Hell to Pay (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 4) Page 4

  First there had been Willow, a vampire friend of Isaac’s who was an extremely talented artist—a talent she put to use as our chief cake decorator. She was one of a half-dozen vampires who wanted a change and had taken up residence across the street in Isaac’s new vampire condos. Next came Hector, a werewolf and outrageous flirt who styled himself as a Latin-lover type. He charmed all the ladies, norm and supernatural alike, working a split shift to cover the lunch crowd and then returning to work the evening shift. Between the hired staff and Hilde, Isaac and me, we managed to always have a least two people on shift at any given time.

  The bell above the door rang, and I glanced up, expecting to see Hector arriving for his lunch shift. Instead it was a rather stuffy-looking norm in a dark, tailored suit. He paused inside the door, letting his eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside, and then zeroed in on me.

  “Miss Russo?”

  “Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”

  He bobbed his head and reached into the breast pocket of his suit. Both Tiffy and Barbie tensed, as if ready to spring to my defense, but he merely pulled out a business card and held it out to me. “Reginald DeGrasse. Martins, Newburg and DeGrasse.”

  I took the card and glanced at it. He was a lawyer, a partner obviously, in one of the city’s larger, well-known law firms.

  “How can I help you, Mr. DeGrasse?”

  DeGrasse scanned the shop and then leaned towards me. “It’s of a sensitive nature. Is there perhaps…?”

  “Of course. Why don’t we step into my office?” I swept my hand out indicating the first booth closest to the counter. Tess and I had decided it would be our personal table, and unless the shop got really busy, we kept a small sign on it that read Reserved for the Owner.

  DeGrasse paused, momentarily disconcerted by my less than private office, but then stepped over, unbuttoning his suit jacket before sliding into a seat at the booth.

  “Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you. That would be quite welcome.”

  I signalled to Barbie, who nodded, and then I joined DeGrasse at the booth. A moment later, Barbie arrived with two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of Isaac’s to-die-for chocolate chip cookies.

  “Am I being sued or something?” I asked, half-joking but genuinely worried, as I took a cautious sip of coffee.

  “No, gracious, no. Nothing like that. I have a rather delicate situation, and I was referred to you by a well-known member of the business community, Mr. Salvador Arroyo.”

  At Salvador’s name, I almost snorted my coffee out my nose. “I see. And what exactly is this sensitive matter?”

  “You will have heard of William Koenig?”

  I nodded and replied, “The founder of K-Company Distribution. Yes, I know who he is, I mean, was.” Koenig, a Riverton titan of industry and well-known philanthropist, had just recently passed away. The flower shop had been busy for three days straight handling all the orders that came in for sympathy floral arrangements. “I’m not sure what Mr. Koenig would have to do with me, though.”

  DeGrasse cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, well…I’ve represented Mr. Koenig for going on forty years, and I continue to represent his daughter, Elise. In two weeks’ time, there will be a reading of the will.” He paused and took a long sip of coffee. “For years, it was known that Mr. Koenig was grooming his son, William Jr, to take over the business.”

  I couldn’t help myself and I let out a disgruntled “Hmph”. Of course it was the son who was expected to take over the family business. I raised an eyebrow at DeGrasse, communicating my impatience. I still didn’t see what any of this had to do with me.

  DeGrasse cleared his throat again before continuing. “Recently, William Jr. has, to put it mildly, fallen in with a bad crowd. He has no interest in the day-to-day running of the company and has voiced his opinion that it would be worth more if they split it up and sold it off.”

  “What?” K-Company Distribution was a huge employer in Riverton. If the company was sold off, there could potentially be a lot of people put out of work.

  “Mr. Koenig made provisions to prevent this. I personally drew up a new will for him, leaving the company to his daughter with the stipulation that it remain intact and in Riverton.”

  “I sense there’s a but coming.”

  DeGrasse grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. The will is missing. It had been signed and witnessed, but before it could be entered into the record, it disappeared. No one knows what happened to it. It was last seen with Mr. Koenig at his bedside.”

