Caught Dead (The Journals of Octavia Hollows #3) Page 2

  With a dutiful nod, I dug a twenty out of my back pocket. Vegas—our last town—had thankfully been good to me. Which allowed me the bit of monetary lenience needed to slap a twenty down on the table. “How about now?”

  An almost smile tugged at the corners of Char’s nicotine creased lips. “Your food is fine, and thank you… for that.” She tilted her head toward the cash. “You and your ultra-fresh pork chop have a great night.”

  As she turned on her heel to tend to her other customers, I reached across the table to scratch Bacon behind the ear. “You hear that? You just got a new nickname, Pork Chop.”

  “She didn’t do it, and you know it!” A gruff shout cut through the buzz of the bar, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. A thirty-something guy, with waves of black hair falling across his forehead and second-day stubble lining his jaw, screamed at the pretty blonde working behind the bar.

  Wiping up condensation rings on her bar, the blonde fought to keep her expression impassively neutral for the sake of the prying eyes boring into her. “All I know is she confessed,” the bartender finally said. “Whatever happened between the two of you, she went to the cops covered in blood and admitted to killing her husband. What anyone else may think doesn’t matter compared to that.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” Slapping the palms of his hands on the bar, the enraged patron looked moments from launching for the throat of the bartender. “We were in love, Sheila! You know that! She’s your sister and she tells you everything. She was going to leave Mark so we could be together.”

  Instead of shying away, bartender Sheila planted her fists on the bar. The heat in her tone easily matched his. “What I know is that you were both doing things you shouldn’t, with people you shouldn’t. Maybe she found out Mark was playing around on the side and didn’t like it. I can’t say. I’m not her. All I know is something horrible happened, and she admitted to doing it!”

  The man continued to rage, “She wouldn’t have cared if he cheated! She would have wished him well.” Jaw tensed hard enough to make the tendons of his neck bulge, the infuriated man’s nostrils flared. “We’re in love! We were going to be together. She’s… pregnant with my kid!”

  Filling her lungs, Sheila’s shoulders sagged with begrudging compassion. “Kev, I get it. You got it, and you got it bad. But that doesn’t change the fact that she had a relationship with Mark for years before you came along. What you need to realize,” raising her index finger, she tried to center him on the sole truth, “is that what happened behind the closed doors of their home was their reality. None of us can know anything about that.”

  “Is there a problem here?” Proving Galveston was a smaller town than I thought, She-cop pushed her chair back from a nearby table to inject herself into the scene. Even while dressed in a sleeveless plaid shirt and jeans, she maintained a posture that screamed cop.

  “No. Everything is fine here.” Eyebrows raised, Sheila tried to get the dude she referred to as Kev in check. “Right?”

  Pushing off the bar, he jabbed a finger of accusation in her direction. “Connie didn’t do this, and I’m gonna prove it. I don’t know why she said what she did, but I’m going to find the truth.”

  Roughly shoving She-cop aside, Kev stumbled his way outside.

  “Want me to detain him?” She-cop pressed, looping her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans.

  Dragging her fingers through her hair, Sheila took a beat to mull it over before answering. “No, give him time to cool off. The idiot loves her, and it’s blinding him from the truth. Give him time to process. He’ll be fine.”

  “Not a problem. Call me if you have any more problems with him.” Pulling a card from her pocket, She-cop tossed it on the counter before returning to her table.

  That was all it took to cap off the entire debacle for the milling barflies.

  Conversations kicked back up, and billiard balls connected as games resumed.

  Bacon and I seemed to be the only two still hung up on what had transpired. Although, if I’m being honest, Bacon’s attentiveness was most likely due to the fact that I had yet to hand over his burger.

  Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I formulated the blueprint of a plan that played to exactly none of my strengths. “I mean… ominous warning aside, don’t we owe it to these people to try and find out what we can? It’s kind of our thing.”

  Bacon paused in his task of pawing at the table to try and get the take-out bag to offer up an oink of solidarity.

  Just like that, our travel plans were delayed.

