Page 13 of Half the Summer's Night
Heat surges up into my cock, and I drop it, my heart racing. I need a receptacle. I’m not a fucking asshole who’s going to shoot his load all over Abi’s work documents.
But when I go over to the doorway, I hear something, faint but definite.
Footsteps. Soft, clicking footsteps.
And they’re coming this way.
5
ABI
Ijerk awake, dragged out of some pleasant dream and into my dark, disorienting bedroom. My alarm chimes softly beside my bed.
No, it can’t be my alarm. It’s still dark outside.
I roll over, fumbling for my phone. Is someone calling me? Any coroner business goes to the funeral parlor line, not my cell. Something with Penelope or Chloe, maybe? I can’t imagine they’d have the kind of emergency that would warrant calling me in the middle of the night.
I finally grab hold of my phone and roll onto my back, squinting at it in the dark. The screen blurs without my glasses.
And then, with a drop in my heart, I realize what it is.
An alarm, but not my morning alarm. This is the alarm tied to the electronic lock on the back door.
I sit up, my heart pounding, and slide my glasses on. But then I see the flashingPower Failurenotice, and I breathe out, slumping against my headboard. This is not the first time this shit has happened, and it won’t be the last. Any time the power flickers—and it does surprisingly often, given how old the house is and how much the Gulf wind sweeps across the property—the back door lock has to be reset.
I want to leave it for tomorrow morning. But it’s only midnight, and I can hear Uncle Vic’s voice chiding me:Those bodies are responsibility, Abi. You can’t just leave them vulnerable like that.
I sigh, defeated by my own memories. Then I whip off my blanket and roll out of bed and fumble around on my desk until I find my glasses. The house is quiet, save for the constant, murmuring hum of the AC. Guess the power outage didn’t last long.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, shuffling out into the hallway. I make my way downstairs, where everything feels even more still and quiet, following the narrow hallway until I come to the entrance to the funeral work space in the back of the house. I push the door open.
And freeze.
Something’s wrong. It takes me a second to register what it is, because the work hallway is as still and undisturbed as the rest of the house.
Except that the light is on in the examination room.
The door is closed, so it’s not immediately obvious. But I can see the thin line of brightness reflecting off the hallway tiles. Fear prickles over my skin.
Something probably fell over, I think.And activated the light.
I force myself to ignore the examination room and instead walk over to reset the entrance lock, telling myself I’m being paranoid. We’ve never had a break-in at the Hatch Street Funeral Parlor, and I have no idea why we’d start now.
You were literally investigating a murder this afterno?—
Something thumps from the examination room. I whip around, my heart pounding, and stare at the light trickling across the floor.
Silence.
Part of me thinks I should go upstairs and call the police. Part of me also thinks that’s a stupid fucking idea, because Kaplan’s influence in the sheriff’s department extends to the police department, too. Neither of them takes me seriously unless they absolutely have to, and a single thump isn’t enough to convince them to come out here, even if my outer lock needs to be reset.
I creep down the hall, my eye on the door to the examination room. Ifanythinglooks wrong, I’ll call the cops. But I need to give them something more than a sound.
I push the door open and peer inside. The light floods over everything, but nothing looks out of place. All the refrigeration drawers are shut. My supplies are laid out where I left them earlier, waiting for work to start tomorrow. My office door?—
My office door is open.
I always close it. Always. I don’t want anyone seeing my crazy-person red-string map. I always close the examination room door, too, but I can be careless about it. Not so with my office door.
