Fifth Grave Past the Light by Darynda Jones Page B

All blond but not all natural. Caucasian, Hispanic, African American, and one Asian. Ages anywhere from around seven-ish to thirty, thirty-five.”
    She put her cup down, so I knew what she was about to relay was serious. “Charley, I need to stay home and help. This is serious.”
    Nailed it. “I know it is, but they aren’t going anywhere and I am almost certain they didn’t die recently. But why are they showing up now? And in droves?”
    “Do you think this was the work of a serial killer?”
    “Most likely. I can’t imagine these deaths the result of more than one person’s efforts. Two at the most. I tried to get them to chillax, but I don’t think they know what that means.”
    “Okay, call me if you need anything.” She started for the door, then stopped. “No, I can’t go to this class. I need to help you with research and stuff. These poor women.”
    “No, you need to go learn how not to kill people unless you really, really, really want to. Like on purpose. And if I have to, I can get Garrett on this as well.”
    “Garrett,” Cookie said, her voice low and sultry as she purred his name. I could have sworn her eyes rolled back into her head.
    “Hmm, that’s surprising.”
    She bounced back to me. “What?”
    “It’s just that last night you couldn’t get enough of checking out Uncle Bob’s ass. I thought maybe you had a thing for him.”
    “What? I was not checking out your uncle’s ass.” When I did that deadpan thing I was so fond of, she fessed up. “Okay, maybe a little. Is it just me or is he getting in shape?”
    I had noticed. Uncle Bob was much more fit. And quite comely. I knew why, too. He had such a thing for Cookie, it was unreal. He was getting fit for her. It was sweet. And slightly disturbing. What if they dated? What if they dated, then broke up? Where would I be? I nudged her toward the door.
    “Okay, I’m leaving Amber alone today. She’s promised to stay in and do her homework.”
    “On a Saturday? All day?” I snorted. “I used to tell my parents the same thing.”
    “That’s it. I’m taking her to her grandma’s.”
    “That’s too far. You’ll be late for class. You don’t want to sit in the back of the room, do you? Besides, I’m just kidding, she’ll be fine. She’s nothing like me. Now, off you go.”
    “Wait. What the heck is that?” I looked where she was pointing.
    My newest painting sat propped against a bookcase. “I figured I would express my feelings through art. You know, for the new shrink.” My sister, Gemma, had set me up with a psychologist to work on my PTSD. That painting should help move that right along.
    “And you were feeling homicidal?”
    “I felt macabre with a hint of beheading would do the trick. This stuff freaks the shit out of them.”
    “You know, Charley, they really are trying to help you.”
    “I know, I know. Now, off you go.” I hated to do it, but I had to force Cookie out the door, then lock it behind her. She was being very uncooperative.
    I turned toward the bathroom to shower and get dressed, but came face-to-face with another departed woman. Only this one was not at all like the others. She had long black hair and wore scrubs with an ID attached to a lanyard.
    “Hi,” I said, checking out her neck. She hadn’t been strangled like the others either.
    She blinked, surprised to be there. “Hi,” she said back. “Can you see me?”
    “Sure can.” I stepped around her and headed that way. That way being the bathroom. “Are you here to cross?”
    “Cross?” she asked, trying to gain her bearings. “I don’t think so.”
    “Okay, well, there’s coffee in the pot.” When she frowned in confusion, I said, “Sorry, bad joke. How can I help you?” She followed me into the bathroom. I hated to turn on the shower with one of the departed women in there, but it had to be done.
    “No one can find my body.”
    “Do you know where it is?”
    “Yes, yes!” She grabbed my arm. “I do. It’s under