  Chapter Three

  “I am not good at traditional magic.” Strolling down the halls of John Sealy Hospital, Bacon and I went in search of the morgue. Once more we assumed our Pregnant Chick façade, with him in his carrier under my hoodie. (Because, if my education on the open road has taught me anything, it’s that when you find something that works for you, exploit the hell out of it.) Patting his little swine rump, I muttered to Bacon out of the corner of my mouth. “It’s really a shame your eyes are covered, because what’s about to happen might be unintentionally hilarious.”

  Locating the door, I filled my lungs with a calming breath and gave a quick knock with two knuckles. The second the door cracked open far enough for me to catch a glimpse of the white lab coat, I uttered the sorry excuse for a spell I came up with on the ride there. “Goddess of nature, spirit, and light, I beseech your favor this tumultuous night. Let thee who opens this door reveal, all I need to know to solve this ordeal.”

  Sucking air through my teeth, I grimaced and said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t inadvertently turn anyone into shrubbery.

  The gentleman who flung open the door had a full head of thick gray hair and a welcoming smile that crinkled his silver-blue eyes in the corners. “I don’t even care why you’re here. I’m just thrilled to be talking to a living person!” he admitted, grin widening.

  With a supportive hand under Bacon, I shifted his weight into a more comfortable position. “Uh… I don’t know if that was the spell, or just a really sad sentiment based on your chosen vocation.”

  Crouching down with one hand on his knee, his eyes wide and eager, the medical examiner whispered to me from behind his hand. “One time, during a really grisly autopsy, I threw up in the chest cavity of a cadaver. I didn’t know what to do, so I stitched it back up and never told a soul.”

  For a beat, all I could manage was blinking in his direction. “Yep. Safe to say that’s the spell. Although, I’m pretty sure under no circumstance did I actually need that information.”

  Shoulders shaking, he giggled like a school girl. “You know, when I was sixteen years old, I had my very first kiss with the fifty year-old retired burlesque dancer that lived next door to my childhood home. True story! I still think about her when I masturbate!”

  Chin falling to my chest, I rubbed my palm over my forehead. “It’s truly mind boggling how bad I am at spells. Bring the dead back to life? Sure, I can do that blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. Perform a basic incantation? Nope, I wind up with the rejected letters to Penthouse Forum.”

  Rising to his full height, Doc McShares-a-Lot wagged his finger twice before pressing the digit to his lips. “Speaking of the dead, I’ve got a funny story—”

  “Ah!” Palms up, I halted wherever the hell that story was going. “How about if we redirect all this forthcoming enthusiasm in a more productive way? What do you say?”

  Taking a step back, Shares-a-Lot waved me inside with great flourish. “Come on in and ask me anything!”

  I could feel the pull of the dead within, luring me to them. Lips pressed in a thin line, I stayed planted right where I was. “That’s okay, I’m fine here. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just had a quick question about the body that was brought in today, had both eyes stabbed out?”

  Shares-a-lot shook his head, dopey grin never faltering. “Nope. Didn’t have one of those in here. Not today, anyway.”

  My lips parted
with a pop, confusion carving a deep V between my brows. “You didn’t?”

  “Nope. Had one with no eyes, but they definitely weren’t cut out.”

  “Then… where did they go?”

  Yes, I realize that was a dumb question, but give me a break. I was pretty much winging every element of my life.

  Shoving the sleeves of his lab coat further up his forearms, the good doctor’s expression brightened. “That’s actually quite fascinating—”

  Arching my back, I tried to stretch out the muscles in my shoulders and back that were cramping from supporting Bacon’s weight. It seemed my boy had packed on a few more pounds since the last time we did this. “Fascinating in a way that would be helpful in finding out what happened to the guy, or in a way that’s gonna make me want to bleach my brain?”

  “Oh, brain bleach for sure!” Glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose from his exuberant nod, Shares-a-Lot pushed them back into place with the tip of his index finger. “See, this fella must have suffered through an unfathomable amount of pressure. And I’m not talking the day-to-day, being an adult sucks kind of thing. I mean real, intense pressure. Let’s use a hotdog in a microwave as our example.”

