Page 57 of Not Quite Dead Yet

Billy blew out his cheeks, something he did when he was uncomfortable, hadn’t grown out of it yet. He rammed the hard hat onto his head, avoided Jet’s eyes.

Jet dropped hers in the mud. ‘I’m not putting this on, Jimmy, because, quite honestly, it doesn’t match my outfit. And I don’t see any roofs that might collapse anytime soon – doesn’t even have foundations yet.’

And there was no way she was forcing that hat over her bandages, to press against the pain, magnify it. There was only so much the codeine could do.

‘Speaking of the foundations,’ Jet continued, breezing past the horrified look on Jimmy’s face, ‘when did you start pouring the concrete? It’s already set here, on this front part.’

The point closest to the road and what Jet imagined would be the future driveway, about fifteen feet across, blockaded at the corners by more wood.

‘Yeah, that’s the garage we started on,’ Jimmy answered, but that’s not what she had asked.

‘When did the concrete go in, Jimmy?’

Because what if it was –

‘– Saturday morning, I think,’ Jimmy said, speaking over her thoughts. ‘Finished the trenches Friday afternoon. We started on this’ – he pointed to the channel of hardened concrete – ‘Saturday morning. Would have finished too, but the boss wanted to be here, and he had to take a couple of days, for personal reasons.’

‘Hi,’ Jet said, ‘I’m Personal Reasons.’

Jimmy narrowed his eyes, clearly had no idea what she was talking about and didn’t want to know. ‘We’re only just back today, really,’ he said, for something to say. ‘I can make up the time, don’t worry.’

‘What time did you start work on Saturday – start pouring the concrete?’

Jimmy shrugged. ‘Probably about eight a.m.’

‘Great,’ Jet said, grin widening with the word, trying to cover for her eyes, for her quickening heart. This was something, she knew it. ‘And it’s just mud underneath, right? You’d already dug the trenches, so you wouldn’t have known if there was anything in the mud?’

Jimmy stared at her, confused. ‘Did you lose something?’

‘Only my mind. Could you give me and my associate two minutes, please, Jimmy? Yeah, you go just over there, that’s great.’

‘Jet?’ Billy looked down at her.

‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ she hissed.

‘Probably not.’

‘That concrete was poured, what, like nine hours after my murder? And we know the killer was here with my phone. Like, right there.’ She pointed beyond her truck, to the street.‘If you knew that was going to happen, that the foundations were going in the next morning, wouldn’t this be the perfect place to hide it?’

‘Hide the phone?’ Billy eyed the concrete.

‘And the other thing missing from the scene,’ Jet said. ‘The murder weapon. If they’re under concrete, in the foundations of a house, who would ever find them?’

‘Ah, shit.’ Billy fiddled with his hair, tucked it under his hard hat. ‘Should we call the cops?’

‘And let them have all the fun?’

Jet winked and Billy swallowed, her eyes tracking the movement, the lump in his throat, up and down.

‘Why are you smiling like that? You can’t be serious?’ he hissed.

‘Dead serious,’ she said, and not just to make him nervous, though that was fun too. ‘The police would have to wait, apply for warrants or something. Could take days. Longer.’ She patted Billy on the shoulder. ‘I don’t have time for paperwork, bud. Sorry.’

Billy’s head dropped back, blinking at the sky. ‘You’re not sorry, though, are you?’

‘Hey Jimmy!’ Jet called, mud squelching, soaking into her socks as she ran over to the man. ‘How deep does that concrete go?’

Jimmy looked even more confused now. ‘About three feet deep. Why?’

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