Undead and Done (22 page)

I
stared
at her. It was. It was all. It was literally all I could do. Because. I. Wow. Holy. Wow!

A giggle. “You should see your face!”

Then she left, the little jerk.

Jennifer put the cereal box back in the cupboard, put away
the milk, wiped down the counter. Looked around the small, sunny kitchen with satisfaction, hung the dish towel neatly on a hook by the oven.

“Y'know, I have a cleaning lady. You don't have to do all those things for me plus clean.”

She turned to look at Lars, who was much improved since his hospital stay. After breakfast, he would telecommute—amazing, genius concept—for a couple of hours, then nap. His job title was something she could never remember that hadn't existed thirty-one years ago. Computer stuff.

“Don't be silly. It's my pleasure. Okay if I head out?” She checked her watch. Watches were almost gone; everyone used their cell phones to tell time. She
liked
watches; she had no interest in giving them up. “Starts in forty-five minutes.”

He flapped a big meaty hand at her. “Sure, sure. See you tonight. Your mom still joining us for dinner?” At her nod, he added, “Listen, don't worry. You'll love it.”

“We'll see,” she replied, and went for her jacket and car keys. “If it's going to cut too much into my time here, it doesn't matter how much I love it.”

“Well, that's the spirit, I guess. And don't tell me about the so-called ‘snacks' you've left me. Carrot sticks and granola aren't snacks; they're what you feed petting zoo animals.”

“Tough nuts. And there's more where that came from. I know you haven't been eating the rice cakes, just crumbling them up and tossing them. You
will
devour your rice cakes, Lars. If you're good, you can put some Greek yogurt on them.” Greek yogurt put Yoplait in the shade, she had discovered.

“Aw, jeez, just leave already.” But he gave her a smile that made his small eyes seem to disappear in a fit of good humor, and she took that as her dismissal.

Today she was taking a tour of the U of M campus, which she anticipated would be different from the tour she'd taken thirty-one years ago. Her mother had never touched her college fund in all the years Jennifer had been in Hell, though due to inflation that money would pay for only about half of the tuition for the nursing program.

To her amazement, Lars had offered to pay the balance. He'd casually made the suggestion a few days after his discharge from Fairview. She had practically moved in at that point, was essentially his caretaker as he slowly regained his health and strength. She'd left only late at night to go back to her mom's house to grab six or seven hours of sleep. She'd be right back in his house before the sun was all the way up.

“You don't have to do all this for me.” He'd been on the couch with the remote nearby, comfortably clad in flannel pajamas and propped up with pillows. The remains of his breakfast were still on the coffee table and she started to clear away the dishes. “Y'really don't.”

“Of course I do. It's my fault—again—that you're in some
difficulty.” While she waited for Betsy to come fetch her for another three decades of torture by boredom, Jennifer had followed her own adage. She had controlled the things she could and let the rest work itself out.

“Listen, you were a dumb kid back then. You paid for it, okay? We're square.” She'd just hummed in response and wiped down the coffee table. “You like it, though, right? I mean, it's not all for my benefit. You still want to be a nurse? I remember you going on about it in school.”

“I haven't thought about it,” she'd replied, and it was the truth. “Sorry about the cliché, but I'm taking it one day at a time.”

“You should go back to school,” he'd suggested. “Get your GED and then take some college classes. I'd be glad to help pay.”

Shocked, she'd just stared at him.

“What? I got the money. So who cares?”

“I can't let you do that.” Preposterous. She should be giving
him
money. She would, if she had any.

“Ah, bullshit. You're not listening again. Enough with the punishing yourself. You explained what happened. Not just that. I mean, jeez, you came from Hell to try to make it up with me. 'Sfar as I'm concerned, that was more than enough. But you can't live out the next decade making me eat that awful fucking granola. I won't have it, Palmer, no way. Go to school already. If that money helps you, what the hell do I care?”

“
You
could go to college,” she'd pointed out, and he just laughed at her.

“Too old.”

“We're the same age,” she reminded him.

“Too fat.”

She said nothing, and her tact made him laugh harder.

*   *   *

Then: the incredible, most amazing thing. Betsy had popped
up when Jennifer was on her way to restock Lars' pantry with stuff that
wouldn't
give him a heart attack. And there she was, sitting on the hood of her mom's space shuttle, like the new devil hanging in the Minnesota suburbs was “a thing” (lots of things were “a thing” these days).

“Keeping busy?”

Jennifer had almost dropped her purse (she had a purse now, and a wallet, and clothes—her mother had brought her to Target the day after the fire). “Yes, ma'am.” She quit fumbling for her car keys and said, “Would you please let me say good-bye to my mom before you take me? And maybe give me a minute to explain to Lars?”

Betsy's answer was to frown. “Take you where? Do we have plans I forgot about? Oh damn, that's it, isn't it? I need to start keeping a calendar. One that doesn't burn up in a house fire.”

Jennifer hadn't expected her to play dumb. Or worse—toy with her. “To Hell, obviously,” she'd replied, almost snapped. “That's why you're here. I failed.”

“Failed.”

“Yes.”
Oh cripes, was this how it was going to go? Did she have to confess all before Betsy took her away? “I gave Lars a heart attack. Then I left him alone to go to your house.”

“The guy was a walking time bomb—having recently been around a time bomb I know what I'm talking about—and could have popped a valve at any time. You probably saved his life by getting the ambulance so quickly. Then when you'd done what you could and visiting hours were almost over anyway, you saw I was in trouble and came to help. And
then
you confronted your worst fear by running toward a burning house to distract people so I could get Will away.” Betsy shook her head. “I mean, Jesus.”

“That's . . .”
A generous interpretation of events
, she'd been about to say, because
completely wrong, you well-meaning dope
probably wouldn't have gone over well. “Not how I see it.”