  “Goddess, no. Please. Let’s not. I think I get the idea.”

  “See, you have to put the frankfurter in water and poke it with a fork, otherwise—”

  “I beg you to stop. I get the idea, really.”

  “It pops!” he finished triumphantly, flaring his fingers out as a visual aid.

  I dragged one hand over my face, trying to wipe away the effects of that colorful imagery. “So, whatever this guy endured, popped his eyes right out of their sockets? What could cause that?”

  Shares-a-Lot let one shoulder rise and fall in a casual shrug. “Medically speaking? I have no flippin’ idea. Maybe he was blasted into space? Or, he came up from the depths of the ocean too fast? Your guess is as good as mine.” Balling one fist, he thumped the side of it against his chest to knock loose a belch. “Ugh, I really need to stop adding onion to my tuna melt. The indigestion gets so bad, some days I have to unbutton my trousers.”

  I didn’t even pretend I was listening. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “Ugh. I know I’m going to regret this, but… can I see the body?”

  “Absolutely! You totally should! It’s super gross!” he gushed, nose crinkled like a mischievous little boy.

  The second I stepped over the threshold, the murmurs of the dead lashed and swirled around me in a dizzying current. Knocked back by it, I raised one hand to steady myself.

  Having trotted to the gurney in the center of the room, Shares-a-Lot glanced back when he realized I hadn’t followed him. “Oh, sorry. Are you uncomfortable with death? I forget some people are.”

  Clearing my throat, I pushed against the wall of noise to join him beside the table. “Some days it’s too damned comfortable with me,” I grumbled under my breath.

  “I don’t know what that means, but I’m intrigued,” he babbled, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline in eager anticipation.

  “Another time, Doc,” I lied, my stare drifting to the white sheet covering lumps of flesh that until recently, had surged with life.

  “Shall I pull back the sheet?”

  Mouth suddenly parched, I swallowed hard. “No. That’s not necessary.”

  Offering no explanation, I plugged into the energy that coursed through my core. Emerald sparks sizzled down my arms, sparking from my fingertips.

  “Neat!” The doctor laughed, clapping his appreciation for my little show.

  I didn’t respond, too focused was I on fighting back my own trepidation as my hand wandered under the scratchy fabric of the blanket until I felt the cold bite of lifeless skin.

  A jolt.

  A tremor.

  A ghastly gasp as his soul was stuffed back into its former shell.

  My goal was a quick conversation.

  That… was not on the docket.

  The revived Mark Barrington bolted upright with an ear-piercing shriek. Fingers curling around the edge of the sheet, he clung desperately to it as he wailed one foghorn shout after another.

  Stumbling back, Shares-a-Lot slammed into a supply cart, sending it crashing to the floor. “Whoa! What did you do?!”

  Beneath my hoodie, Bacon squirmed his displeasure at the noise, adding his snorts of objection to the rising chorus.

  “If we can all just calm down,” I offered, the sound of my voice easily getting lost in the ruckus.

  Whatever I hoped to learn, it wasn’t happening here. Not under these conditions.

  Finding myself out of options, I grabbed hold of Mark’s wrist once more. “Spirit from beyond the grave, I brought thee into light. With your help, I cannot stave. Return thee into night.”

  Quick as he returned, the corpse fell slack. Back on the table, still as stone.

  Pushing off the wall, Shares-a-Lot exploded into peals of laughter. “Holy shit! That was amazing! Do it again!”

  “Sorry, Doc, show time is over.” Stretching my neck in one direction and then the other, I prepared myself to bumble through yet another mess of a spell. “Goddess of nature, spirit, and light, I beseech your favor this revealing night. Let the man before me seal his trap, and not remember a word of this awkward rap.”

  Shares-a-Lot’s features clouded over, his jovial expression sinking into a stern frown. “Who are you? What are you doing here? This is a restricted area! The public is not allowed access to this area.”

  Holding up one hand, I halted his rant before it could turn belligerent. “My mistake. The corridors here are so confusing. I must have gotten lost. Sorry to bother you.”

  I turned on my heel and marched out before he could question my intentions further.

