This is Your Afterlife (14 page)

A soft knock at the door interrupts me.

“Keira?” Mom calls out. “Are you hungry?”

She's trying to lure me out with food. I exchange a glance with Jimmy. “No, thanks, Mom.”

After a pause, she says, “It's your favorite. Tofurkey.”

My stomach rumbles. I'm not a vegetarian, but fake turkey tastes better than the real thing.

Jimmy sidles next to me. “Come on, Keira. Go out there. Dig for some insider info.”

“Easy for you to say,” I hiss. “Anything I say to him could be used against me.”

He looks me in the eye and I squirm under his intense gaze. “Quit stalling. You have nothing to hide. Nothing that's gonna put you in jail, anyway. Ghost-hunting ability included.”

“I didn't exactly hunt you down. You barged into my room uninvited.”

Jimmy puts a hand on my spine. A chill races up every little spindly bone. “Go. I'm counting on you.”

I walk down the hall like I'm heading to an interview with a vampire.

Deputy Charlie digs into a real turkey drumstick. Guess he can't stomach the fake stuff. His elbows lean on my table like they've earned the right to be there. Almost involuntarily, I give a disapproving frown and he takes them off.

Mom bustles at the sink. As she rinses a glass, I notice her fingers trembling. She gestures at the counter. “There's your plate, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I sit down with the two of them. All of us chewing and not saying a word. I keep my gaze on the wooden tabletop. The varnish wore off years ago. That's how most things in our house look—like they're in dire need of repairing or replacing or burning. There isn't much that's brand-new. I was lucky to scrape together the capital to start up the hotline.

Jimmy braces his hands on the table and looks at each of us. “Is anyone gonna say anything?”

I'm certain Mom can't see or hear Jimmy, but on cue, she speaks up.

“Keira, I'm sending a note and flowers to the Hawkins family.” She eyes me over her jumbo cup of coffee. “What kind do you think? White lilies?”

Jimmy's expression flickers. Softly, he says, “Don't send lilies. Her dog eats them. But she loves that other white flower. The smelly one.”

Yeah, that narrows things down in the plant kingdom.

“What's it called?” he muses. “Starts with ‘G...'”

“Gardenia?” I say aloud without thinking. I swallow a chunk of tofurkey with so much difficulty it might as well be a bowling ball. “Uh, try gardenias, Mom. Mrs. Hawkins loves those. The dog, not so much.”

“Okay, sweetie.” She smiles wearily, not even questioning my remark about the dog.

Charlie finishes a long slurp of Coke. The sound of the glass thumping on the table makes me jump. “Thought you didn't know the family all that well.”

I take another bite to buy time. “I...overheard someone at school. They were talking to the florist on the phone who told them Mrs. Hawkins can't have lilies in the house. And then someone else said gardenias are really good this year, so...”

“Hey, you need to dial it down,” Jimmy advises. “Don't overexplain.”

I clamp my lips together immediately. Jimmy's right—I should know that babbling can make a person look guilty even if they're trying to deflect attention away. Maybe he's a fan of crime shows, too.

“I see.” Charlie gets up and puts his empty plate and glass in the sink behind me. “I talked to your teacher today.”

My whole body seizes. Crap. Mom gives me a quizzical glance. I manage to squeak, “Mr. Simpson?”

Charlie ambles to his seat opposite me and waits a beat or two. Probably trying to make me sweat. He's succeeding. “He didn't know about your side project.”

Jimmy crouches next to me. He rests a hand on my shoulder. Somehow that gives me a bit of courage. Knowing he's here to back me up. He nods encouragingly, but it makes me sad because I realize he would've made a great coach one day.

“Well...I can explain.” I raise my gaze to Charlie and square my shoulders. “There was no side project for science class. There was no need for me to be in the forest...other than to find Jimmy's body.”

Everyone goes dead silent. My mother seems to stop breathing. She wears a tight, frozen smile.

“Find Jimmy's body,” Charlie repeats slowly. “You were out looking for him.”

“I thought it would make a good story for the
Bugle,
” I half-whisper, as if lying as quietly as possible to a cop makes it okay.

“Your reporter's instincts led you there, huh?” Charlie asks.

