Straight to Heaven (27 page)

He didn’t deny it, but stared at the floor. “I always do what Helen tells me. I have no choice.”

The Devil made me do it. Jasmine had been right. That wasn’t a reason; it was an excuse. A very cowardly excuse.

Mr. Clerk was now watching me very closely. “Be careful where you let your thoughts take you,” he said. “Helen doesn’t like her staff to think for themselves.”

At that name, something in me stiffened. “You know what? I don’t care what Helen Spry thinks,” I said. “I
will
find a way to beat her. One way or another, I’m getting myself out of that damned contract!”

Something sparkled behind Mr. Clerk’s dull eyes. “Every woman in your line has said that at one time or another, but I’ve never believed them. Until now.” He paused as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re stronger and better than the rest of them. Even better than your mother. I’m honored to have known you, Lilith Straight.”

I smiled and thanked him, then left his office, still thinking about how I could break free from my contract. It wasn’t until I returned home that I realized that what Mr. Clerk had said to me had sounded a lot like goodbye.

I knew right away that something was wrong when I went to pick up the girls at Ted’s house and heard nothing but the distant drone of the TV. Usually, Grace was waiting for me in the kitchen. Ari would have been in my car before I’d even made it up the walk.

“Where are the girls?” I asked.

Ted swallowed. “For Grace’s sake, I don’t want to make this difficult, Lilith. No lawyers, no judges, okay? Can we agree on that?”

“No. I will not agree to that. Where are the girls?”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m taking Grace to France.”

“The hell you are!”

“Listen! Grace wants this trip more than anything. Four weeks. That’s all I’m asking.”

I caught a flutter of motion by the doorway and saw that Grace was hiding behind the corner, hanging on every word. Ted was right. Grace wanted this more than anything else in the world.

I closed my eyes and drew in my breath. “One week. Not four.”

“Three,” he insisted.

“Ten days.”

He pressed his lips tightly together and fumed silently. “Fine,” he finally agreed.

Both of us glared at each other.

From around the corner, Grace squealed happily.

As Grace and Ariel gathered their things, Ted said, “Lilith, Grace will have the time of her life. I promise. ”

At least I could keep an eye on her. And if anything bad happened, I would send a rogue demon to beat the shit out of my ex.

Come to think of it, maybe I’d do it anyway. Just for fun.

After the girls went to bed, I sat on the new couch in the dim living room, listening to a Nina Simone CD, petting Drinking Tea, and reading the headlines of the
Free Press
. According to a lead story, J.T. and Craig hadn’t given up on their plan to kidnap a reporter. Only this time, they’d gone after Detroit’s most beloved newspaper columnist. Big mistake. They’d been caught before they could even make it through the lobby of the building.

At the glimmer of an otherworld doorway opening, Drinking Tea hissed and fled. My heart leapt, hoping it was William. I hadn’t seen nearly enough of him over the past few days. I got the feeling that Miss Spry knew what he’d said to me in the hospital corridor and was purposely keeping him very, very busy.

Instead of William, however, my visitor was a large woman with dark skin, a head of wild dreadlocks, and enough turquoise and silver jewelry to start her own boutique.

“Lilith Straight?”

Too surprised to speak, I nodded.

“Miss Spry has an assignment for you,” she said.

“Who are you?”

“Delilah. Miss Spry’s assistant.” She defiantly stuck out her chin.

“Miss Spry’s assistant? But where’s Mr. Clerk?”

She frowned. “I don’t know anything about a Mr. Clerk. All I know is that I’m supposed to give you an assignment. Now are you going to do your job, or am I going to have to report you?”

“I’ll do it,” I said, stunned. “But can you at least answer one question?”

“I do not know any answers to any questions,” she said. Then she handed me a note and disappeared.

THE END

Loved
Straight to Heaven
?
Then turn the page for an exclusive extract from the first novel in the Lilith Straight series
Straight to Hell

Chapter One

A year ago I, Lilith Straight, was the woman you always wanted to be.