  I let out a long, slow breath. I had a bad feeling about where this conversation might be headed. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

  DeGrasse leaned over the table towards me and lowered his voice. “Well, we, that is, I was led to believe you could assist in this matter. That you have a particular…” DeGrasse glanced around the room furtively, “…talent that could be of use.”

  I frowned at him, inwardly cursing Salvador and wondering what exactly he had told DeGrasse I could do. How much did he know? Did he merely think I was some sort of psychic? Norms readily believed in their existence. Or was DeGrasse all on board, so to speak, and one of the minority of norms who knew about the existence of the Cimmerian and all its denizens?

  As if sensing my hesitation, DeGrasse coughed nervously and then, holding his right arm above the table, pulled back his sleeve to reveal a small black tattoo on the underside of his wrist. Holy shit! To the unenlightened, it simply looked like two commas stacked one on top of the other, but within the Cimmerian, it signified that DeGrasse was a trusted blood donor. DeGrasse was a fang-banger!

  “I still don’t know if I can help,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s no guarantee that his spirit will remember—”

  “No, Miss Russo, his spirit will not suffice. For it to be binding, all parties have agreed that we require visible proof. We must be able to see and question Mr. Koenig directly ourselves.” DeGrasse paused and arched a brow at me. “We require you to raise his zombie.”

  Chapter Four

  I was still steaming over DeGrasse’s visit to the coffee shop later that afternoon, as I pulled my truck into the loading zone at Riverton Memorial Hospital and began to unload my deliveries. I couldn’t believe Salvador had basically pimped me out to one of his cronies in the business community. To a norm, no less! Although with DeGrasse being a blood donor, he was probably already aware of my particular talents. You don’t execute a pedophile vampire, bind a couple of vampire servants, and bring the undead life of a big, scary, ancient vampire like the Mariposa to an end in a rain of blood and gore without getting a bit of a reputation. But still, raise a zombie that could not only talk, but remember its past life? Salvador obviously had more confidence in my abilities than I did.

  I didn’t know what to say to DeGrasse. That he offered me an obscene amount of money to do it didn’t help either. I’d finally told him I needed to do some research and would get back to him in a couple days. I wasn’t worried about him blabbing to anyone about my bizarre talent, because who would believe him? Besides, the tattoo he had marking him as a blood donor also meant he was under a geis that prevented him from speaking to the uninitiated. Basically what happened in the blood den, stayed in the blood den. As if to offer me incentive to call sooner rather than later, on his way out the door DeGrasse placed a rather large envelope full of cash on the table in front of me as a retainer.

  “Hey, Harry!”

  “Shit!” Startled, I almost dropped the basket of flowers I was placing on my delivery cart. I looked around, groaning when I saw who was approaching.

  “Hey, Harry! Pull my finger.” The finger in question was attached to a scrawny arm wrapped in a red-and-white-striped shirt. Green, polka-dotted overalls that had seen better days and a purple bow tie completed the ensemble.

  “Not now,” I replied, turning my back on the clown. Yes, he was literally a clown. Yellow frizzy hair unde
r a bowler hat, whiteface paint and red rubber nose included.

  “Ahhh, c’mon, Harry. Be a sport.” He waggled his index finger at me. “Pull my finger.”

  With a sigh, I looked heavenward in defeat and reached out to pull the appendage. At the point where our fingers should have made contact, mine simply passed through the air as if nothing was there, which in fact, was true. That didn’t stop the resulting sound effect, however.

  BRRR-ATT!

  The farting sound echoed around the loading dock, but only my ears could hear it. I couldn’t help but be impressed that he had enough spectral juice to recreate the sound of a whoopee cushion that didn’t exist.

  As you probably guessed, Mofo the clown was a ghost. And yes, that really is his name. Of course Mofo was named in a simpler time, back in the fifties when novelty gags like squirting flowers and whoopee cushions were all the rage. It was just as well that hardly anyone could see or hear him. His name took on a whole new meaning these days.

