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We were working on him not calling me ‘copper’ anymore, either. Although I didn’t always get to hear Archie’s side of the conversation, Ward reported that Archie was trying to find a new nickname for me, and that I should be grateful I couldn’t hear most of the discarded options.
I was, although it made me nervous to think about the fact that a several-decades’-dead necromancer was trying to come up with pet names for me.
One of the ones Ihadheard that we’d discarded wasLegolas. Mostly because when Archie had used it, Ward hadn’t stopped laughing for about three hours. It would be deeply distracting to him. And would irritate the ever-loving fuck out of me.
I wasn’t about to start making suggestions, even if I was pretty sure whatever the ghost ended up with was going to be both stupid and offensive. Since Archie… well,meant wellwasn’t precisely the right term, but the abrasive old dead coot wasn’t actively trying to be mean. Not to me, anyway, unless Ward has gotten a lot better at lying to me. Which I’m pretty sure he hasn’t.
Based on Ward’s somewhat abridged explanations, I got the impression that Archie wasn’t having much luck with our new ghost friend, either. Apparently she was all worked up about something, although she seemed to be having trouble actually articulating what was bothering her.
Or maybe there was too much bothering her, and Ward was having a hard time sorting through what she was saying to give me something actionable. Given the fact that he kept rubbing at his temple with his fingers, I was willing to lay out money that this dead woman might very well be giving him a headache.
“She can’t just tell us where her body is?” I asked for what must have been the seventeenth time.
“I’m sure shecan,” Ward snapped back, which wasn’t a good sign, because he’s usually pretty easy-going. If Ward was pissy, whatever was happening on the metaphysical plane would probably have made me strangle someone. “But she is very insistent about us needing to remove the berries.”
“Remove. The. Berries.”
“I don’t fucking know, Hart,” he said, clearly exasperated.
“What fucking berries?”
Ward threw his hands up.
I left him with the ghosts and went out to one of the main rooms where the museum people were unpacking boxes. “Hi. We’re having… a communication issue with our spirit. Can either of you tell me if anything about berries makes any sense?”
One of the women looked up, pushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes that had gotten free from the bandana she wore. Her skin was a tawny olive, and her dark eyes curious. “Um. There’s a raspberry patch in the back?” she suggested.
Oh, bloody fucking hell.
People buried bodies under things like berry patches. And bushes. And flowers.
I sighed. “And how much of a problem is it going to be if I have to pull out the raspberries?” I asked.
“Why?” the woman wanted to know, standing up and dusting her hands off on her hips.
“Well, the ghost keeps talking about berries, and it seems to me that if the ghost is worried about berries, then you might well have a body buried under them.” I was working really hard at being more polite to clients. Really fucking hard.
I hadn’t sworn at the museum people once yet.
The woman’s dark eyes went wide. “Bodies?”
I shrugged. “Maybe just the one. But she’s not being terribly clear, so I can’t say for certain.”
“Um. Do we… need to dig them up?” she asked.
“Can we?” I rejoined.
“Let me… uh… call Helen.”
I nodded, then turned to go back to my medium.
“You’re… Hart, right?” The woman’s voice stopped me.
I turned back to her. “Yup.”
She held out a hand smudged with dust. I didn’t mind, so I shook it. “Madeeha Rahimi,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Rahimi.” I shook her hand.