I was married to someone better looking than your husband, and his salary climbed into figures so high that you’d have to be married to six men before their incomes equaled his. We lived in that house you always wanted but never could have afforded, and drove cars that would have made you ashamed of yours. My husband and I went to those exclusive parties you read about in the newspapers – yes, those parties – and we rubbed elbows and other body parts with actors and politicians and professional athletes – yes, those athletes, the ones you also read about in newspapers. My daughter attended a small, very exclusive, private school where your child would not have been allowed even if you could have afforded the tuition.

Within the span of twelve months, however, all of that changed. My marriage dissolved, my house burned down, and the only job I could find, substitute teaching, hardly paid for a week’s worth of bills. On top of that, I’d suddenly gained custody of my antisocial, eleven-year-old niece Ariel when her mother dropped her off at my doorstep and drove off without a backward glance. A week later, my bent-for-hell stepsister Jasmine moved in after her mother kicked her out of the house.

So when I was hit by a car and died for the first time, I thought that my life couldn’t get any worse.

Boy, was I wrong.

The day I died was a Monday. Specifically, the Monday after a two-week Christmas school break, and all of us – even Drinking Tea, our cat – had slept through the alarm. Had I still been married, this never would have happened since Dr. Theodore Dempsey, my ex, woke me up every morning at five by groping me under the covers. However, my recent divorce gave me certain privileges, such as being able to sleep in without having someone squeeze my breasts like they were testing mangoes for ripeness.

When I finally did wake up and realize what time it was, I leapt out of bed and shouted orders to my daughter and my niece. “Grace, get up! Ariel, move it!”

My old house had more square-footage than the city library, but after Ariel accidentally set it on fire, I had to relocate. The only place I could afford was a seedy townhouse with walls so thin that my voice carried through them with no problem. At the same time, however, those thin walls allowed me to hear my daughter’s whine of, “Do I
have
to go to school?” followed by my niece’s muttered, “FU.”

Luckily, I didn’t have to be at work that morning. As a substitute teacher, I picked my own hours, and I’d given myself the day off. If I got the girls out the door on time, I still had a chance at a peaceful day.

I spared a moment to throw on my robe, then ran downstairs, so intent on getting into the kitchen that I almost didn’t notice the stranger sprawled on my couch. He was a broad-shouldered young man dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers. The large demon tattoo on his chest, and the line of metal rivets punctuating his forehead lent him a sinister air. As did the twin gauges in his earlobes whose holes were so large I could have put my thumb through them.

Jasmine! My stepsister knew my rules, but paid them no mind. Each time I lectured her about not letting strange men sleep over, she swore she wouldn’t do it again. Yet, in the past three weeks, seven guys had paraded in and out of her bedroom. I would have charged into Jasmine’s room right that minute and ordered her to pack her things, but the girls and I were already behind schedule.

The stranger yawned and scratched, keeping his eyes closed. He was the most hairless creature I’d ever seen. Not only was he bald, but his legs were so smooth that I was jealous. His chest was as pink and clean as a newborn’s. He had no eyebrows. Nor, for that matter, armpit hair, a fact I realized when he raised his arms over his head to stretch. I eyed his boxers, wondering just how far the hairless area extended.

Unfortunately, before I could chase this frightening spectacle out of the house, Grace pounded down the stairs. To hide his nearly-naked body, I tossed a blanket over him. He muttered a ‘thanks’ and immediately went back to sleep.

“Mom! Mom!” Grace skidded to a halt. “Hey, who’s that guy?”

“Probably a friend of Aunt Jasmine’s.”

“So why isn’t he sleeping with
her
?”

The question was a good one, but it broke my heart to hear her ask it. I wanted to keep my daughter innocent for as long as I could, but with Jasmine in the house, that didn’t seem possible.

“I have no idea.” I swept Grace into the kitchen before she could ask more questions. Heading for the coffee maker, I stepped in a puddle of water that soaked my slippered feet. The entire floor of the tiny kitchen was underwater.

With a cry of, “Ah, shit!” I started mopping up the mess with an armload of dishtowels, tracing the puddle to the washing machine which sat innocently by the back door.

I wanted to cry. A broken appliance was the last thing I needed. I’d spent the last of my savings to pay my car insurance bill and had nothing left over to buy a new washer. In fact, I didn’t even have enough quarters to go to the Laundromat. “Goddamn, shit!!”

