To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) (5 page)

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Jeff being a grim reaper made a lot more sense than me being one. For a while I’d suspected him of having an affair. Late nights, business trips, vague explanations of where he’d been. It had all smacked of another woman. But maybe it hadn’t been an affair at all. Death didn’t happen at convenient times. Maybe he and Nate had split shifts, took turns sending on souls. Maybe Jeff had worked the day shift so he could lead a fairly normal family life.

I picked up the temporary pass, trying to control the guilt and anger building inside me. I’d never confronted him about my suspicions. If I had, perhaps things would’ve been different between us.

Why hadn’t he told me what he really did for a living? I already knew the answer. We’d grown apart after the twins were born. Raising three kids was a full-time job and Jeff never seemed that interested in helping. Don’t get me wrong, our distance wasn’t completely his fault. I’d embraced motherhood and let being his wife sort of fall by the wayside. My mother had always taught me that’s what a good mom did. If I’d been smart I would have taken a hard look at my parent’s non-existent relationship.

I took a deep drink of wine and dropped the card. More questions filled my head and I wouldn’t be able to put this mess behind me until I checked out GRS for myself. I was like that, too damn inquisitive for my own good.

I walked to the living room and flipped on the television. Nothing looked mind-numbing enough to hold my interest and make me forget about the bizarre twist my life had taken. A day ago I’d been a grieving widow. Now I was a woman, who had discovered her husband might have been leading a double life. Usually, in cases like this, the average woman learned her husband had kept a mistress, or fathered a second family in Ohio, or spent their life savings on gambling. But not mine. Oh no, he had to be a frickin’ Angel of Death. And to top it off, he somehow passed it on to me. It just figured.

CHAPTER FOUR

Thankfully I had
twelve solid hours to process everything Nate said. I wouldn’t have been able to hide the fact I’d been told I was a grim reaper if I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep. After picking up the kids, we headed to the sports store to buy Bronte her hockey skates, and then back home for a quiet evening of pizza and mindless sitcoms. I’d glossed over being in a hold up, and after a few hundred questions, the kids became absorbed in their assorted electronics and toys. By Monday morning I felt things were almost back to normal—almost.

“Who pooped and didn’t flush it?” I popped my head out of the bathroom and waited for an answer I knew wouldn’t come. “I just cleaned this bathroom. The least you guys can do is flush!”

I trudged back to the toilet and stared at the offending floater. Then I slammed the handle down. It wasn’t logical to feel compassion for a turd, but the sense that my life was about to travel down the same swirling path, created a weird bond. I dropped the lid and shuffled to the sink. My hair still maintained its bouncy style after last night’s shower, so I kept it down. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I swiped on a layer of mascara and exited the bathroom.

“You’re not leaving the house in that sweatshirt are you?” Bronte crossed her arms and gave me a look of teenage disapproval. “What is this, like the hundredth day in a row?”

“No, I’m not wearing this,” I said, even though I’d totally been planning on doing exactly that. “And I washed it yesterday, so it’s clean.”

“I think it should say
I’m sick of being my husband’s armpit candy,
instead.”

“I’ll have you know your father loved this sweatshirt.”

Bronte harrumphed. “You should have buried him in it and done us all a favor.”

“Oh, real nice.” The tongue of a fifteen year old could be lethal. I’d learned to ignore most of her taciturn ways, chalking it up to hormones and coping mechanisms. That’s what I told myself, anyway. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready.” She shoved a thumb over her shoulder toward the boys’ bedroom. “But you might want to hustle Thing One and Two along. They’re having one of their secret meetings.”

Secret meetings never boded well and were best headed off at the pass. The last time Breck and Bryce sequestered themselves, I found all their stuffed animals wearing blindfolds and lined up against my bay window. That wouldn’t have been so disturbing, but all my steak knives were missing as well—it was during their circus phase.

I knocked on the door, hopefully disrupting yet another nefarious plan. “Let’s go boys.”

The two jumped when I spoke, confirming their guilt. I’d have to stay on my toes for the next few days.

“Coming, Mom.” Bryce picked up his fifty pound backpack and slipped it over his winter jacket. He’s my little nerd and never leaves the house with less than seven things to occupy him in the van.

Empty-handed, Breck headed for the door.

“Coat.” I blocked his path so he couldn’t get past. “Backpack, homework, lunchbox.”

“Oh yeah.” Breck trotted across the room and gathered all his items in one disorganized bundle. “Ready.”

