Nearly Departed (Spring Cleaning Mysteries) (2 page)

"
They're going to kill you if you're late," Delia said.

"
Yeah, yeah, don't remind me." I wiggled into the red dress as we talked. I self-consciously smoothed it over my hips. It fit a little more snugly than I remembered. I turned in front of the full-length mirror, worried it was too tight to wear in public.

"
You live on jelly beans and pizza. If you didn't spend all day sweating in that stupid suit you'd be twice your size," Delia remarked pointedly.

"
When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," I muttered, grabbing the earrings.

"
You've got the gift?"

"
It's been in the van since the saleswoman wrapped it."

"
Speaking of the van…"

"
I know. I know. Park a block away. Except last time I did that, people got upset because they thought one of their neighbors had died. Which means I have to park farther away tonight, which means I'm wearing flats."

"
The black ones."

"
I really could have figured that out myself, you know."

"
Is Mike going to be there?" For as long as I've known her, Delia has nursed a crush on my big brother Jerry's best friend.

"
Probably," I muttered, putting on the disgustingly cheerful earrings that tinkled like wind chimes every time I took a step.

As promised, I parked the van a block and a half away before hoofing it to the party
. Arriving at the party, Mike was the first person I saw as I arrived. The fallen leaves crunched beneath my hurried footsteps as I hustled toward the front door of my parents' house. He was peering outside, and I wondered whether he'd been looking longingly to escape, or if he'd been watching for me

"
You're late," he whispered as he opened the door and helped me out of my coat the moment I walked in the door.

"
Did I miss the cake?" I asked hopefully.

He shook his head.
"I'm surprised Venus isn't here."

"
She's out of town," I explained. For more than a decade, ever since she'd asked him to be her date for the senior prom, Mike and my best friend had dated on and off. They were perfect for each other…except for the little detail that neither was willing to compromise their career for the sake of their relationship.

"
Maureen?? There you are." My Grandmother Werther stumbled up and planted a damp kiss on my cheek. I wasn't sure if she was stumbling because of the empty wine glass she carried or because she wasn't wearing her eyeglasses. "You look beautiful, Maureen."

"
This is Vicky, Mrs. Werther," Mike corrected gently.

Grandma squinted suspiciously, first at him and then at me.

"Hi, Grandma. Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" I asked quickly, not wanting to get into the whole "Maureen" thing on a night that was already stressful.

"
I can't find them," she wailed. "I looked and looked, but they're nowhere to be found. You don't think Maureen took them, do you? Maybe she pawned them."

"
Nobody took them." I reached out and plucked her spectacles from where they rested on top of her head. "Here they are."

"
Thank you, dear. I like those earrings. They make you look like you're going to a party."

I made a mental note to thank Delia for her fashion advice.
"Thanks, Grandma. You look nice too."

Grandma had a penchant for velour jogging suits in bright colors that sparkled in places a seventy-year-old shouldn
't sparkle. Tonight's ensemble was neon green and featured silver beading around the zipper which drew attention to her wrinkly, sun-damaged cleavage.

"
Someone needs a refill!" She showed me her empty wine glass and toddled off toward the kitchen.

As though he sensed I was ready to turn right around and leave the party, Mike draped an arm around my shoulders.

"Thank you," I whispered. There are times when I completely understand Delia's crush on Mike. He's kind, charming, and not too hard to look at if you were the kind of woman who liked corporate attorneys who spend more on grooming products than golf green fees. I'm not that type of girl. Anymore.

"
No problemo, Squirt," he said, ruffling my hair and reminding me that the second reason I'd never been infatuated with him was because he still treated me like his kid sister, even though we weren't related, and I hadn't been riding a bike with training wheels for a couple of decades. Plus, I was still holding a grudge for the time he'd pushed me into a lake when I was ten, though to be fair, he hadn't known about my deathly fear of water.

"
Hi, Sweetheart." My dad walked up and gave me a peck on the cheek. I caught a whiff of the familiar combination of Old Spice aftershave and the cinnamon candies he'd taken to sucking incessantly ever since he'd quit smoking. "Hi, Mike."

"
Hi, Mr. Spring. I was thinking I'd come over next weekend and give you a hand with the leaves now that the trees are almost bare."

"
You don't have to do that," my father said.

"
I miss getting the chance to do my own," Mike said easily.

I knew that was a lie. More than once he
'd bragged that the best thing about living in his condominium complex was that he never had to pick up a rake or snow shovel again.

"
That's awfully kind of you, awfully kind." My father clapped Mike on the shoulder. "You're a good boy."

I wished that I could offer to come over and help, but ever since my last assistant had quit a month earlier, I
'd been working seven day weeks.

"
You're the only one who hasn't opened their present yet, Vicky." Dad waved a hand holding a camera indicating I should do the honors. "And we're rolling!"

I swallowed hard and stretched my mouth into a semblance of a smile. Holding up the box I
'd brought, I ripped desperately at the silver wrapping paper, eager to be done with this macabre part of the celebration. "Happy Birthday, Jerry. I got you all seven seasons of Tom Baker as Dr. Who on dvd."

I did my best to smile for the camera even though I wanted to cry. Jerry had been Missing in Action in
Afghanistan for two and a half years. The Army hadn't declared him dead, so my parents clung to the hope he'd come home. Every year we celebrated Jerry's birthday so that he'd know we hadn't forgotten him while he was gone.

