One Book In The Grave

I watched as Derek and Max straightened the edges of the box; then they both stepped back. Max looked grim as he walked out of the room.

“How did she die?” I asked Derek.

He gritted his teeth. “I suspect asphyxiation.”

“She was strangled?”

“Suffocated,” he corrected.

“Like, with a pillow, you mean?”

“Perhaps,” he said, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Something plastic is more likely.”

I winced. “Oh.”

After a moment of silence, he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call Gabriel.”

I nodded. “I’ll call the police.”

“Look who’s moving up in the world,” Inspector Lee said cheerfully as she walked into my workroom.

“What do you mean?” I said, lifting my head from the table. While she’d been observing the crime scene, I’d been resting my eyes for a few minutes. But it hadn’t helped to erase that vision of Angelica in the box. I feared it was permanently planted in my brain.

“I mean, you’re not going out looking for dead bodies anymore,” she explained with a smirk. “Now you’re having them delivered.”

I stared at her in amazement.

“What?” she said.

“That is just so mean.”

She laughed. “Lighten up, Wainwright. We’ve got to keep a sense of humor about these things.”

I made sure she saw me rolling my eyes before I walked away. I went into my bedroom, closed the door, and looked around. I loved this room, loved the colors I’d chosen. Pale greens in different shades from sage to apple. Crisp whites. Clean, soft lines. Nothing frilly, just all smooth and calm. I could relax in here, clear my thoughts, consider my options. I sat on the love seat and put up my feet. I didn’t feel like relaxing. I wanted to kick something.

My life in the past week had been turned upside down. Two bodies discovered, one delivered in a box. A friend returning from the dead. Crazy survivalists. Someone taking potshots at me and my friends. I was sick of it.

“‘Got to keep a sense of humor about these things,’” I muttered sarcastically. Not fair! I had a sense of humor.

And I liked Inspector Lee-I really did. But, excuse me, I didn’t think calling me a murder magnet was all that funny. She’d said stuff like this to me before, stuff about seeing me at every murder scene and how we had to stop meeting like that. She’d made it clear that she noticed I seemed to attract dead bodies.

Maybe she was the reason I’d developed this complex, the one I’d discussed with Guru Bob. But Guru Bob had seen it in a positive light. I wasn’t sure I agreed with him. Could I ever consider my apparent proclivity for finding dead bodies a good thing? Did he really intend for me to take on the role of Nemesis, finding justice for the dead?

Did I even want to? Some of the dead were people I would never be friends with. Case in point? Angelica. She had treated me like a leper. Did I really care who murdered her?

I punched the pillow I was clutching. Yeah, I cared, damn it. Not because of her, certainly, but because the murderer had obviously targeted me. And Max. They’d shot a gun at us both, and at Derek and Gabriel, as well. So we were all victims of a sort. Even Emily, wherever she was.

So I wasn’t about to stop searching for reasons and clues and answers to my questions. And justice. I wanted justice. I wanted Max to have his life back. I wanted that damn box out of my living room. And along the way to finding answers, if I happened to find justice for Angelica also? Well, then, no harm, no foul.

But first I needed to swallow my annoyance and face Inspector Lee.

“‘Now you’re having bodies delivered,’” I mimicked, shaking my head. Okay, now that the initial piss-off had passed, even I could admit that it was a little funny. Still mean and rude, but funny. And too damn true.

“‘Bodies delivered,’” I grumbled.

I punched my pillow one last time. “Okay, fine. It was funny.” But you’d never catch me admitting it to her.

I was chuckling reluctantly by the time I left my bedroom. I mean, really, that damn woman’s body had been delivered straight to my house. It was like the plot of a bad horror movie. Creepy. Diabolical. Stupid. Who had that kind of mind?

“‘Delivery for you, Ms. Wainwright,’” I muttered, shaking my head. “Bodies ’R’ Us.” It really was too silly, if I looked at it objectively. A body delivered to my house. Ridiculous!

And all of a sudden, my eyes flew open. “Delivered. To my house. Oh, God.”

I ran down the hall shouting, “Derek.”

“Right here, darling,” he called from the kitchen, where I found him drinking a beer. Inspector Jaglom sat on one of the bar stools, holding a Starbucks cup.

I averted my eyes from the scene in the corner of my living room, where the medical examiner and his assistants were hauling Angelica’s body out of the box. I hoped they were taking the box with them.

“What is it, love?”

“The deliveryman!” I said gleefully. “He’ll have information on whoever sent that thing.”

“Brilliant, darling.” Derek lifted his beer bottle in a toast to my genius. “Do you have the delivery slip, by chance? Inspector Jaglom can get started straight away with tracking him down.”

My shoulders fell. “You already thought of that, didn’t you?”

He gazed at me with fondness. “I believe you and I might’ve thought of it at precisely the same moment. Great minds and all that, you know.”

“Right.” I shot him a skeptical look. He smiled back at me and mouthed the words, I love you.

And just like that, I was smiling again.

Inspector Lee caught me coming out of the kitchen. “Listen, Wainwright. I mean, Brooklyn. You know I was just teasing you earlier, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good.” Inspector Lee grinned. “Because believe it or not, I actually like you a lot.”

“You like me?”

“Hey, if I didn’t like you, I’d kick you to the curb.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said. “I’m feeling the love.”

“That’s as warm and fuzzy as I get, Wainwright.”

“But you mean it? You really, really like me?” I said, sniffling as I dramatically clutched my hands to my heart.

She held up both hands. “Okay, don’t get carried away.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” I said sardonically.

She laughed and we walked out of the living room into my workroom. I needed a break from the crime scene and she seemed willing to hang out with me.

“You and me,” she said, leaning one hip against my desk. “We’re sort of in the same boat.”

I jumped up and sat in one of my work chairs. “How do you figure?”

She shrugged. “Well, first and most obviously, we’re both foxy.”

“Foxy?” I laughed and she grinned. Guess she was going for a laugh, so I played along. “That’s so true. We do have that much in common.”

“Yeah,” she said, “and we both seem to find ourselves around dead bodies a lot.”

“Also true.” I observed her for a moment and realized she looked a little uncomfortable. Interesting. So I said, “You know, we have so much in common, we should probably try to get along. You know. Be friends, maybe.”

She shrugged. “Only seems right.”

“Okay.” I held out my hand and she reached over and shook it. Her hand was cool and calloused. Friendly.

“Friends,” she said with a satisfied nod.

I found the delivery invoice on my workroom desk and took it to Inspector Jaglom, who was still sitting in the