“You broke rule number one. Now you need to put a dollar in the swear jar.” Grace stood in the doorway, looking solemn. She’d dressed herself in the same T-shirt and jeans she’d worn for the past two days and brushed the top layer of her brown hair smooth over a bottom layer of wicked snarls.

A year ago, when I was still married and living in my mini-mansion, Grace would have been dressed in her school uniform eating an egg white omelet in the breakfast nook while I braided her hair. The scene, once ordinary, was now so surreal that I might have dreamed it up.

There was no time for regrets, however. Not with the clock ticking. “I know I swore,” I agreed. “I’m just having a really bad morning.” I dropped the soaking wet rags into the sink and put down another layer of towels.

“You also broke rule number nine.” Standing behind Grace was a very triumphant-looking Ariel. My niece loved catching me in the middle of bad behavior.

The rules the girls were referring to were known as the “Ten Commandments of the Straight Household.” I’d posted copies of them on the refrigerator, above the TV, and on the bathroom mirror. Also, next to the computer, on the doors of all the bedrooms, and even on the dashboard of the car.

I’m nothing if not thorough.

Rule number nine had been written specifically for my stepsister. It said, “Thou shalt not let strange boys sleep overnight (either on the couch or in your bed).” Not that it did any good.

“You’re right. I did break the rule,” I told Ari, thinking of the man on the couch.

“And eight, too,” she added.

For a moment, I couldn’t remember rule number eight. When it finally came to me, I was shocked. Eight was: “Thou shalt not leave prophylactics (either used or unused) lying about the house.” Again, this rule was for my sister. Personally, I hadn’t needed prophylactics since long before my divorce.

“I never broke that rule,” I argued.

“Really?” Ariel held up several square, foil packages.

“Give those here,” I said, furious. “Where did you get them?”

“They were on the end table next to the couch. They probably belong to that bald guy.” Ariel’s eyes were alight with evil mischief. “But you should have thrown them away, so you just broke number eight.”

I snapped my fingers at her, and she surrendered the condoms with a smug smile. It never occurred to me to ask how she knew what those things were. Ariel’s mother had given her the flipside education to the ‘no boys, no drugs’ message most girls get at home. Grace, however, looked on with heartbreaking innocence. “What are those things, Mom?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I shoved the condoms into the pocket of my robe. “Just grab your coat and get going before you miss the bus.”

“But I need to change my clothes!”

I’d gotten careless with my laundry duties over vacation, and dirty clothes piled on the floor like the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Although I’d started a load the previous night before I went to bed, obviously nothing had gotten clean. There goes rule number two, I thought. (Rule number two: Thou shalt not pick dirty underwear out of the hamper and re-wear it.)

There was one silver lining to this terrible day, however. At least none of my old friends and neighbors were around to witness my current, desperate situation. If they had been, every woman in the subdivision would have been roasting me alongside their coffee beans.

“What about breakfast?” Grace whined.

I shoved an apple at her. “Here.”

“That’s not breakfast!” Grace started to cry, and Ariel rolled her eyes and told her to grow up. Then Jasmine shouted up from the basement, “Shut the hell up! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

That’s the way my last morning as a living being started off. Compared to other Monday mornings, it wasn’t all that bad, really.

With the two younger girls out of the house, I finally had a chance to deal with the other member of our tribe: my stepsister.

The townhouse had three levels. Ariel and Grace shared one tiny bedroom upstairs, and I occupied the one across the hall. Jasmine dominated the basement. Between us, like a demilitarized zone, lay the living room and kitchen. Ignoring the hairless wonder who still gently snored on the couch, I marched downstairs and pounded on the basement door. “Wake up!”

“Go ’way.”

I opened the door and flipped on the lights. Jasmine pulled the covers over her head, but I yanked them down again. “It’s Monday, Jas. You promised you’d find a job today.”

Jasmine was twenty-three; a college dropout who was convinced the only thing standing between her and a career as a high-paid fashion designer was a run of bad luck and not a deficiency of talent, drive, and energy.