Flowers for Her Grave

Chapter Four

Florida was hot. Hot and muggy and miserable.

“Why did we come here again?” Death waved a fan made of feathers, which did nothing but move the sultry air from one place to another.

“I’ve always wanted to live in Florida.”

“Why? It’s hotter than hell down here.”

Casey laughed, and Death preened at her response to the semi-witty joke.

“I’ll find someplace nice,” Casey said. “With air-conditioning.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. Where are we, anyway?”

“Tallahassee.”

Casey and Death had walked away from the rental car shop and headed into town. “I need a newspaper. Or a library.” Casey brightened. “I can use a library again. Ms. Daisy Gray, library patron.”

Death made a face. “Do I have to call you Daisy?”

“Only around people who can see you.”

“And how are we supposed to know who they are?”

“How do you think? They’ll look at you. People who can’t see you look only at me, remember?”

Casey had discovered a couple weeks earlier that only those who aren’t afraid of death could see the physical embodiment of it. Those who were afraid—and those people far outweighed their opposite—had no idea Death was anywhere in the vicinity. So far those who had the ability to see Casey’s companion had been limited to very young children, a man with Down’s Syndrome, a deeply religious woman, and a woman who had lost her husband in a tragic accident. Sort of like Casey.

Casey glared at Death.

“What? Why look at me like that?”

“We’ve met other people who see you. Why can’t you go bother them for a while?”

“I’ve told you. You’re far more interesting than anyone else I’ve come across.”

“I have a hard time believing that. What about Queen Elizabeth? John Dillinger? Jesus?”

Death winced and looked around like someone might hear. “Now don’t go joking about him.”

“Fine. But there have to be others who would be more interesting, like…” She thought. “Like William Shakespeare?”

“Okay. Fine. You’re more interesting than anyone I’ve come across in the last two hundred years. That make you feel better?”

“Tons.” Casey stopped at a drug store and asked for directions to the library. It would be another two miles of walking. No matter. She could use the exercise.

Death, however, moaned and groaned about the extra work, asking why they couldn’t just take a taxi. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the money.

“Look.” Casey was trying to keep her temper in check. “If you don’t want to walk, it’s pretty simple. Don’t do it. Fly, or float, or just transport yourself, whatever you people do. Or even better—go harass someone else.”

“You people? Is that a racist remark? Should I be offended?”

Casey shook her head and walked faster. By the time she got to the library, she was sweating. She burst into the building, loving the rush of the air conditioning on her damp skin.

“May I help you?” The librarian—Mrs. Elaine Simms, Branch Manager—looked at Casey and her bags with some surprise.

“Yes, please. I’d like to use a computer.”

“Do you have a library card?”

“No, but I’d love to get one.”

“Oh, gag me,” Death said. “Since when did you become so chipper?”

Casey handed over her driver’s license.

“Do you have another form of identification?” the librarian asked. “Something with your current address?”

“I’m just moving here, so I don’t have anything.”

“But your license says Tallahassee.”

“Oh, um, right. I’ve been gone for a while. Service assignment. Overseas. I sold my house before I left.”

“Way to go,” Death said. “You didn’t sound like an idiot at all just then.”

“All right,” the librarian said. “No problem.” She returned Casey’s license. “You may use a terminal today, and when you have your new address you can come back. But you will need to leave your bags with me.”

Casey clutched them. “I don’t think I can—”

“It’s a secure room. They’ll be fine.”

Casey backed toward the door.

“Casey,” Death said calmly. “She’s a librarian. She’s not going to steal your pathetic little collection of clothes and toiletries. Or even your treasures.”

Death was right. Of course.

“Fine,” Casey said. She handed her bags to Mrs. Elaine Simms, Branch Manager, who scooted them across the floor into a room behind the counter.

“Terminal two, please,” the librarian said when she was back. “Right there.” She pointed Casey toward a computer.

Casey thanked her and got settled in the hard chair.

“So what are we looking for?” Death sat on the desk cross-legged, with a nametag reading, Grey Walker, Life and Death Manager.

Casey waved her hand. “Will you move? I can’t see when you’re hunched over the screen.”

The man at terminal three gave Casey a startled look.

“Sorry,” Casey said. “I’ll stop talking to myself.”

He gave her a wavery smile and returned to his work.

Casey went to monster.com and typed, “Martial Arts, Tallahassee, Florida,” in the job search box.

sorry there are 0 martial arts jobs

She frowned, and typed in “Martial Arts, Florida.”

The negative findings were repeated.

“Something else, perhaps?” Death said. “Crabby lady, Anywhere with AC?”

Casey shook her head and typed “Fitness instructor, Tallahassee, Florida.”

sorry there are 0 fitness instructor jobs

“How about your theater background? You could get back onto the stage.”

“Not without giving myself away,” Casey whispered. “My union card has my real name on it, remember?”

“Would you have to show it to be a fight instructor?”

“No worthwhile director would hire me without knowing my training, and how am I going to tell them that without advertising who I really am?”

“Just trying to help, Miss Negativity.”

She typed in “fitness instructor” again, taking out ‘Tallahassee.’

there is 1 fitness instructor job in Florida

Casey clicked on it.

“Well?” Death said. “Where is it?”

“Raceda.”

“Nice. They’ve got great beaches.”

“I don’t know…”

“What? Too many fat people?”

She read the description:

Wanted: fitness instructor for enclosed community. Hours flexible. Must have personal training certification, as well as aerobics, swimming, and yoga. Must provide references. Previous experience necessary.

Casey hadn’t thought about the reference problem. Seeing how Daisy Gray had just been born that week, she didn’t have anyone to call.

“I say go for it,” Death said. “You really don’t want to be flipping burgers, not with your abs.”

“What? I just show up and say, ‘Sorry, you’ll have to take my word I’m the right person for the job?’”

“No.” Death was using a patient, soothing voice, as if dealing with a difficult child. “You go there, offer to lead some classes for free, and they can determine your suitability.”

“But that doesn’t tell them I’m not some psycho. They’ll want to be careful, since it’s an enclosed community. Those kinds of people are always paranoid.”

“Fine.” Death hopped off the desk. “Look for something else. A desk job. Construction. I don’t care.”

Casey looked at Death, who stood beside the desk, arms crossed. She sighed. Death was right. Again. That was getting old.

She caught the eye of the man at the next terminal—he was staring at her some more, and she wondered just how soon he’d be calling security. Casey quickly wrote down the information for the job, gave the man a way-too-brilliant smile, and went back to the front desk.

“Done already?” the librarian asked.

“Just needed one thing.”

“Let me get your bags.”

A minute later Casey was on the street.

“Now what?” Death squinted into the bright afternoon.

Casey headed back the way they’d come. “Now we find a way to Raceda. Guess we should’ve kept that rental car.”

“If we do the rental car thing again, make sure it’s not a compact this time. You’ve got cash, you should be riding in style.”

So Casey picked a hybrid, with even less room for passengers than a compact.

“You know,” Death said, squished between Casey’s two bags in the front—and only—seat, “you could use the trunk for your baggage.”

“Okay,” Casey said. “Go on back.”

“Ha, ha.” Death wiggled around, trying to get comfortable, but couldn’t find a position that allowed a line of sight over knees or feet. “Oh, fine. I’ll see you there.”

And Death was gone in a puff of irritated mist.

Casey turned on the radio. It was playing Pink’s, “So What.” She turned it up as loud as she could bear it, and sang along.