Coughing, I reply, “My instincts. Yep. Gotta trust those. Plus…I knew the family would want some closure.”

Jimmy grins at me, so I gather he approves. His smile warms my lying little heart. I'd do anything to make him happy. I have to get him out of limbo. He doesn't deserve to spend his afterlife attached to me. He'd die all over again—of boredom.

“I have a unique perspective,” I continue. “I'm in the perfect position to talk to kids at school about his friends and enemies.”

“I have enemies?” Jimmy's hands ball into tight fists, and it's not hard to guess he's wondering which of his friends and enemies cut his life short.

Charlie stares at me with a shrewd glint in his eye. “You're talking like you think he was murdered.”

“It's a possibility.” I can't look at Jimmy. Won't. “Isn't it?”

Charlie chews his lip before conceding. “Are we talking off the record?”

Finally I glance at Jimmy, who gives me a not-so-subtle nudge. Seeing as I'm not actually writing an article and only seeking to extract insider information, I say, “Sure. I can agree to that.”

“We're looking at this case from all angles. So, yes, it's possible the victim was murdered.”

“Jimmy's not a just a victim. He's a person,” I say. “He won't be forgotten. Ever.”

Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. Charlie stares at us with a conflicted expression.

“Have you found his car yet?” I wince at the sound of my unnaturally high voice. Taking it down a notch, I add, “You should check past Big River Way. Everyone knows Jimmy used to drive out to Big River Way whenever he needed to clear his head.”

Chewing slowly, Charlie sits up. He takes out his regulation notepad and jots a note down. “Everyone knows, huh?”

“Everyone,” Jimmy says firmly. He's feeding me a line.

“
Everyone,”
I repeat.

Charlie pockets the notepad, never taking his eyes off me. I do my best to return a steady gaze.

“Has the autopsy report come out yet?” I prod.

After a long, contemplative pause, he says, “Not publicly. I won't go into details, but—”

“What did it say?” I ask, acutely aware of Jimmy fidgeting.

Charlie hesitates, looking from me to Mom. “I'm not sure it's something we should be talking about. You know, you might get nightmares.”

“Charlie, I saw Jimmy's body,” I say in an even voice. “Please. Off the record.”

“If it's off the record, why do you need to know?” he asks.

“Research. Background information,” I toss back, remembering one of my first classes in journalism. “The stuff you don't tell the reader is just as important as what you
do
share.”

Again, a long, drawn-out pause from Charlie. I guess he's wondering if he'll have a job if the chief finds out he's been spilling confidential information to a rookie reporter.

“Okay, I'll try to keep it clean,” he replies at last. “The coroner, Wilson, couldn't tell conclusively if Jimmy drowned, but the gash was enough to kill him, probably as a result of being struck by a sharp rock in a single blow. We can't be sure whether he was hit before or after going in the water. Wilson needs to perform more tests. Today I had divers search underwater for evidence. At this stage, we can't rule out accidental death, murder or suicide.”

“Have they found a note?” Mom asks softly, rubbing a chill from her arms. I wonder if, like me, she's remembering Grandie's note, the one we drew from her lifeless hands.

Charlie shakes his head. “We've searched his room. We've got someone doing an audit on his laptop. So far we haven't come up with anything.”

“They won't find a note,” Jimmy says, appearing in the chair next to me. I jump at the sudden intrusion. “I...didn't...kill...myself,” he snaps. “I was
murdered.”

“What about that guy with the shaving cream and the bucket on his head?” I point to my laptop screen.

After Charlie stuffed his face with our food and left the house, Jimmy virtually dragged me to my room. We pore over photos on his Facebook page like they're mug shots. He figures most murders aren't random. They're committed by someone who knew the victim. I have to wonder, how could Jimmy be so sure he was murdered? Not one of his friends or even rivals from other schools had any reason to dislike him.

He laughs at a picture. This exercise in narrowing down his killer is quickly unravelling into a nostalgia trip. “Simon! Oh, man, that guy knows how to party. We've had some good times.”

“I don't see how painting boobs on your chest with shaving cream equates to a good time.”

“You weren't there when I shaved them off!” He guffaws. “You really need to go to more parties, Keira. Have some fun.”