I smiled down at him. My twins were polar opposites. Bryce excelled academically and liked everything organized. Breck was the class clown and a sports enthusiast. Rarely did he remember a coat or to brush his hair. His mischievousness kept me on twenty-four hour alert.

“Get in the van. We don’t want to be late.”

The boys thundered from the room. I followed, collecting my fleece jacket and purse, waiting to make sure the kids were out of the house. As I walked to the kitchen, I slipped on my coat and zipped it so Bronte wouldn’t see I was still wearing the sweatshirt. From between the overdue phone and cable bill, I plucked the temporary pass Nate had given me and shoved it into my coat pocket.

Though it was only a stiff piece of plastic, it weighed like a heavy stone. Maybe it was just my conscience. After Nate left, my guilt about thinking Jeff had been cheating had grown. For the rest of the weekend my mind conjured questions I couldn’t answer. By Sunday night I solidified my decision to go to GRS Monday morning. At the very least, I’d be able to satisfy my curiosity and put this crazy reaper business behind me.

After dropping off Bronte at the high school and the boys at their elementary school for open gym time, I headed down Muldoon toward GRS. It was another gray, brisk day, which seemed appropriate for my mood. At a stoplight I watched the cars speed past, wondering if any of the drivers were grim reapers.

I caught myself. Did I actually believe I was a reaper or that they even existed? I’d always liked the idea of angels escorting me to Heaven after I died. What I witnessed in the bathroom of the Holiday Station was about as far from that scenario as I could imagine.

The light turned green and I continued down Muldoon, which turned into Tudor. I’ve never understood the naming of roads in Anchorage. For no discernible reason or warning street names changed. L Street turned into Minnesota, which then turned into O’Malley farther down. I didn’t know why and never asked. Maybe those who named the streets had so many great choices they wanted to use them all.

I slowed when I approached the parking lot to the GRS building. Omar fought my attempt to turn right. Yeah, I’m blaming my van. I pulled into the left lane and whipped a U-turn. Staying in the right lane, I pulled into Starbucks and shut off the engine. I stared at Jeff’s old work place. Any other time it was simply a reminder of where he’d worked. Now it loomed against the cloudy sky, ominous and forbidding. I squinted, trying to peer through the top floor windows, but couldn’t see anything beyond the silver glass.

I glanced at the clock on my phone. I had a good forty-five minutes before Nate would be expecting me. The thought of a little more time calmed me slightly. As I got out of the van and walked toward the coffee shop, shivers skittered up my spin. Somebody was watching me. My eyes darted back toward the van, but the rest of the lot was empty. I did a sweep of the GRS building. Unless somebody stared at me from behind the mirrored windows, I couldn’t locate anybody. Then I looked up and noticed a fat raven siting on the edge of the roof. My steps slowed. I’m no raven expert, but I swear it was the same bird that had perched on my porch railing a few days before. The raven gurgled at me, as if to confirm my unanswered question.

I stopped, waiting for the bird to do something other than make noises. To my surprise, it pecked once at something on the ledge and then took flight. It dove and I ducked to avoid being hit. With a downward pull of its wings, the raven soared upward. As it did, something fell from its beak.

The object landed with a metal clank and slid along the sidewalk to bump against the toe of my boot. I glanced at the raven, but the bird continued its course toward downtown. I picked up the metal charm and examined it. A cold chill raced through me. It was a raven sitting on the handle of a scythe, the blade curling above its head.

The charm burned against the palm of my hand but I didn’t think it was from the cold. It grew hotter. I pinched the clasp by my thumb and index finger and held it up to the light. Yep, it was definitely glowing.

When I got up this morning I’d been so confident I’d be able to put all this reaper craziness behind me. I guess that wasn’t going to happen.

A knot formed in my stomach. Coffee suddenly sounded unappetizing. It was probably best to face my fears and get this over with. I took a deep breath, pocketed the charm, and walked back to my van.

There was no simple way to get across the street to the GRS building, so I drove to the nearest stop light, executed another U-turn and headed back. This time I turned into the parking lot. Not giving myself a chance to chicken out, I grabbed my purse and strode to the front door.

The building was exactly as I remembered. Large glass doors led to a utilitarian foyer, which was empty at the moment. A wide hall lined with dark wood doors branched to the left. I’d taken a few steps toward the hall with the intention of examining the offices when the elevator door to the right dinged open.