  “Ha-ha,” I deadpanned. “You’re so hilarious, Mofo.”

  “Of course. That’s always been one of my most popular gags.” Mofo preened, my sarcasm lost on him. “Haven’t seen you around here much lately, Harry.”

  I shrugged. I had been trying to give more of the hospital deliveries to Jimmy, my part-time delivery guy, but he was at his other job this afternoon, teaching a class at Uncle Rigo’s gym. I didn’t particularly enjoy the hospital deliveries, for obvious reasons. For a place that was supposed to heal you, there were sure a lot of dead people.

  “It’s been kind of busy the last couple of months.”

  “You should come up to the children’s ward, Harry. With you there, I’d knock it out of the park.”

  Ha! No kidding. With all the little psychic believers up there—many young kids can see ghosts—plus my recently super-charged powers, I wouldn’t be surprised if I could pull his finger.

  “Sorry, maybe another time.”

  “Okay, Harry. Smell ya later!” With a guffaw, Mofo winked out of sight. I smiled to myself as I pushed my loaded cart towards the double receiving entrance doors. I really should try and stop by the ward soon. It was always fun to watch the kids interact with Mofo. They loved him, which is why he probably stuck around. The baffled looks on the faces of the nursing staff and parents were also kind of priceless.

  ***

  I was making my last delivery when it happened. I was just placing the Thank-you succulent arrangement on the corner of the ICU nurses’ station when I heard a plea for help.

  “Oh my God, oh my God! No! This can’t be happening. I’m not ready. Someone help me. Help me!”

  I looked around, but of course no one else could hear the cries. The source of the sound appeared to be the room across the hall where a small group of people stood vigil at a woman’s bedside. From what I could tell, they had unplugged her, and the inevitable had occurred.

  “No! Why isn’t anyone doing anything? Why aren’t they helping me?”

  The ghost, a blonde woman in her mid-forties, flitted from one person to the next, attempting to get their attention. I watched, hoping she would quickly accept her death and move on.

  “John! John! I’m right here. Why can’t you see me? I’m right here.” The woman stood beside a man who was holding her body’s hand, visibly crying. “Can’t anybody help me? Anyone? Please, I’m beg—”

  I blinked in surprise as the ghost disappeared mid-sentence. I’d never seen it happen that way before. Usually they sort of just faded, their pleas for help turning to acceptance and assertions of love, before they crossed over.

  I shrugged to myself and started to turn away, only to stop in shock when the room erupted into happy shouts, the woman’s family now laughing and hugging one another. The medical staff looked equally surprised and baffled as they fussed with monitors and tended to their patient who’d apparently returned from the dead.

  Huh. Well, that was weird.

  ***

  Returning to the loading dock, I wheeled my now-empty cart into the back of my truck and closed the tailgate, only to find myself pinned against it. Instinct and years of self-defence training kicked in, and I pushed myself off the truck, surprising my attacker, who fell back a step, allowing me to spin around to face him as I brought my knee up to deliver a crippling blow to the ’nads.

  “Careful now, minx,” a familiar voice growled at me. “You don’t want to damage the goods.” Nash grinned, swiftly moving his hands to protect the family jewels.

  “Nash!” I slowed my knee, stopping as it made contact.

  Nash caught my raised leg, wrapping it around his thigh as he leaned into me, flattening me against the truck. He dipped his face to my neck and inhaled with a groan. “Mmmm, you smell good, Harry.”

  Before I could respond, his free hand raked through my hair pulling my head back as his mouth descended on mine. Nash kissed me like we hadn’t seen each other in weeks rather than just twenty-four hours and when his hand brushed against the mate mark at the base of my neck, it was a good thing I was pinned to the truck or I would have slid to the ground in a boneless heap.

  When we finally came up for air, I gave him a once-over and frowned. “You look like shit.”

