"How bad was it?" I asked him.

"Not bad, I guess. I thought you were having a panic attack or something. But then I realized Cookie and Swopes were just staring at you, so I figured whatever it was couldn't have been life-threatening."

"Right, because Swopes would have been right there, giving me mouth-to-mouth or something else heroic."

Uncle Bob tilted his head as he thought back. "Actually, it was more the look of utter longing on Cookie's face."

A bubble of laughter rose from my throat. I could totally see the euphoria in Cookie's expression. Uncle Bob sat patiently, his furry brows raised in question as he waited for an explanation.

Well, he wasn't getting one. "You know, Uncle Bob, we might want to steer clear of this particular subject, you being my uncle and all."

"Okay," he said with a nonchalant shrug, pretending to drop the subject. He sipped from his iced tea, then added, "Swopes seemed pretty upset, though. Figured you might know why."

"I do. He's an a.s.shole."

"He's a little moody sometimes, I'll give you that."

"So was Josef Mengele."

"But in his defense," he continued, doing his best to placate me, "this whole rift between you two is my fault. If I'd just kept my mouth shut. Darn those lagers."

"Well, lagers didn't turn Swopes into an a.s.shole. I'm pretty sure he was born that way."

Uncle Bob sucked in a long, deep breath, then dropped the subject for real. "I can see where this is not going. But dammit, Charley, I have a job to do." I blinked in surprise, and he grinned. "I have to go hara.s.s your dad." He rose from the table and patted my shoulder, which was his way of saying we were good.

I slipped my hand onto his. "Hara.s.s him some for me, will you?"

After a soft squeeze, Uncle Bob strolled over to the bar, claiming-loudly-to be an investigator from the CDC. I cringed. Dad found few things less humorous than the thought of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention paying him a visit. It lay somewhere between an IRS audit and a cla.s.s action lawsuit.

I glanced back at the lawyers. They were sitting around the table-Uncle Bob had pulled out chairs for them-and talking amongst themselves.

"Do you know when your funeral is?" Elizabeth asked Sussman, her voice tainted with sadness.

He lowered his head. "They're meeting with the funeral director this afternoon."

She put her hand on his. "How is Mich.e.l.le doing?"

"Not well. I need to get back to her."

Uh-oh. He was going to be one of those departed who stays behind to take care of his family. Similar to the idea that Barber could pale in shock, a ghost taking care of his family was physiologically impossible. I'd have to try to dissuade him from that path when all was said and done.

"What about you?" Barber asked Elizabeth. "Do you know when your funeral is?"

"I haven't heard either." She hedged closer to him. "So, are you going to yours?"

Barber shrugged. "I don't know. Are you going to yours?"

"I figured I might."

"Oh yeah?"

Elizabeth smiled and scooted closer. "I'll make a deal with you."

"Uh-oh."

"If you'll go with me to my funeral, I'll go with you to yours."

Barber thought about that for a moment, then gave a reluctant shrug. I tried not to crack up. They were like junior high kids trying to convince themselves they didn't really want to go to the school dance.

"I guess we could do that," Barber said. "You in, Patrick?"

"What?" Sussman seemed a thousand solar systems away. He forced his attention back to his colleagues. "I don't know. Seems kind of morbid."

"Come on," Elizabeth said. "We can listen to all the wonderful comments about us from the relatives who hated us most."

Sussman sighed. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course we are." Elizabeth patted his hand, then glanced at me. "Don't you think he should go to his funeral, Charlotte?"

"His funeral?" I asked, caught off guard. "Oh, well, sure. Who wouldn't kill to go to their own funeral?"

"See," she said, patting his hand again.

"I hope we're not buried in the same cemetery," Barber said. "I don't know if I could handle an eternity with you two as my neighbors."

Sussman snorted and Elizabeth socked him on the arm.

"I'm just saying," he said, a wide grin spreading across his face as Elizabeth glowered playfully at him. He turned to me then. "So, Reaper, what's next?"

I had to think about that one. "First of all," I said, poking him with an index finger, "that's Ms. Reaper to you, bub."

He chuckled.

"And second, I should probably take a look-see at your files on this case."

"Sure," Elizabeth said. "We have an emergency key hidden at the offices."

"Oh!" I said, raising my hand and squirming in my seat like a third grader with a UTI. "Is it in one of those fake rocks that looks like a real rock but it isn't because it's fake?"

"No," they said simultaneously.

