Daniels Casey - [Pepper Martin 02] - The Chick and the Dead.pdf - BOOKS - SiriusBlack4

AVONBOOKS

An Imprint ofHarperCollinsPublishers

ISBN: 978-0-06-082147-0

ISBN-10: 0-06-082147-7

First Avon Books printing: March 2007

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Dedication

This book is for all the in-laws

and all the out-laws:

Peg & Tim

Jim & Cindy

Michael & Chris

Karen & George

Nancy & Art

Bill & Joann

Mick & Jim

Chapter 1

It all started with Gus Scarpetti.

More specifically, it all started when I was leading a tour at the cemetery where I work and smacked my

head on the marble step of the mausoleum where Gus Scarpetti's mortal remains were resting, but not in

peace.

High heels. Uneven ground. Gravity.

Not a good combination.

If I didn't know it when I woke up in the emergency room with doctors peering at me and asking me if I

knew my name and what day of the week it was, I sure did after that. Because after that…

Well, after that, I started seeing dead people.

Did I say people ? Let me correct myself. After that, I started seeing a dead person . Singular. As in one

gone-but-not-forgotten Mafia don—the aforementioned Gus Scarpetti.

Luckily, the whole ghostly experience didn't last more than a few weeks. I did some investigating and,

thanks to me, Gus's unfinished business here on earth got finished. After thirty years of his restless spirit

looking for someone who could help, his murder had been solved. By me. Gus had finally gone to the

Great Beyond. Or the white light. Or wherever it was that ghosts went after they served out their time

here.

And like any logical person, I figured that was—as they say—that.

Except apparently it wasn't.

Because just minutes after I said my final goodbyes to Gus, I walked into my office

atGardenViewCemetery and came face-to-face with a blond wearing a cardigan sweater and a poodle

skirt. Saddle shoes or no saddle shoes, I knew we were not talking twenty-first century.

The awareness stung like a shot of Botox, and for a couple of long seconds, all I could do was stand

there and listen to my blood rush in my ears and my heart slam against my ribs.

That, and stare.

At the woman perched on the edge of my desk, her legs crossed and one foot—and the saddle shoe on

it—swinging. At her bobbed, wavy hair. And the pink chiffon scarf tied around her neck. At her pink

cardigan, the one with the loopy D written in rhinestones over her heart.

She was a ghost. I knew it as sure as I knew my own name was Pepper Martin, and realizing it made

me feel, well… I'll leave out the part about being pissed, exasperated, and leery, and just settle with

saying I was not a happy camper.

I backed away, but my office isn't very big and there wasn't far to go. The doorknob poked my butt.

"No. No. No. No way can I see you." I held one hand out in front of me, emphasizing my point. "No

way can you be here. You're not Gus."

She snapped her gum and blew a big, pink bubble. "Don't have a cow! Of course I'm not Gus. Do I

look like Gus?" The woman sat up and pulled back her shoulders, the better to emphasize a bust-line that

was nearly as ample as mine. "No way Gus has a chassis this classy," she said. "Gus is the one who sent

me."

"But Gus is dead." Okay, it was an understatement, but I thought I should mention it, just in case she

didn't know. I looked toward the far wall. If I had a window—which I didn't—I would have been able to

see across Garden View—which I couldn't—toward the mausoleum that was as flamboyant as Gus was

himself. "I solved Gus's murder. This is the rest-in-peace part. For him and for me. No more ghosts."

"You think?" She grinned. "I've got news for you. That's not how it works."

I didn't have to ask, I knew the it in question was my ability to see and talk to the dead. As far as I

knew—at least until right then and there—that dead meant Gus and only Gus.

Which meant that with Gus gone, I was officially out of the private-investigation-for-the-dearly-departed

business.

Or at least I should have been.

Struggling to make some sense of it all, I ran a hand through my carrot-colored hair. "No way this is

happening," I told the woman. "I hit my head on Gus's mausoleum. Not on yours. I don't even know who

you are. I shouldn't be able to see you."

"But you can, right?" Her smile was perky. Have I mentioned that I hate perky? She hopped off my

desk. "Thanks to that accident of yours, you have what's officially known as the Gift."

"Oh no!" I sidled along the wall until I was standing on the opposite side of the desk from where the

woman stood. "Whatever this Gift thing is, I don't want it. Take it back. No Gift. Not for me. I just want

my life back. My regular, old life."

"Really?" She fluffed her skirt and adjusted the knot on the gauzy scarf around her neck. "That's not

what Gus says."

"In case you haven't noticed, Gus is a mobster. One of the bad guys. That means he's not exactly the

most honest person in the world. Whatever world he happens to be in. And besides, when did you have

time to talk to him?" I thought back to what had just happened out near Gus's mausoleum. One second

he was there, the next… poof! "He just went to the big spaghetti dinner in the sky."

She shrugged like it was no big deal. "Time doesn't work the same here as it does there. Gus, he told me

all about you. He said he was pretty sure you'd moan and groan about how much you hated working for

him but that deep down, you're really grateful that he showed up. After all, before he did, I hear your life

was dullsville."

"He told you that?" So, Gus was over on the Other Side talking behind my back. You think he'd give me

a little more credit. After all, I was the only one capable of seeing him. I was the only one able to hear

him and talk to him, too. Without me, Gus Scarpetti would still be hanging out over in his mausoleum

watching the guys in his old crew bring him fresh roses every Thursday, the day he was gunned down

outside his favorite restaurant.

Of course, before Gus showed up, I was pretty much sitting on the sidelines watching life pass me by,

too.

A dead-end job here in dead city.

A fiance who dumped me rather than risk hurting his social status when my dad traded his medical

license and our more-than-comfortable upper-middle-class lifestyle for prison pinstripes.

A mountain of unpaid bills and a social life that gave dullsville a whole new meaning.

None of which made me feel any better about being bad-mouthed by the bigmouthed dead.

"What else did Gus tell you?" I asked the woman.

She grinned. Like she'd known all along that my curiosity would get the best of me. "He said that before

you met him, you never had to prove yourself. And that now, you finally realize how smart you really are.

He said before you met him, you thought your life was good for nothing but sitting by a swimming pool

and getting a really good tan."

And that's a bad thing?

I didn't bother asking the question, mostly because I didn't really care what this throwback from the last

century thought. Partly because after spending a few weeks with Gus dogging my every step, I was

sensitive to the fact that ghosts might be sensitive to how they couldn't tan.

Then again, I suppose I might have kept my mouth shut because there was a kernel of truth in what Gus

had said.

Before I met him, I had resigned myself to my not-so-happy fate. Go-nowhere job. Go-nowhere life.

Daniels Casey - [Pepper Martin 02] - The Chick and the Dead.pdf

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