“So glad you’re okay.”
“If there’s anything we can do . . . Well, you’d better call first.”
The family had never made contact with Mel again, and he was left alone, heartbroken. A painfully typical case: Family loses loved one, loved one rises from the grave, loving family wants risen loved one back in their lives, family gets a whiff and changes their mind.
I had taken the forlorn zombie to the Hope & Salvation Mission and asked Mrs. Saldana to give him a helping hand. She gave Mel some self-help books and arranged for him to get a job. He’s actually quite happy now....
With a sigh, I realized I wasn’t getting any more benefit from the autopsy report, no matter how long I stared at it. Dead end. For now.
I delivered a couple of case folders back to Sheyenne. She opened the metal file drawer, sorted through dividers, and slid the folders back in place. “When I was in medical school, I was planning to be a surgeon,” she said. “Now I’m reorganizing office files.”
“I know, Spooky. Life didn’t turn out the way we wanted it to. Come to think of it, death didn’t turn out like we expected either. But at least you get to see me every day now.” As if that would cheer her up.
She made the pfft sound and ruffled some papers, then flashed me a flirtatious smile. “Small consolation, but it’ll do. Anyway, death is what you make of it.”
She retrieved several unsolved case folders from my office and set them on her desk so she could comb through the documents herself. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep doing the real work here—though it goes above and beyond the job description of an executive administrator.”
“You’re a lot more than an administrator. Paralegal too. Sounding board. Customer service rep.”
“Business manager,” she added. “If I didn’t help Robin and you go over the books, you’d never balance the accounts.”
“That’s beyond my detective abilities,” I said.
A week after she died, Sheyenne’s ghost had appeared in our offices and boldly announced that she was my new office manager, Robin’s new paralegal, and yes, thank you, she was going to accept the job, even though we hadn’t offered it. I didn’t have the heart to turn her down, especially after what Sheyenne had been through—after what we’d all been through. And after the promises I’d made to her on her hospital deathbed.
Now she looked up from the files. “Don’t forget, Beaux, you promised to find my murderer in your spare time.”
She’d been killed four full weeks before me, and I’d been diligently trying to solve her murder when I got shot myself. Coincidence? Whoever had given her the toadstool poison could be connected to the bastard who shot me. Or maybe not.
“I won’t forget about it, honest. I just hope you don’t quit your job after the case is solved.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily—I thought you’d figured that out by now.” She gave me a wink. “Still, could be hazardous.”
“It’s already been hazardous.”
When she gave me that heartwarming-to-the-point-of-incandescence look with those blue eyes, I doubted I could ever forget her if I walked the earth for another two centuries. Nothing would make me happier than to put her killer, and mine, in the electric chair (or whatever form of execution was appropriate for their particular type). I just had to narrow down the suspects until I got the right one.
Alas, there was no shortage of people who wanted me out of the picture.
Chapter 9
Sheyenne checked the schedule and let me know about the last client of the day. “An emancipation case.”
“One of Robin’s, then? Am I supposed to be here for it?”
Sheyenne gave me that “Do you even have to ask?” raised eyebrow. “You know she likes to have you there for moral support.”
“I thought she wanted me there for the muscle.”
“Ha!” With a psychokinetic pfft!, Sheyenne fluttered a bunch of the papers on her desk. “That’s what I get for telling you how cute you are. Now you think you’re Adonis.”
Robin poked her head out of her office. “Is our five o’clock here yet?”
As if she had summoned the client, I heard painstaking, shuffling footsteps out in the hall: a long drag, then a footfall, a long drag, then a footfall, followed by slow, ominous rapping at the door.
“I wasn’t expecting so much suspense,” Sheyenne whispered to me. She opened the door.
Standing in front of us was a decrepit, half-unraveled bundle of bandages and rags that swaddled a short brown man. He was so desiccated that he looked like a child’s doll made of beef jerky. As he lurched forward, three moths flew up from among the bandages. I could hear his bones creaking.
The mummy spoke in a crisp businesslike British accent. “So sorry I’m late. My sundial is notoriously unreliable on cloudy days.” With several ancient scrolls tucked under his elbow, he shuffled into our offices, dragging his left foot. He extended a skeletal hand to me. “Ramen Ho-Tep, at your service.”
I took the grip, but didn’t shake too vigorously, afraid I might break something off (which could lead to a lawsuit of our own). “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Robin greeted him with her dazzling smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Ho-Tep. Your case sounds very interesting. Would you mind if my partner sits in?”
The mummy regarded me. “Is he your slave?”
“No, and he’s not an attorney either, but I value his insights.”
“Brilliant,” the mummy said. “By all means. I want many ears to hear the persecution I’ve suffered.”
In the conference room, Ramen Ho-Tep thumped the ancient scrolls down on the table, and dust wafted up, along with tiny flakes of dried papyrus. Robin had already set out six enormous volumes of legal cases and precedents.
She wrapped up a half-eaten tuna sandwich from her late lunch and set it on a credenza next to a can of diet cola. “Sorry for the mess. I was just catching up.”
“No worries,” said the mummy. “You should have seen the state of my tomb when the archaeologists broke in.”
“You speak English extremely well, Mr. Ho-Tep.” I’m accustomed to unnaturals having slurred diction, and the ones with Southern accents are almost impossible to understand.
“I spent nearly a century lying in the British Museum,” the mummy said. “One’s bound to pick up something of the language, even though I wasn’t actually aware. My body was loaned to the Metropolitan Natural History Museum shortly before the event you call the Big Uneasy . . . and then I woke up. That was a most distressing day, let me tell you! For scientific purposes, the archaeologists had unwrapped half of my bandages, and there I was, naked under the bright lights. If I’d still had any blood flow, I would have blushed quite furiously.”