Page 2 of It All Started with a Bite

“You’d better clean her hydrangeas before she sees them,” I advised as I started dialing 911.

Ellie grabbed my arm with surprising strength for someone who was dead drunk.

“Let’s just have him sleep it off upstairs. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.

I looked at the man, at my watch, and at my best friend’s pleading face. The smart thing would be to stick to my original plan and call the cops. But I had a meeting with the auditors in the morning and the last thing I needed was to spend the night giving statements at the precinct.

“Fine,” I agreed reluctantly. “But if he turns out to be a serial killer, I’m blaming you.”

Moving an unconscious man to our apartment turned out to be about as much fun as doing my ex-boyfriend’s taxes. Which, incidentally, was how I discovered Mark was cheating on me. Nothing saysI’m a total dickwadquite like finding receipts for couples massages when you’ve never had a massage with the guy.

“On three,” I grunted, trying to lift the stranger’s shoulders while Ellie wobbled uncertainly near his feet. “One, two?—”

“Wait.” She swallowed hard, her face turning a shade of green that matched the shrubbery. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”

Ten minutes and two more hurling incidents later, we finally managed to drag our unconscious guest into Parkside’s art deco lobby. The ancient radiator hissed and popped ominously as we shuffled past it, casting strange shadows across the black-and-white tiled floor. I tried not to think about how many security cameras had just captured us hauling what looked like a dead body through the front door.

“You know, I still can’t believe Mrs. Owens fired me,” Ellie mumbled, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

I made sympathetic noises while mentally counting the ways her former boss had shown saintlike patience. Considering Ellie’s talent for disaster, the owner of Mystical Moments deserved a medal for not firing her sooner.

“I mean, how was I supposed to know that crystal skull was actually an antique?” She lowered the unconscious guy’s legs to the floor and adjusted her earmuffs with dignity despite the vomit on her sleeve. “It looked exactly like all the other decorative ones we sell.”

I waited until she picked up the deadweight before maneuvering the body around a potted ficus that had witnessed far too many of our embarrassing late-night returns. “Maybe because it was in the locked display case markedNot for Salein giant red letters?”

“But that kid was so convincing! He said it was for his mother’s birthday.” She dropped the man’s feet with a meaty thunk. “And he had cash!”

The fact that a teenager was carrying around that kind of money should have been her first clue something wasn’t right. But Ellie had been missing social cues since kindergarten and apparently over two decades of friendship hadn’t improved her radar for suspicious situations.

A strange warmth emanated from our unconscious guest as we approached the elevator, like he was running a dangerous fever. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but his hair looked thicker.

“Did you notice how the lights always flicker at Mystical Moments when Mrs. Owens gets angry?” Ellie continued, oblivious to my slight unease. “And things fall off shelves for no reason? I swear that place is haunted.”

I swallowed a curse as she bumped into a wall of brass mailboxes. “Look, I know you’re convinced Amberford is secretly full of supernatural creatures, but you can’t keep using that as an excuse every time you screw up. We’re not in ninth grade anymore.”

“There really was a ghost in our class, Abby.” Ellie’s expression turned stubborn. “It was Minty Mindy, that senior girl who got murdered by that caretaker behind the gym.”

I grimaced. Mindy Parsons, a.k.a. Minty Mindy, had suffered an unfortunate fate some twenty years ago at the hands of Eddie Wilco. The school-caretaker-turned-serial-killer was still Amberford’s most notorious criminal.

The elevator dinged, its doors creaking open with painful slowness. We dragged our increasingly warm passenger inside.

“I thought this job was going to be different,” Ellie said mournfully, jabbing the button for the fourth floor. “I mean, I had business cards and everything.” She fumbled in her pocket and produced a shiny rectangle. “With glitter!”

The elevator groaned upward.

“Maybe this is a sign you should try something else,” I suggested. “Something less risky.”

“Like what?”

2

Stranger Danger (And Other Valid Reasons to Punch People)

I grappled for ideas.“How about a job that makes it less likely for you to sell antiques to minors?”

The elevator opened on our floor.

---