Corpse Whisperer

Chapter 5: Yes, Again

Grace sighed. Only Mark knew about her gift. He was her safe haven when the talent became too much for her to handle. “Yeah, I have. For three weeks I've avoided dead people."

“So what happened?"

“I had no choice but to enter a hospital room. I even steered clear of her, but she managed to touch me. Hey, you didn't call me the first time around."

“You know I can't explain this any better than you can. So was she murdered?"

Grace tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She liked talking to Mark. He understood her in so many ways. “Always. The victims of natural causes don't bother to get in touch with me," she said.

Her heart sat heavy in her chest while a dark cloud hovered over her head. This gift ruled her life and she longed to shed herself of it. Mark, ever the romantic, considered this her destiny. As if she were part of some cosmic plan to right wrongs across the world.

“This getting you down?"

“Just the last time. I never solved it and she still died."

“You're whining. You're not a superhero."

“But wasn't I given this odd gift to help people? If I don't, then what's the use?"

A deep, feminine voice purred in the background. Then Mark said, “Gracie, I have to go."

“I'll bet. Ever the Casanova."

“You know me."

The dial tone severed her.

***

Zach typed Grace's name and license plate number into his computer. Hopefully nothing would come back. He didn't want to see his ex taken in by anyone.

Shaking his head he turned his mind back to his task. But his thoughts stilled on the idea of his baby growing inside Dolores.

He didn't feel anything for her Was he monster?

He'd love the baby because he couldn't do anything else.

Having seen too many adults who were unwanted as kids, he could do nothing less.

The computer sat on a scarred wooden desk he'd found at an estate sale. Something about it called to him. He even left the initials “D.W." in it. He did put on a clear finish and bought a glass blotter it to protect the character it possessed.

Was he like the desk? Scarred with character?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when Grace's name appeared in the national database. The one he shouldn't still have access to, but his teen neighbor hacked into for him.

She'd been accused of murder. “That can't be good."

He yanked the phone off the hook and dialed Dolores' house. The house where his child would grow up.

Calling up the archives for a newspaper local to where Grace lived when she under suspicion, he listened to Dolores' phone ring.

The answering machine picked up and Zach contemplated not leaving a message. “Lors, call me at work or on my cell. It's important."

He dropped the receiver back in its cradle, frustration seeping into his bones. He'd offered to buy her a cell phone, but she saw no reason for it. Right now he'd give anything to get in touch with her. Grace Harmony had to be bad news.

Shame since he found her attractive, but women like that were akin to Black Widow spiders. She'd probably eat her young, too.

Then he smacked his own forehead, Dolores' whereabouts came clear to him. “What day is it?"

Tuesday, his discarded newspaper told him.

She's at work. He tried her there.

“Hi, Zach. Is something wrong?" she said. Her voice sounded faraway, distracted.

Too many years of him calling that he'd be home late for dinner. She always assumed there was a problem. “Not wrong. What do you know about this Grace Harmony?"

“Why, she a murderer?"

His eyes dropped closed. Little did she know. “I'm serious, Lors. What do you know about her?"

“She's a medic at Community Hospital."

“Did she tell you where she lived before coming to Glen Hills?"

“No, I didn't ask. Why the interrogation?"

His other line rang, but he ignored it. They'd call back. Worry creased lines on his face. He had more at stake with a child involved. “She's in the computer. She's been charged with a crime."

“Was she convicted?"

“No, but--"

“Well, then she's fine."

She wasn't getting the seriousness of the situation. The clock ticked on the wall. His cheap, metal blinds clanged in the breeze.

“Cops don't charge people with crimes for no reason," he argued.

“But sometimes innocent people get charged. You know that."

You'd think she'd be more jaded having been married to him for so long. He rubbed a hand down his face. Maybe he Maybe his cynicism blocked him from seeing the good in everyone. “They may be innocent of that crime, but not of others."

“We've had this argument before. Let's not go there," she said.

“You're right, but when is she moving in?"

“Later this morning. I'm taking an early lunch and giving her the key."

“What time?"

He had to be somewhere in an hour, but he'd fit it in no matter what the consequences. He needed to confront this woman before she moved in and couldn't be moved out.

“Eleven. She's eager to get in."

“Can you stall until I get there?"

“Why?"

“I need to see her for myself."

She sighed. “You don't trust me."

“That's not true. I just trust my own instincts more."

And his were better, unless they involved love. For s*x, he could pick them, differentiate the losers from the winners, but when any emotion entered into the bargain, what a mess.

“Jerk," she said, but no venom colored her words.

He'd always been honest with her. Maybe too honest. “Yes, but you like me anyway."

“You have a charm about you. A very, raw, rugged one at that."

Just like his desk.

He chuckled. Her flirting on another day would have put him at ease. Today he had a bad feeling. “Will you stall?"

“Okay, but not too long. You know I'm not good at that."

“Thanks, dear," he said.

He hung up before he realized what he called her.