“And now you're here . . .” Gesturing to the house. “Fifteen hours a day, busting your ass to nurse this guy back to health. Of
course
I'm not going to take you back to Hell. You passed. You did great.”

“I did?”

“Sure. I didn't expect you to fix everything, to make it all perfect. But you owned your shit. Repeatedly. That's plenty good enough.”

“Oh. Huh.” She wasn't Hell bound? She could stay? “Wow. Okay. That's . . . wow.” She looked up into the other woman's kind eyes. “
Thank
you. I wasn't expecting that.”

“You're not going to hug me, are you?”

“No.”

“Great.” A sigh of relief, and then she hopped off the car. “I just wanted to check on you, is all. And to thank you for your help.”

“Okay.” She had years, maybe. Decades, possibly. To fill however she could. Any way she wanted. It actually hurt to try to grasp that. A mortal lifetime yawned before her.

“I wish you the very, very best of luck.” She held out a hand. Jennifer shook it, felt like she was falling, or getting too much oxygen. “And don't take this the wrong way, but I hope I never see you again. In Hell, I mean.”

“Oh, me, too! In Hell.”

She'd stepped back so Jennifer could get to the driver's side door. Stood there while Jennifer climbed in, buckled her seat belt (it was the law now), started the car. Rolled down the window so Betsy could finish.

“Tammy sees you,” she said softly. And was gone.

Jennifer clutched the steering wheel and wept thirty-one years of tears.

“Okay, okay, that one now. Let me smell it.”

“This is the most disgusting game in the history of games.”

“Marc is correct, Elizabeth.”

I took a big whiff, then straightened. “Ha! See?” I opened my mouth and pointed. “No fangs!”

“And now, no appetite.” Marc swept the almost empty blood bag out of sight. We had no idea where he'd gotten it, and didn't ask. Something about biohazard garbage being a treasure trove of grossness, which is the exact moment I stopped listening.

It was the end of Moving Back Day, and the beginning of smoothie time. The only person missing was Tina, and I could hear her steps in the hall. She came into the kitchen, smiling a little at the old-fashioned swinging door. We'd restored what we could and changed as little as necessary.

“Two packages for you, Majesty.” She had a sizable box in her arms and a Priority Mail envelope on top of it. I knew
without asking that they'd been scanned, weighed, fluoroscoped, et cetera, or she wouldn't have brought them anywhere near me. There were some security upgrades to adjust to.

I tore open the first envelope while Sinclair topped my glass with more Dreamsicle smoothie. He nearly dropped the blender when I yelped to see the book and the enclosed note.

Dear Betsy,

You might not remember me but we met the day of our KARE 11 interviews. I saw on the news that you had a fire and thought you might like a new copy of
Smoothie Nation
. Thanks again for being so nice to me when you knew I was scared of you.

Best, Carol

“Oh,
yay
!” I showed them the book. “Isn't that nice? Now I'm super glad I didn't bite her. Or any of the sound guys. Or Diana Pierce.”

“No need to immediately make work for Detective Berry,” my husband pointed out. Except he wasn't Detective Berry anymore; he was now the official Police Liaison to the Twin Cities Vampire Community Berry. His twins

(One way or the other, Dad's always fuzzy.)

had nailed that one, too.

I picked up the paring knife we'd used to clean the strawberries for Smoothies: Round Two, and slit the top of the UPS box. “Where's Will? He's missing the most important event in this house.”

“Unpacking. He's . . . a tiny bit anal about placing his belongings.”

“Yeah, well, tell him to keep his anal attitude away from me.” I was still a little touchy about some of
my
belongings, specifically the ones that I'd had to toss due to smoke damage and worse. “And don't forget, we're going back to Hell first thing in the morning to pull together some more parole board committees.” Jennifer Palmer had set the bar high for future parolees, but thanks to her, there'd
be
future parolees. I wanted to get them back into the world as quickly as possible, which meant I needed a lot more bodies to help.

I'd offered Lawrence
and
Cindy parole, and they'd both turned me down. Cindy because she'd found her purpose—she was now in charge of all social media and gossip in Hell, reporting to the Ant (and, I was sure, suggesting compliments the Ant could use to satisfy the parameters of the bet), and Lawrence wouldn't leave her. Nor did she want to return to a world where her father was dead.

Ronald hadn't shown up in Hell, so unfortunately I couldn't tie off that loose end. Wherever he was, I hoped he had found some peace. I blamed Laura a lot more than I blamed him. And blame aside, even if I hated them, they had both paid for their grotesque mistakes.

I got the box flap open and stared at a familiar box.

No.

Couldn't be.

But there was no mistaking them; I'd know those beautiful shoe boxes anywhere, all glossy black and purple and pink, as much works of art as the shoes inside.

I grabbed the note with trembling fingers.

Dear Ms. Taylor,

My assistant has been following your story on the news and told me you lost some of your shoes to a fire. I thought you might
like some new ones so enclosed please find my summer collection. Would love to talk to you about repping my brand!

Sincerely,

Beverly Feldman

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—”

“My God.”

“—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—”

“The neighbors are gonna think there's another fire.”

“—eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” I fought, and conquered, the urge to burst into tears of transcendent joy. “Look!
Look!
So many shoes! Oh my God! Oh, look at these! And these! Heels
and
flats! Look!”

Home.

*
The Mares of Diomedes were huge flesh-eating horses! Ack! Can you imagine? Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.

*
It's complicated. The weirdness can be found in
Undead and Unforgiven
.

*
Whoa! Am I the only one having a prom flashback? Ha!

*
Sriracha and PB&J vodka exist! Run away!

*
The great thing about that reference is, his hair has been awful for decades, and will continue to be awful, so whenever you're reading this, it's accurate.