"Oh, sorry. Go ahead," I said to Elizabeth, since I'd interrupted her.

"And we'll have to give you the security code in case Nora isn't there. If she is, you might have a difficult time getting anything without a warrant."

"Right. I didn't think of that. I'm sure Uncle Bob could get me one."

"If not," Sussman said, "you might want to consider breaking in tonight and getting the files then."

We all turned to him. He didn't seem like a B and E kind of guy.

"What? It's not illegal if we give her permission."

True enough. "Though I'm not sure the authorities would agree with you, I like it."

Sussman grinned. "I had a feeling you might."

"Can I ask you guys a couple of questions," I said, realizing it might be a good time to bring up Reyes, "about this morning?"

"Of course," Barber said. Elizabeth dropped her gaze, seemed to withdraw. Not overtly, but I read people well enough to know when the atmosphere changed. I was curious to know what happened, and what could make her so reluctant to speak with me about it.

Shifting back to Reyes, I decided to get the embarra.s.sing part out of the way. "I've decided to get the embarra.s.sing part out of the way," I said. Best to get these things out in the open. "I'm hoping, since you guys could see him, I didn't look ridiculous like I probably did to Cookie and Swopes. I mean, you saw him, right? It didn't look like I was fondling air?"

When they glanced at each other, seemingly confused, I asked, "You did see him?"

"Sure we did," Elizabeth said. "But you weren't fondling anything. You didn't move, if that's what you think. Not much anyway."

I leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"You just stood there," Sussman said, sliding his gla.s.ses up with an index finger, "with your back against the wall and your palms plastered to it at your sides. Your head was thrown back, and you were panting like you'd just run the Duke City Marathon, but you didn't move."

His description sidetracked me for a moment. My arms were at my sides? My head was thrown back? "But he was there. You saw him. We were..."

"On each other like green on guacamole?" Barber asked.

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"I'm not complaining," he said with a negating wave of his hands. "Far from it. That s.h.i.t was hot."

Somehow, trying not to blush makes me blush brighter. I felt heat travel over my face and could only hope it wasn't clashing with the blues and purples already there.

"But you didn't move," Elizabeth said. "Not physically."

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand."

"Your soul, your spirit, whatever you want to call it. That moved. You looked like us only with better coloring."

"Yeah," Barber said, "you separated from your body to ... be with him. It was amazing."

I sat stunned. No wonder it'd felt like a dream. Did I do some kind of astral projection thing? I hoped not. I didn't believe in astral projection. But maybe, just maybe, astral projection believed in me.

"How on Earth did I manage to leave my body?" I asked, dazed and confused, though not from anything illegal.

"You're the grim reaper," Barber said with a shrug. "You tell us."

"I don't know." I looked at my palms as if they held the answers. "I didn't know such a thing was possible."

"Don't feel bad. I had no idea any of this was possible."

"I'm so floored," I said. I was supposed to be the knowledgeable one. How was being a grim reaper advantageous if all the good stuff was on a need-to-know basis? I was a portal, dammit. I needed to know.

"But he was superhot."

That brought me rocketing back. I looked at Elizabeth. "Seriously? Did you guys get a good look at him? I mean, I have to be totally honest here: I'm not sure what he is."

"You mean besides superhot?" Elizabeth asked.

"Actually, that part I got."

She laughed softly. We stopped talking while Dad brought over my sandwich, offered me ten thousand dollars to off Uncle Bob, then left with my b.u.t.ter knife tucked into his pants, apparently planning to shank the man himself. I thought about warning Uncle Bob, but where was the fun in that?

"Elizabeth, I have to ask you something," I said, pushing my sandwich aside for a moment.

"Sure, what's up?"

"I just feel like ... well, ever since this morning, you've seemed a little distant."

"I'm sorry," she said, accepting responsibility without offering an explanation. In other words, trying to get out of one.

"Oh, don't apologize," I added quickly. "I was just worried. Did something happen?"

She sucked in a long, deep breath-another physiological superfluity-and said, "It's just, that guy who was able to materialize out of thin air, your guy, he was ... he was so beautiful."

"Tell me about it," I said, nodding my head in agreement.

"And amazing."

"Still with you."

"And s.e.xy."

I leaned in. "I like where this is headed."

"But..."

"Uh-oh."

"I just thought it odd."

"Odd?"

"Yes." She leaned in as well. "Charlotte, he was wearing ... a prison uniform."

Chapter Seven.