Page 15 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘Margaret Mason?’ he said gently, overenunciating. ‘My name is George Ecker. I’m a detective with the Vermont State Police.’

‘It’s Jet,’ said another voice, one she recognized. Billy’s dad – sorry – Jack Finney walked into the room, his badge glinting at her. ‘She likes to be called Jet.’ His face was wrung out, sleep deprived, but at least it was familiar under all of that.

Chief Lou Jankowski was the last in, shutting the door behind him with a click. He nodded. ‘Hello again, Jet.’

George Ecker cleared his throat. ‘The chief said you might want Sergeant Finney in here. That you know each other.’

‘All my life,’ Jet said.

Jack bowed his head, like it hurt to hold her gaze. Mourning her before she even had the good grace to really be gone. Pre-dead. Un-dead. Fuck sake, azombie,that’s what she was. Talk about foreshadowing. And Jet was surprised shecouldtalk about it – shouldn’t that be a word lost to the black hole in her head? So many syllables.

The three of them stood around her bed, like silent sentries, Jet’s neck craning to look up at them.

‘I didn’t see who it was,’ she said. ‘Before you ask. They attacked me from behind. I didn’t get a chance to turn around.’

Detective Ecker clicked and unclicked a pen, scribbled something in his file. ‘Did you hear or see anything that might help us identify them?’

Jet swallowed. ‘So you don’t know who it was either? Isn’t there evidence or something?’

‘The scene is still being processed,’ the detective said. ‘Anything at all?’

‘Footsteps,’ Jet answered. ‘Coming up behind me.’

‘Did they sound heavy?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Could you tell what kind of shoes? Boots? Sneakers?’

‘I don’t know, it was just footsteps. It was so fast.’

‘One set or more?’

‘One. It was one person.’

Detective Ecker flicked to a previous page. ‘Do you know what was used to hit you?’

‘No.’ She paused. ‘Wait, so you don’t have the murder weapon either?’

She didn’t even realize until she’d just said it.The murder weapon.That’s what it was, though, wasn’t it? Because Jet hadn’t just been attacked, or assaulted – those paler, one-size-fits-all words. She’d been … murdered. Someone had killed her. More than ninety percent killed her, unless Jet was due another miracle and the surgery actually worked.

‘The weapon was not recovered at the scene,’ Ecker said, omitting the vital word that made them all uncomfortable.

Jack removed his cap, held it by his side.

‘Who found me?’ Jet asked him, not this stranger with her file. ‘Was it Mom and Dad?’

Jack coughed. ‘Billy found you.’

‘Is he OK?’ she asked. A strange thing to ask, for someone who was much less than OK. But Jet was tough, everyone said so. Billy was soft. Used to cry when Jet stomped on spiders.

Jack didn’t answer.

‘Margaret – sorry – Jet.’ The detective pressed closer, bringing her attention back. ‘Can you think of any reason, any reason at all, that someone might want to hurt you?’

She wanted to make a joke, to trick that drumbeat in her head, cobbled together with wire mesh and screws.Who, me? I’m fucking delightful.But she couldn’t this time, couldn’t drown out the dread.

‘No,’ she said, voice almost failing her. ‘I can’t think of any reason someone would want to kill me.’

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