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“It has nothing to do with you,” he replied, to my annoyance. “I’ll keep trying to reach Nao—” A sharp sound like gunfire erupted in the background, followed by cheers.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Zombie Fest,” he said as soon as the noise died down.
“Seeger got his head cut off,” I offered, throwing him a bone to keep him talking.
“Was he a . . . ?”
“Zombie? Nah. But it’s possible somebody thought he was.”
“How? Why?” Andrew said, quiet tone ratcheting up in stress. “He called me yesterday out of the blue. Said he had important information for me an
d wanted to meet today. But if someone thought he was a zombie and—”
A hollow knock sounded on his end. “Mr. Saber? Is everything all right in there?”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said in a normal voice then whispered to me, “I have to go.”
I burst out laughing. “If you gotta go, you gotta go. You’re hiding from your goons in a goddamn porta-potty?”
“Shut up, Angel! It’s not funny.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ll find you later at the Fest.”
He made a noise of either relief or dread before he disconnected. A touch of guilt shimmered through me. He could be a dick, but I probably shouldn’t have screwed with him. It had to suck living a secret zombie life right beside people who’d kill him or worse if they found out. But, then again, the same applied to all zombies.
Pedestrians hurried toward Main Street as I eased through traffic. Even with all the sucky stuff, the day was turning out to be pretty okay. I had a mental image of the mighty Andrew Saber hunkered down in a porta-potty, making an illicit call while his security people hovered outside. I had leads to follow on Mr. Seeger. I had a clear-the-air understanding with Dr. Nikas. I had pig brains and cool masks. On top of it all, I made it out of downtown before the cops barricaded the streets.
I headed for the morgue to meet Nick, heart lighter than it had been in ages.
Chapter 12
I swiped my ID card and slipped into the morgue. Even when people had the misfortune to die during non-business hours, the on-call investigator and morgue tech rarely stuck around longer than the few minutes it took to stuff the decedent into the cooler and log basic info in the computer. And autopsies were performed on the weekend only when the need was critical. As a result, the morgue tended to be quiet as a tomb on the weekends. And, fortunately, today was no different.
I dropped my plastic grocery bag with my zombie costume clothes on the desk along with the butcher-paper wrapped pig brains, then checked the other offices and the cutting room to make sure no one was around. There was no valid reason for me to be poking through a body bag on my day off, so I needed to be one hundred percent sure I wouldn’t get caught.
Not another living soul in the entire building. And a quick check of the computer reassured me that dispatch hadn’t sent anyone out on a call, which meant I wouldn’t be rudely interrupted by a body coming in.
Satisfied, I ducked into the cooler with the packet of pig brains, but left the heavy door open. If anyone came into the morgue, I’d hear the outer door. Besides, I wouldn’t be more than a minute or two. Good thing, since the trip into town had taken longer than planned.
The cooler held just two bodies: Mr. Omentum-has-momentum Granger—whose organ bag I’d already raided, and Mr. Grayson-headless-Seeger. I yanked the zipper of Omentum’s body bag open, but froze as I reached for the organ bag. The knot in the bag. Was that mine? It looked too tight. Then again, I’d been munching brains when I tied it. It was possible my zombie strength had kicked in. I worried my lower lip, uneasy. What if Allen had checked the bag after I went to lunch, found the brains missing, and retied it?
If he had, I was already up shit creek and a few pig brains wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other. But if he hadn’t, the little oinkers could save my scrawny zombie ass.
I worked the knot open, then tore the pig brains in half and dropped them into the bag. Organ stew with extra brains. Convincing enough. And, as far as I knew, once the body left the morgue, no one opened the organ bags. Score one for Angel.
Feeling pretty damn good about the whole thing, I grabbed my bag of festival clothes and headed into the bathroom. My fake zombie costume consisted of a pair of hole-y jeans and a ripped white tank top with old barbecue stains and fresh fake blood.
The door from the parking lot clanged as I finished slipping into the tank top. “Angel?” Nick called out.
“Be right out!” I checked my reflection and adjusted the tank top. Crap. Was my bra showing? And why the hell was I nervous? It wasn’t as if this was a date. Nick and I spent loads of time together outside work, especially with all the tutoring. I stuffed my good clothes into the plastic bag, and headed out. “Okay, I’m almost ready for—”
Zombie Nick shambled toward me, arms outstretched. “Braaaiiins.” He wore a suit and tie frayed and aged to appear as if it had been moldering in a crypt for half a century. Grey makeup covered his hands, neck, and face.
I let out a delighted laugh. “Dude, that’s awesome!” A hole in his shirt revealed a fake wound that wriggled with mealworms sealed behind a near-invisible mesh. “And seriously gross,” I added with a grin.
“Braaaiiins.” Slack jawed, he reached for me.