"
Cake time!" my mother trilled from the dining room.

"
He's going to love that, really love it," Dad assured me before hurrying away with his camera.

I took my time putting the dvd set on a table in the living room that held all of the gifts from the other partygoers. The pile was smaller than the year before. Hope was dwindling.

All the guests, a collection of family members, long-time neighbors, and friends, gathered in the dining room around a giant sheet cake that said, "Happy Birthday, Jerry."

My father walked around with his camera recording every moment for posterity.

No one noticed that I was there at the back of the room, which was fine by me, otherwise they'd make me stand up there with them when they started to sing "Happy Birthday."

I hated the stupid party. The guest of honor wasn
't even here. It was nothing but a big, giant—

"
A friend of mine needs a job," Mike said, interrupting my internal rant. "Are you hiring?"

I looked up at him to see if he was kidding me. He looked serious.

"I'm always looking to hire." The turnover rate of employees far exceeded the number of people who were willing to do the kind of work required… "But I don't think a friend of yours would be able to handle the kind of work I do."

There were times I fel
t like I couldn't handle the work I did. I hated my job. Hated it. But I couldn't quit. Spring Cleaning was Jerry's dream. If I give up the business, my parents would give up hope. I knew I couldn't handle that.

"
Most wouldn't, but I think this guy can. Can I at least give him your number?"

I shrugged.
"Okay, but if he can't pass the puke test, I'm not taking him on."

"
What's the puke test?"

I glanced over at the sheet cake. I knew the filling was strawberries and custard. It always was. I thought better of describing the gory scenes I
'd subject Mike's friend to. "Something the average corporate lawyer couldn't handle."

"
Good thing he's not a lawyer."

That surprised me. With the exception of Jerry
, who he'd been friends with since they were eight, I'd never met a friend of Mike's who wasn't a lawyer.

My cell phone beeped
, alerting me that I'd received a text message. I pulled it out of the black clutch Delia had insisted I carry and glanced at the display. The number was that of the only other biohazard removal company in the tri-county area. Tom DiNunzio and I often recommended each other for jobs. He preferred to hand off dead bodies to me so that he could concentrate on cleaning up meth labs and cat lady houses.

I read the text.

WANT A TRIPLE HOMICIDE???

"
When do you think your friend can start?" I asked Mike.

Some people jump the gun when it comes to crime scene clean-up. That was the case with the triple homicide Tom DiNunzio sent my way. Mr. Ribisi, the owner of the house where three college students had died, wanted the place cleaned ASAP, but the police weren't ready to release the scene yet.

This worked out well for me considering I hadn
't finished Myron Blotto's motel room yet. I assured Mr. Ribisi that as soon as the cops gave the all clear, I'd be on the job. Actually I told him Spring Cleaning would get to work right away, which implied a team of people would be eliminating the evidence of his former tenants' violent demise. Unfortunately there was no team, only me. Like I'd told Mike last night, good help is hard to find, and in the biohazard removal biz, it's impossible to keep.

Which was why, instead of finding out about Myron
's unsent letter, I sat in a booth at my local diner, wolfing down an egg and cheese sandwich, watching the early morning crowd of regulars drift in and out before they headed to work. I've learned to eat a hearty breakfast since my working conditions tend to spoil my appetite for lunch. I also knew that as long as I was there before eight-thirty I could get a table in Carla's section (my favorite waitress because she didn't subject me to early-morning cheery chitchat).

I waited for Mike
's friend, Smoke, to join me.

The night before, while the birthday party guests
had gorged themselves on cake (but not before Mom had put aside the first piece for Jerry to be stored in the freezer until he returned home) I'd asked Mike, "What kind of name is Smoke?"

He
'd shrugged while pulling out his cell phone. He punched in a text message and muttered, "I'm going to have him just meet you."

"
I haven't even talked to him yet."

"
And we both know you'll never hire him until he's passed your handshake test. I'll tell him to be at the diner by you at eight."

"
But…"

"
Already done, Vicky." He'd slipped his phone into his pocket and flashed his best attorney-at-law smile at me. "Have I ever steered you wrong?"

I was pondering that very question when a flash of gold caught my eye. A woman, in her early twenties, wearing a short gold dress and one shoe, was limping through the diner, toward a booth in the back.

None of the other patrons saw her, but I watched her progress with curiosity. I was a regular at the diner, but this ghost wasn't.

Either she
'd died here in the last couple of days, or she was attached to the man wearing a baseball cap who'd just slid into the booth she was hovering above.

Most ghosts
were like Myron. They tended to stay where they'd died because it was familiar, but I'd met a couple, like this young woman, who'd felt they had something important to do and were able to move around. I wondered what drove this young woman who'd died wearing too much make-up and too-little clothing.

A deep voice, that definitely didn
't belong to Carla, demanded my attention.

"
Ms. Spring?"

I looked up to find a man, about forty, with a shaved head, looking at me expectantly. I forgot all about the ghost.

He was dressed similarly to me in worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt. He was the antithesis of Mike's metrosexual, corner office, golf course buddies. This had to be some kind of joke, but there had been no mischievous glint in Mike's eyes when he'd set up this meeting. "Yes?"