I jumped and spun to see Nate leaning against the back wall. “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”

“Neither was I.” I shrugged, pretending all this wasn’t completely freaking me out. “I think I’m early.”

He exited the elevator with a knowing smile and his gorgeous blue eyes leveled on me. Maybe I was easier to read than I thought. Damn him for being even better looking today. Though loathe to admit I cared, I was happy I’d gotten my hair cut and attempted the minimal amount of makeup. However, I should have taken Bronte’s harsh suggestion and changed my shirt.

Nate held his hand out. “Do you have your pass?”

“Oh, yeah.” I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the card. The raven charm hooked on the edge and dropped on the floor. Before I could grab it, Nate bent and retrieved the charm. I held out my hand, not wanting him to examine it too closely. It was tough to rationalize the raven and its gift being a coincidence. “That’s just something I found.”

His eyebrows lifted and he dangled in front of me. “A little bird didn’t happen to give this to you, did it?”

“Maybe.” I snatched it from his fingers and shoved it back in my pocket. “It’s nothing.”

The grunt he issued spoke volumes, letting me know I couldn’t be farther from the truth. I shoved the temporary pass at him.

He took it and smiled again, a little dimple appearing in his cheek. I had the overwhelming urge to slap the cuteness off his face for no better reason than the feeling inept every time I was around him.

“Come on.” He walked toward the elevator. When I didn’t move, he stopped and looked at me. “I promise it’s just an elevator. Nothing more.”

“Right.” After what I’d seen in the Holiday bathroom, elevators had become my least favorite place. I followed him into the car, praising myself for my courage or colossal stupidity. That was still to be determined. “So what happens now?”

Instead of answering, Nate slid my pass along the top of the panel and punched the fourth floor. He leaned against the bar. The doors slid shut, sealing us inside. My stomach lurched when the elevator rose. Not wanting to look at Nate, I stared at the circles, on the panel, following their lighted path, waiting for his answer. Muffled music wafted from the hidden speakers in the ceiling.

Finally he said, “That depends on you.”

I figured he’d say something like that. It was a goading statement that forced me to engage in the conversation. I did the same thing with Bronte. I’d bite. “How so?”

“Are you here because you’re taking the fact that you’re a grim reaper seriously or is this about assuaging your guilt over Jeff?”

I stiffened. “I don’t have any guilt over Jeff.” Nate cocked his brow in a wordless retort. “Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I might have thought he was cheating on me, and I might be slightly curious about the whole reaper gig, but that doesn’t mean I believe
everything
you told me.”

“Fair enough.” The elevator slowed and gave a little hiccup when it came to a stop. “After your orientation, I think you’ll be sufficiently convinced.”

I bit back
we’ll just see about that.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a long, black reception desk with a formidable looking woman sitting behind it. Her hair had impressive height and reminded me of my aunt Jean, who refused to give up sixties hairstyle. When I was little I used to watch my aunt slick purple gel on a single curl at each side of her head and secure them to her cheeks with pink tape. Then she would wrap her entire head in toilet paper. In the morning she’d exit the bedroom with a perfectly coiffured hairdo that stood up to any windstorm.

“Morning, Madge.” I followed Nate to the desk. He rested an arm along the counter. “You’re looking particularly lovely this morning.”

Madge’s smile was taut and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Aren’t you the charmer?” Her gaze slid to me. “Lisa Carron?”

I nodded and inched forward.

Her eyes lingered on me a few seconds before she released a sigh heavily laced with forced acceptance. “Fill these out.” She slapped a stack of papers on the counter. “Don’t forget to initial the bottom of each page or you won’t be allowed into orientation.”

I shoved the papers back to her. “I have no intention of attending orientation.”

“That’s what they all say, Sweetie.” The woman smiled again, which looked more like a grimace, her eyes squinting behind glasses nearly as big as her head. “Humor me.” She pointed her pen toward a row of chairs against the wall. “Clipboards and pens are on the table.”

With that, she spun her chair toward her computer, dismissing us. I picked up the papers and looked at Nate. “Are these a binding contract?”

“No.” His hand slid around my arm and he led me to the chairs. Tiny spindles of heat burrowed into my arm where he touched me. I ignored it. “But you can’t get past Madge until you sign the privacy agreement.” We sat and he handed me a pen from the neat arrangement in a cup. “Mainly, these say you’re entering GRS of your own free will, without coercion, and you agree not to speak of what you see and learn today if you do not accept the position.”