I mumble noncommittally. Truth is, after Grandie passed, I didn't feel much like socializing and I got used to hanging out by myself. Clicking out of the photo albums and onto Jimmy's timeline, I say, “That's everyone you know. You never had an argument with any of these kids? Not even a tiny disagreement over a fumbled ball or something?”

Jimmy shrugs modestly. “What can I say? I'm a nice guy.”

Headlights shine through my windows and over the walls. “Isn't that your mother's car?”

Jimmy looks out. “Yeah, but Dan's driving it.”

He darts outside before Dan even has a chance to open his door. I follow slowly and meet Dan on the porch.

“The waterhole” is all he says.

“Huh?” Jimmy and I say.

“A bunch of kids are holding a vigil there right now. I figured we could check it out. Eavesdrop a little. Someone has to know something about how Jimmy died.” He pulls his jacket tighter around him. “What do you think?”

“Awesome idea.” Jimmy pumps his fist. In the blink of an eye, he's in the back seat of the Benz. “What are you waiting for?”

Minutes later, Dan's nosing the car toward Camberwell Forest. I feel a jab of guilt. Mom's gone to work and expects me to be in bed by now. But I push that guilt away. I'm on a mission here. My gaze sticks to the yellow centerline as the car smoothly gobbles the dark, curvy road. “Jimmy, remember, don't you go more than fifty feet away from me, okay?”

“Don't have to worry about that,” he says grimly.

“Where is he?” Dan asks. Jimmy taps him on the shoulder. Dan jerks the wheel and the car swerves in response. “Shit! Don't do that while I'm driving!”

“You felt that?” I ask, amazed.

“Hell, yeah.” Dan gives a wobbly smile.

“You must be getting stronger if you're starting to affect the non-psychic, Jimmy,” I tell him. He flexes his substantial biceps in response. Seems to me every time he gets lost, he comes back with a new ability.

“The autopsy results came in. Did you know?” Dan asks quietly.

In a weary tone, Jimmy says, “I can hear you. And I know all about it, so don't worry about whispering.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Charlie told us tonight. Jimmy insists he was murdered.”

Dan's jaw clenches. “I knew it. This is no accident. What kind of asshole would kill my brother?”

“A jealous one?” I suggest.

Dan negotiates a hairpin bend in the road. “You don't think it was one of his buddies, do you? Someone who wanted his position on the team?”

“That's why going to this vigil tonight was an inspired idea. Feel people out.” I shrug. “There's also the possibility that this was a random murder by some crazed lunatic.”

“No way is my death going down in history as random,” Jimmy growls. “If I find out I died for no good reason, I'm gonna be pissed. I had so much left to do.”

I don't know how to respond to that. Is there ever a good reason to die? Then again, Grandie gave us several reasons. Words from her note float before my eyes:
Escape from pain… Lived long enough… Dignity…

“How are Mom and Dad?” Jimmy asks. I repeat the question for Dan.

Fingers curled tight on the wheel, Dan grimaces. “Not good. Dad...Dad's barely said a word. Mom's like a robot. Sometimes I just want to tell them I
know
you're all right.”

I crane my head toward Jimmy. “If you want, Jimmy, we can talk to your mom and dad. Together. It could really give all of you some comfort.”

In a clipped voice, he says, “I wanted that. I did. But I want to find out who killed me first. I want to make sure that I can move on up to heaven knowing everything's resolved and that they don't have to live the rest of their lives wondering why I died.” After a long pause, he adds, “I will go to heaven once this is all over, right, Keira?”

I reach over and pat his transparent knee. “Damn straight you will.”

When we get to the parking lot, it's so jammed Dan has to reverse out and stop the car on the service road. He takes out a couple of flashlights from the glove box.

“I guess everyone's made their way to the falls,” I note. There's barely a soul around.

With the glow of Dan's flashlight illuminating the way, we step on the trail. Jimmy lingers behind. When I throw a look over my shoulder, he says, “I'm still here, Keira.”

“Well, hurry! I thought you wanted to come here.”

“I do,” he replies. He's moving as if his shoes are made of concrete. “But...I didn't think it would be this hard, coming back here. I used to love this place. Skipping school, swimming with the guys. And a few girls.”