First Grave on the Right

“Yeah. I’ve hated her guts since I was ten. There’s really not much else to put in a letter.”

I tried to hide the shock I felt.

He noticed anyway. “Oh, trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Okay, two notes, then.”

“Hey,” Elizabeth said, suddenly thoughtful, “what day is the first day of summer?”

“Planning on sticking around that long?” I asked.

She lifted her shoulders, referenced Garrett with a nod of her head, then wriggled her perfectly arched brows.

“Ah.” I tried not to laugh. “It’s June twentieth, or sometimes—”

Garrett gasped, and Elizabeth crossed her arms and smiled, smugness radiating off her in waves.

“You’re right,” Garrett said. “Elizabeth Ellery’s birthday is June twentieth.”

I leveled a mortified glare on her. “You tricked me.”

“Lawyer,” she volleyed, as if that explained it all.

Yeah, I liked her a lot. I strolled back to my chair and plopped down with my usual fanfare.

“She tricked me,” I said to Garrett.

He grinned. But his grin was different. It had changed, and I realized why.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no,” I said, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t even start with that crap.”

“What crap?” he asked, all innocence and awe.

“The crap where you look at me like I have all the answers to every question in the known universe. I don’t. I can’t see into the future. I can’t read your past. I damn sure can’t read your palm, whatever the hell that’s about. I can’t—”

“But you’re psychic, right?”

“Dude,” I said, leaning over the desk, “I’m about as psychic as a carrot.”

“But—”

“No buts!” I had serious issues with the p-s word. We’d never really bonded. I threw my hands over my ears and started humming to myself.

“That’s mature.”

He was right. I stuck out my tongue anyway, then put my hands down. “Listen, even I have more questions than answers. I’m fairly certain my abilities are more closely related to schizophrenia than to anything supernatural. Ask anyone. If I were edible, I’d be a fruitcake.”

“Schizophrenia,” he said doubtfully.

“I hear voices in my head. How much more schizophrenic does it get?”

“But you just said—”

I held up an index finger to stop him. Though a middle one would have been more to the point, I had to explain before I lost the ground I’d just gained. “Look, when people are in the position you’re in now, when they’re almost to the point of believing in what I can do, they pull out all the stops. They quiz me, ask me stupid questions, want to know where the next earthquake will hit or what the winning lottery numbers will be. Seriously, have you ever read the headline ‘Psychic Wins Lottery’? I’m not psychic. I don’t even know if such a thing exists.”

“Tell him what you are,” Elizabeth chimed in excitedly while Garrett flipped through his notepad.

I flashed her a desperate shut-up-or-die look. It didn’t work. Probably because she was already dead.

“Seriously,” she said, “just tell him. He’s starting to believe you now. He’ll think it’s cool.”

“No, he won’t,” I whispered through my teeth, forgetting that I was the only living person in the room who could hear her.

“A person sensitive to things beyond the natural range of perception.” Garrett looked up at me. “The definition of psychic.”

“Oh, well, okay. Maybe,” I said. “But I still hate the word. And its implications.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a shrug. “And I won’t what?”

“Think it’s cool.”

“What? Your abilities?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

Then what? I guess if he really wanted to know, I’d hit him with the whole enchilada dinner. I was on a roll, after all. Why stop now? Not even my dad or Uncle Bob really knew the extent of what I was. I’d never needed to tell them. They believed me, and that was good enough. But since I really didn’t care what Garrett thought of me …

“Fine,” I said with a challenging edge to my voice. “I’ll tell you everything. If I do, will you leave?”

After a pause, he agreed with an almost imperceptible nod.

“I’m a … I’m kind of a … I’m sort of like a … well, damn.” I gritted my teeth and just blurted it out: “I’m a grim reaper. Well, the grim reaper, actually.”

There. I’d said it. I laid it all out on the table, cleared the air, bared my soul, all the while vowing that no cliche be left unturned. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t shoot out of his chair or stalk out the door. In fact, he didn’t move at all. Not an inch. I wondered if he was still breathing; then it dawned on me. This was his poker face. His gray eyes stayed locked on mine as I waited for his reaction, but he wasn’t going to give me one. I had to admit, his poker face was pretty good. I had no idea what he was thinking.

“I think he believes you,” Elizabeth said as she bent over and looked at him before glancing back at me.

So she would have no choice but to see the doubt in every line of my face, I formed my expression carefully.

“How does that work?” Garrett asked at last.

I refocused my attention on him. “You said you would leave.”

“If,” he countered, “you told me everything.”

Dammit. “Okay, how does it work? Hell, I don’t know. It just does.”

“I mean, what do you do?”

“Oh. I help people cross.”

“Cross?”

“Um, to the other side?” I said, wondering just how clueless he was.

“How?”

Geez, he was persistent. “Excuse me.” I jumped up, scooted the office-furniture version of a love seat forward, then sat back down. The lawyers had eased closer, wanting to hear every word of the story as well. “Can you guys sit down? You’re making me nervous hovering like that.”

“Oh, sure,” they said, and all three squeezed into the seat. I fought back a chuckle.

“How?” Garrett repeated.

Back to the third degree. A long breath slipped through my lips as I considered everything I’d been telling him. This stuff could be used as ammunition against me. It had happened before, by people I’d trusted much more than Garrett. Still, we’d come this far.

“Basically,” I said, exaggerating my reluctance in the tone of my voice, “I try to help them figure out why they didn’t cross. Then I lead them to the light.”

“What light?”

“The light. The only light I know of,” I replied, using the escape and evasion tactics I’d learned from a first lieutenant I dated in college.

“Uh-huh,” he said, not falling for it. “What light?”

I hesitated. Some bits of information were just more sacred than others. Some were reserved for the departed only. It wasn’t like the truth of what I do would help him believe me. More likely, it would send him running for the door. Come to think of it …

“Me,” I said with a hint of self-righteous arrogance lifting my chin. I felt like I was back in middle school, begging the bully to challenge me.

After a thoughtful moment, he asked, “You?”

“Me,” I repeated, with just as much arrogance. Go ahead, Mr. Skeptic, make my day. Challenge me. Prove me wrong. As if. “Apparently, I’m very bright.”

I suddenly realized what I’d done. I’d said too much. I’d let my pride go to the party, and it ended up