  Nash barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks. I feel like it, too.” For a moment his eyes looked haunted and then he covered them, rubbing his hand down his face.

  “It was a tough one,” I said, making it more a statement than a question. I had expected him to arrive in my bed sometime in the night, but he had never showed. From the state of him, he probably hadn’t even gone to bed yet.

  “Yeah, you could say that. We chased the bastard halfway across the city.” He let out a sigh. “I caught an hour or two of sleep at the station.”

  “I heard about it on the news.” I shuddered, thinking about it. A local man, a norm, had gone berserk, murdering his wife and two of his children before rampaging across the city, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. He had finally been cornered down at the docks, going down in a hail of bullets after opening fire on the police officers surrounding him. His body had fallen off the pier and into the river below. When all was said and done, five people were dead and several million dollars of property damage had occurred. The only bright note in the whole affair was that his fifteen-year-old daughter had survived the attack.

  “Is the girl here at the hospital?”

  Nash nodded. “Yeah, I was on my way up to see her when I spotted your truck.”

  I pulled him into a fierce hug, resting my head against his chest. “I’m glad you found me.”

  Nash’s arms tightened around me, returning the gesture. “Me too.” He kissed the top of my head. “Listen, I should have this wrapped up in a couple of hours.”

  “Why don’t you swing by my place after? I’ll cook you dinner.”

  “You’ll cook?” He pushed himself back so he could look down at me in surprise.

  “What? I can cook,” I replied defensively.

  Nash gave me a skeptical look and then glanced at his watch. “Make it three hours, and I’ll slip home first to shower and change.”

  “Deal.”

  Grinning, Nash swooped me up by my forearms, pulling me up on my toes to lay another big kiss on me before turning to head back into the hospital.

  Holy crap! Cook dinner? What had I done?

  Chapter Five

  “You told him you’d do what?” Tess laughed and gaped at me in amazement.

  “I told him I would cook dinner. What’s the big deal? How hard can it be?”

  “Harry, you’ve never cooked anything in your life.”

  “Sure I have.”

  “Macaroni and cheese from a box doesn’t count.”

  I frowned at her. She had a point. “Well, I guess it’s about time I tried then, isn’t it? Now are you going to help me find a recipe or not? I still have to run to the grocery store.”

  “Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

&nbs
p; The computerized voice came from the speakers on the desk in the corner just as the screen blinked on, its now familiar animated robot waving at us from across the room.

  “Bryce! Where have you been? No, scratch that. I don’t want to know.” Now that Bryce had unlimited, nearly instantaneous access to anywhere in the world the Internet could take him, he tended to disappear for long periods of time, more often than not surfing porn sites. I didn’t need to hear a play-by-play of his latest stop.

  “I’m eager to hear how the GhostCam 3000 worked,” Bryce replied.

  “The what? Oh, the tablet app. It worked great, didn’t it, Tess?”

  “Yeah, it did.”

  “Cool. I’m accessing the tablet now via the network so I can analyze the recording.”

  “It recorded everything?” Tess looked surprised. “So we can watch it again?”

  “Can we skip the technical conversation right now and find me a recipe instead?”

  The printer suddenly beeped and spit out a page. I walked over and grabbed it.

  “Easy Chicken and Rice,” Bryce intoned, his computer voice taking on an accent that suspiciously sounded like Julia Child. “It only has five ingredients and a difficulty rating of one spoon. Even you should be able to handle it, Harry.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I bit my lip, peering over the instructions. “Actually, this is great. Thanks!” I sat down beside Tess at the kitchen island and made a list. The chicken was supposed to take an hour and I still had to go to the store. I needed to get cracking.

  “So now that Bryce has solved your cooking crisis, can we talk about something else?” Tess turned to face me.

  “Sure, as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with you moving out,” I replied, only half-joking.

  Tess snorted and then pulled a green sheet of paper from the stack of mail that had been sitting on the counter. “Did you see this?” She shoved it towards me.