My Life as a White Trash Zombie

shit happens that way. One way or another, this will get worked out. It always does. This zombie will either move on, or someone will take him out.”

With that he straightened and spun. A second later he was out the door while I stared after him in confusion and anger.

Would this zombie move on? How long would it take before people started to wonder about all of the “accidental” deaths? And would anyone ever notice that the victims were all low on brains? I clutched the mug like a damn lifeline, thoughts tumbling in jangled disarray.

All he needs to do is start hiding the bodies so they aren’t found for a while—enough time for them to decompose. Then no one would ever realize that the victims had been killed for their brains. Half of this parish is fucking swamp, too. It’s not like it’s tough to hide a body around here.

Of course, that thought also gave me a chill. How did I know there weren’t bodies slowly rotting in the swamp already? Prey on people who wouldn’t be missed. It would be so easy to get away with it.

The very fact that I was working out how to do it left me nauseated.

The waitress came by, and I went ahead and ordered another hot chocolate, along with a piece of apple pie. The comfort food was going to be working overtime.

On the other hand, Zeke had been so out in the open with these three murders that I kinda had a hard time believing he had a secret pile of bodies hidden in the swamp. That made me feel ever so slightly better. I could maybe believe that the murder of the drug dealer had been planned—I mean, even I could get behind the idea that if you have to kill someone, make it someone who was a piece of shit. I, the former druggie, endorsed this. Now that was damn funny.

And the murder of Mr. Harris with the lawn mower had to have been spur-of-the-moment. Zeke was hungry, saw the guy outside working on his mower, and seized an opportunity.

“Angel?”

I jerked and nearly spilled my hot chocolate. Standing by my table were Ed and Marcus, both looking at me with questioning smiles. The two men were dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, which probably explained why I hadn’t noticed them coming into the diner since I’d only ever seen them in uniform before. That and the fact that I was so deeply absorbed in my thoughts they could have paraded around nude and it might not have registered.

My mind wanted to continue exploring that line of thought, but I ruthlessly yanked it back to the here and now. “Hi. Sorry. I was a million miles away,” I said, smiling weakly.

“You looked like you were doing some serious thinking there,” Ed said. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, just letting my mind wander.” I waved toward the empty chairs around the table. “Y’all wanna sit? I’m killing some time.”

In answer, both men seized chairs and sat. The waitress materialized and slid my pie in front of me, then turned to Ed and Marcus. “Y’all eatin’?”

Ed smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger with fries, loaded baked potato, cinnamon apples, mac and cheese, and a side salad with ranch dressing. Oh, and a Barq’s.”

“And I’ll have a Diet Coke,” Marcus said as soon as the waitress had finished scrawling down Ed’s incredible order. “Also a turkey club with extra bacon, a cup of gumbo, garlic bread, and an Italian salad—with extra olive oil.”

I stared at the two of them as the poor woman finished writing and hurried off. “Holy shit. And I was feeling guilty for indulging in pie.”

Marcus grinned. “I can’t hold a candle to Ed. This is a light snack for him. He has the metabolism of a hummingbird.”

Ed spread his hands and gave a rueful shrug. “He speaks the truth. I have an overachieving appetite. But surely you could eat more than that,” he said with a nod to my pie. “You don’t have a spare ounce of fat on you.”

“The word is ‘scrawny,’ ” I retorted. “And I think I’d barf if I tried to eat as much as either of you.”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “You of the legendary Iron Stomach? I think not.”

I cast a doubtful glance at him. “Legendary?”

Marcus grinned. “It’s true. Everyone knows that nothing bothers you on a scene.”

“But that’s not true!” I blurted in surprise. I could feel my face heating, and I quickly jabbed a fork at my pie in an effort to cover my sudden embarrassment. I kinda liked being thought of as hardcore, but I wasn’t keen on being known as some sort of heartless robot. “Stuff bothers me,” I muttered.

“Easy, Angel,” Marcus said, touching the back of my hand briefly. “No one’s implying you’re cold or made of stone. You’re as human as any of us.” He offered me a slight smile. “Please trust me when I say it’s a good thing when cops and paramedics say that you’re tough.”

“I don’t feel tough,” I said, unable to completely keep the sour note from my voice.

“Yeah, well, you fake it well,” Ed told me, then smiled at the waitress as she poured his coffee. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“So what are you two up to today?” Yes, I wanted to change the subject.

“Deer season opens this weekend,” Marcus replied. “We’re going to go check out the property where we usually hunt and make sure everything’s in order.”

The pie was good, but I had the faintest hint that I was missing something in the flavor. Then I realized. A day without brains is like a day without sunshine. My last brains had been early yesterday.

“You two don’t strike me as the good ol’ boy deerhunter type,” I said.

Ed chuckled. “And you would be right. But every now and then we feel the urge to give it a try. I think we’re suckers for punishment.”

“My uncle owns a fairly large parcel of land at the north end of the parish,” Marcus explained.

“His uncle owns half the parish,” Ed interjected.

Marcus grinned. “Not quite. But he is pretty well-off.” At a sidelong glance from Ed he chuckled. “Okay, he’s filthy stinking rich. Anyway. He used to take the two of us hunting when we were kids, and now it’s a stupid tradition that we continue.” His mouth twitched into a smile. “Some of that male bonding crap.”

“Uh huh.” I gave them both a dubious look. “Do y’all ever actually kill any deer?”

Ed cast his eyes upward and tapped his chin with his fingers. “Hmm . . . that’s a tough question.”

Marcus gave a laugh. “The answer is ‘almost never.’ Mostly it gives us an excuse to go ride around on four- wheelers, play with big guns, and then spend the next few days picking ticks off our bodies.”

“Wow,” I said. “I am so glad I’m not a guy.”

“It’s much better that you’re not,” Ed said, expression suddenly serious.

I blinked. “Er, okay. Why do you say that?”

“Well, you’d be a very funny looking boy,” he said. “I mean, with the boobies and all.”

I let out a bark of laughter and threw my napkin at him. “You idiot.”

Marcus laughed. “For what it’s worth, I have to agree with Ed, though I won’t use the word ‘boobies.’ ”

“You just did,” I pointed out with a mock glare.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged.”

“So, do either of you have girlfriends who have to put up with you?” I asked, hoping it sounded nice and casual. Because that’s all it was, right? A casual getting-to-know-you question. I hid a grimace. Nope, it was totally desperate and awkward. Ugh.

“Marcus has yet to find anyone to tolerate his presence on a somewhat permanent basis,” Ed said, casting a teasing look at the other man. “But I’m willingly under the thumb of a fine woman who I probably don’t deserve.”

“You might have seen her the other day at the crime scene for the pizza guy,” Marcus said. “She had the cadaver dog. They were looking for the head.”

“Oh, right!” I remembered her. Cute and petite.

“What about you?” Ed asked with a tilt of his head. “Is there a lucky guy in your life?”

I don’t know why I was unprepared for the question, especially since I was the one who’d brought the whole subject up in the first place. “Um, kinda,” I said, fumbling for an answer. “I mean, there’s this guy I’ve been going out with for about four years . . . .”