I blinked-actually, I batted my eyelashes-and asked, “Who?”
Bad Dog put a friendly hand on my back. “Just a name from the past. And not important. I hope when you both decide you need a car, you’ll come back to see me. Promise?”
I did, and with a straight face, too.
And I kept that straight face firmly in place until Absalom and I crossed the street and walked into the Mc-Donald’s parking lot.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked him.
“You ain’t askin’ the questions today, I’m askin’ the questions,” he growled. “Like what the hell you doin’ tanglin’ with a man like Bad Dog?”
“We weren’t tangling. We were talking. About buying a car.”
“Except you don’t need a car.”
“And you-” He led me over to where my Mustang was parked. “How-”
Absalom opened the door and got behind the wheel, and I got in on the passenger side. “What-”
“Knew you were up to something you shouldn’t be up to. Figured you must be with the way you been readin’ over files and hurryin’ out at all crazy hours. Had to follow you,” he said. “Didn’t think I could do that very efficiently on a bus.”
“But…” I opened my purse, pulled out my car keys, and dangled them in front of his face. “I’ve got my keys. How did you-”
His laugh rumbled through the Mustang. “You think not having keys can stop me? You’re crazier than I told Bad Dog you were.” He wheeled out of the parking lot and cruised down Lorain Avenue, heading back toward the cemetery. At the next red light, he popped open my glove box and reached inside. He handed me the new voodoo doll I’d seen at the cemetery that morning, the one with the leather dress and the fluffy hair.
“That there is a juju guardian,” he said. “It provides protection from evil.”
And he must have known what I was going to ask, because he kept right on talking. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Pepper, but I can tell you one thing. If you’re going to go messin’ with a man like Bad Dog Raphael, you’re going to need all the protection you can get.”
11
Over the next week, a couple weird things happened. For one thing, the next episode of Cemetery Survivor aired, and when it did, we found out that in spite of the couple Sammi vs. Virgil knockdowns, our team and Team One were tied, points-wise. After the show aired, something even more surprising happened. We had more fans than ever. Go figure. Apparently, a lot of people were watching the show, and the more calls the station got and the more people who showed up outside the gates of Monroe Street, the more the whole superstardom thing went to everyone’s heads. Greer was sure her next stop was network news. Mae and her bunch (doesn’t it figure?) said they were humbled, and just grateful they could promote their good deeds to a wider audience. And my team? My team loved feeling like rock stars.
I was on the fence. From what I’d heard, the last episode opened with a shot of Sammi choking the life out of me. I knew this because both my aunts called my mom to update her, and my mom called my dad to tell him. Dad’s phone access was limited, but that hadn’t stopped him from leaving messages, and Mom was text messaging like every ten minutes, asking if I shouldn’t see a doctor, and did it still hurt, and had the bruises gone away yet, and wouldn’t I be better off in Florida with her and away from cemeteries and dangerous people?
Honestly, I’d be happy when this restoration gig was over. If I didn’t have to worry about TV and landscaping and headstones and the like, I could get back to Garden View, where my biggest worry was how to avoid Ella so I could get some ghostly investigating done.
As if all that wasn’t enough, on the Thursday after the show aired, I got another bouquet of flowers, this time at Monroe Street. Like the last bouquet, this one included a card, but just like with the last bouquet, the card wasn’t signed. In fact, all it said was, “I watched you.” Unlike the last bouquet, I was smart enough not to call Quinn to ask if he had anything to do with the flowers. I hadn’t heard a word from him since that day he walked out of my apartment, and I sure hadn’t called him. I wasn’t going to be the first one to cave. Besides, I knew Quinn well enough to know he knew me well enough to know that he couldn’t buy me off with a mere bunch of daisies and a couple sprigs of greenery. His offense called for roses. Red roses. I knew he knew it, too.
As for these flowers…
I tossed the card and the problem aside. I had bigger fish to fry and more pressing things to think about. Like the appointment I had that evening with the notorious Reno Bob Oates. If he was still as nasty as Darcy Coleman said he was, he sure hadn’t sounded like it when I talked to him on the phone the night before. But then, I hadn’t mentioned I was coming by to find out if he killed Vera Blaine.
“Looks like you’re all set for the day.” I’d seen Bianca’s silver Jag roll into the cemetery, so I wasn’t surprised when she walked over to the tent/office where I was gathering what we’d need for the day. She looked me over and nodded her approval. We were scheduled to do some digging and hauling, so I’d worn jeans and a T-shirt, but they were clean and stylish and I was (it goes without saying) meticulously put together. “Do you like working at a cemetery?” Bianca asked.
Suddenly face-to-face with my idol asking the question I dreamed she’s someday ask me, I found myself at a loss for words. I laughed away my uneasiness. “I can think of a thousand places I’d rather work,” I said.
“Like La Mode?”
My heart shot into my throat. “Are you asking-”
“Oh, just putting out some feelers.” She laughed, too, in a noncommittal sort of way. “I like to keep an eye out for promising young talent. I think you could really make an impact on the local fashion scene. You’ve got a sense of style, and obviously, the good taste to go with it, and I’ll tell you what, you’d look fabulous in our clothing. You’d show it off to perfection and sell a bundle in the process. If there’s ever an opening for what we call a wardrobe consultant at the shop-”
“You’ll call me?” I blurted out, then scrambled to save face. “Nothing like looking too eager,” I said, cringing.
Bianca didn’t hold it against me. “There’s nothing wrong with being eager,” she said. “In fact, I admire enthusiasm. It shows you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want.”
“I am. I do.” My smile was perky enough to suit a La Mode wardrobe consultant. “I will.”
“Good. Then we’ll talk.” And with that, Bianca went back to her car, got out a picnic basket, and headed over to the section where Team One was working.
Digging and hauling aside, I was still walking around with my head in the clouds that afternoon when Greer called us together. She’d been lurking around all week, of course, following us with that damned camera and the cameraman who did as he was told without ever saying a word. This was the first meeting she’d called since the last episode aired, and like my team, I’d heard local PBS ratings were up and donations to the station were, too. All thanks to us. Like them, I was hoping for a little rah-rah and some congratulations to go along with it.
What we got instead was Greer, in a gray and dumpy suit. “Now that we’ve got people watching,” she said without preamble, “it’s time to start educating them. This is our opportunity to add a little culture to their lives.”
“They don’t watch for no culture.” We were in Team One’s section, and Absalom pushed off from a headstone with an angel atop it. “They watch to see Reggie and Delmar.”
“Yeah.” Delmar grinned. “And they watch to see Sammi kick Pepper’s butt.”
If he wasn’t smiling when he said it, I would have held it against him. The way it was, the red abrasions on my neck were just starting to fade, so I was feeling magnanimous.