  “Well, that was a bust,” I muttered, soothing Bacon with a rub on the belly. “Looks like it’s time to put on those little American Girl Doll rain boots I snagged for ya, buddy. We’re headed back to the pier.”

  Chapter four

  “You ever work on a fishing barge before?” Captain Weatherby, the fishermen who discovered Mark Barrington’s body, wrapped rope around his arm from his hand to his elbow. Chewing on the toothpick lodged between his teeth, his gaze swept over me with mild interest.

  I can’t lie. I was only half-listening. There’s no telling how many people have died in the ocean. Even the idea of trying to put a number on it boggles the mind. Standing that close to the shoreline, the agonized shouts of the dead melded together in a roar only I could hear. One that easily drowned out those of the whitecaps crashing on shore.

  “Miss?”

  Snapping to, I tried to physically shake off their ominous pull that threatened to drag me under. “No,” my voice broke in a raspy croak. “But I’m a hard worker. I’m just looking to make a little money to get by. I’m willing to roll up my sleeves and pull my weight, if you’ll take a chance on me.”

  “And the pig?” He jerked his chin in the direction of Bacon, who was snuggled under my arm.

  “He’s my emotional support pig.”

  Unsure how to respond to that, Weatherby simply blinked in my direction. Rope successfully coiled, he took the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it into the ocean. “I can’t promise steady work, but I’m shorthanded today. Just lost one of my men.”

  “I was on the pier yesterday,” I admitted. “I saw what happened.”

  The corners of his dry, chapped lips sank into a frown. Casting his stare to the sea, his head dipped in a sorrowful nod. “Horrible tragedy. He was a good man.” Closing the distance between us with wide strides, Weatherby offered me a hand onto the vessel. “If you don’t have your sea legs and start feeling sick, do it over the edge. Other than that, listen, take orders, and if you don’t understand something, ask.”

  One step on deck, and my stomach lurched in protest as the waves rolled beneath us. Every bit of this was going to be miserable. Of that, I was certain. I jus
t had to keep telling myself that one way or another, it would be worthwhile. While this most likely wouldn’t help me find Elba, it may tip the scales of karma in my favor. Maybe, just maybe, the universe would throw me a friggin’ bone. If not, I could at least earn a couple dollars toward the anti-nausea meds I was most definitely going to need when we got back to shore.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, dropping the captain’s hand as soon as I got my feet under me.

  “Head over to the starboard side. Drew could use some help getting the nets ready for the day.” Weatherby remained perfectly still, not offering so much as a twitch that would help me unravel the mystery of what he said.

  I braved one step, then paused to doubt myself. “And starboard would be…”

  Squinting into the sun, he huffed a mocking laugh. “On the right.”

  “On the right,” I parroted, resuming my stride.

  “Your other right.”

  “My other right.” A quick reroute and I was back on track.

  “Let the pully do the work; just guide the line,” Drew directed. The sailor’s skin was leathered by the sun, his sinewy muscles braided ropes of strength.

  It was kind of him to give direction like I was actually useful. Especially since I couldn’t manage more than clinging to the rail of the ship and heaving my now emptied gut over the side. Even so, Drew had pity, and kept calling out instructions as if that would somehow earn me credit with the captain for trying.

  Not all heroes wear capes, my friends.

  Sinking to the floor, my back to the wall, I rested my forearms on my knees while my chin drooped to my chest. “I don’t know how you do this every day,” I gasped, sweat dripping from the tip of my nose.

  The pully clicked ever higher, reeling in a bulging net.

  Keeping a careful watch on the nets’ track, his stare flicked my way for a beat. “Ah, once you get your sea legs you’ll be right as rain.”

  I tried to shake my head, only for my stomach to give another roll of protest. “Nope. I do not have sea legs. The only pair I have come with a deep, newly confirmed, appreciation for land. So much so, I may have a commit ceremony with a pile of dirt the second we get back to shore. No joke. I’m going to kiss it, roll around on it, the whole bit. It’s going to be insanely embarrassing for all of you to witness, and I don’t even give a damn.”