finding some artwork to display at the tea and scooping our idea out from under us.

“That was good.” I should have known Greer was filming, but honestly, by this time, I was so used to her and that camera, I hadn’t even been paying attention. “The way you cut Sammi off like that, Pepper, that provided a great dynamic.” She glanced at Sammi. “You want to take a swing at Pepper?”

Sammi rolled her eyes and walked away.

“Anyway . . .” Greer got back down to business. “We’re going to get some nice shots this afternoon. I was thinking of something to really set the mood for the announcement about the tea. Maybe a shot of Team One working and their picnic baskets stacked in the foreground?” It was obviously never meant to be a question, so she signaled to her cameraman and he got to work arranging the baskets artfully.

He’d already put a couple in place when he hefted the one he was holding. “This one’s heavy. What can little old ladies have in their picnic baskets?”

It was the first thing I’d ever heard Charlie the cameraman say, but that wasn’t why his comment interested me so.

I thought about the box we’d found at Jefferson Lamar’s gravesite and if the camera wasn’t rolling, I would have slapped myself smack on the forehead.

I’d been so busy suspecting my own teammates of walking off with the coin, I hadn’t bothered to think it might be someone else.

What could little old ladies have in their picnic baskets?

I wasn’t sure, but as soon as I had the chance, I intended to find out.

“ W
hatdoyoumean,youthought one of us took ”that coin?” Absalom was the spokesman for the team, so he was the one up in my face making me regret I’d ever mentioned my theory about Team One having the coin, or my suspicions about what had happened to it in the first place. Outraged, he sputtered, “You think one of us would actually steal something?”

I saw the irony of that question, even if he didn’t. The way I rolled my eyes was designed to point that out. “What do you mean you wouldn’t steal anything? Some of you have.” I made sure I looked at everyone, just so Absalom didn’t feel singled out. “You’ve stolen plenty.”

He opened his mouth, all set to keep arguing.

Until the sense of what I said hit.

Absalom snapped his mouth shut, backed up a step, and roared with laughter.

“You got me there!” What was supposed to be a friendly slap on the shoulder was more like a thud coming from him. I staggered and started laughing, too.

Delmar had a wide smile on his face. “We wouldn’t steal from family,” he said, then blushed. “I mean, it’s hokey and all, but we’re sort of like a family, aren’t we? And none of us would ever—”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I caught my breath and apologized, grateful I didn’t have a full-scale mutiny on my hands. Theoretically, I suppose I deserved one. “I never should have suspected you. Not any of you. I never would have. But back when we found the coin, I didn’t know you as well. I’m sorry.”

“You think one of them rich ladies did it?” Reggie’s eyes glowed at the prospect.

“I think it’s a possibility. If they caught wind of the
fact that we found something unusual at Jefferson Lamar’s grave, they might want to hide it. You know, so we couldn’t reveal it on the show. They’d know that would make our section look too interesting.”

“And they wouldn’t want us to look too smart, neither.” Sammi crossed her arms over her chest and puffed out a breath of annoyance. “They got a lot of damned nerve.”

“Well, we don’t know if they’re the ones who did it,” I cautioned. “We won’t know. Not until we can get a look in those picnic baskets. They bring them every day, and it’s logical that the coin might still be in the basket. It’s not like they would have taken it anywhere or sold it or anything. They just want to keep it away from us.”

Absalom rubbed his beefy hands together. “So what are we going to do?”

“Create a diversion, I suppose.” It was as much of a plan as I had. “If we can get them out of their section, somebody can sneak over there and take a look in those baskets.”

“And I got just the diversion.” Sammi stalked over to where I stood and raised her voice. It was as shrill as a train whistle and in the quiet of the afternoon, it carried plenty far. She propped her fists on her hips. “Say what? Say what? You know what you can do with these frickin’ maps of yours . . .” There was a stack of cemetery maps on a nearby headstone, and she picked them up and waited for her opportunity. The moment Greer, her cameraman, and all the members of Team One came running to see what the commotion was all about, she side-handed those maps across the section.

It was perfect, and I joined right in. What did we fight about?

I don’t remember, and it doesn’t matter, anyway.

Sammi yelled, and I yelled right back. She screamed,
and I screamed louder. We pointed fingers in each other’s faces. We snapped and scowled. We kept it up until Delmar slipped away and came back a couple minutes later, and when he did, there was a grin on his face. Just as I hoped, when Sammi and I stopped fighting, our audience disappeared. Delmar explained that he’d found the box exactly where we thought it would be, in one of the picnic baskets that belong to Team One. He handed it over, and I checked to be sure the coin was still inside it, then tucked it in my purse. After high fives all around, my team went home for the evening.

And it wasn’t until they were gone and I was going around picking up those maps Sammi tossed that I realized just how good all that yelling and screaming felt.

I guess I’d been pissed for a long time and I never even knew it.