Page 18 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Death throws a potluck,” Gray mused, and giggled.
“My mother would never allow a potluck. She would take mortal offense, in fact.” Amara knew it was a cliché, but it was too quiet. “There should be people out here to greet us. Well, me.”
Gray shrugged. “It’s late.”
“It’s only nine p.m.”
“Yeah, but they’re old, right?”
“You have no idea.” Still. Worrisome. “Come on, this way.”
She led Gray up the heavily salted front walk and into an entryway that was larger than most living rooms. She relieved Gray of his coat and boots, took off her own, then tossed the bundle in the nearest closet and led him to the parlor, also larger than most living rooms.
“Jeeeeeezus,” Gray breathed.
“Yes, it’s... uh, well, it’s our house.”
The parlor, like most of the rooms, was all gleaming wood and glossy floors and heavy leather furniture, with loads of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves (complete with sliding ladders child-Amara definitely didn’t ride while pretending they were horses), thick throw rugs, a fireplace, a wet bar, and the de rigueur dead animals on the walls: deer heads, a bobcat, a bison, drake and hen mallards...
“Holy shit, that’s a cougar!” Gray was beneath two of the heads, craning so far back to see, she wondered if he’d tip over. “And... a grizzly?”
“Tacky, right? Sorry, my folks are old-fashioned.”
“No, I mean—did he shoot them here? On your farm or whatever this place is?”
“Sure. A while ago, but yes.”
He spun and stared at her. “North Dakota grizzlies and cougars are a thing?”
“Like I said, he killed them a while ago.” She cupped her elbows and rubbed, trying to chase the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “Also, this is odd.”
“Did you just now notice?”
“No, I mean... where is everyone? There’s a reason the homestead is so big, and why my folks have a staff to help them with it.”
“Because of course you have servants.”
“Yes, and where are they? I should have had to introduce you to half a dozen people by now.”
“So what kind of benefits package does Death offer? Full dental? Paid leave?”
“You can ask him yourself. My suggestion is that you not lead with that.”
“Oh oh oh oh ooooooooh!”
At the familiar trilling, Amara turned toward the far doorway and smiled. “Hi, Mom.”
“Ohhhhhhhh!”
Amara braced herself for the clutch, and her mother did not disappoint, rushing across the room and hugging her hard enough to lift her off her feet. A good trick, since Amara had towered over her since she was twelve. “Herregud, my darling!”
“Nnnnnf.” Amara gently extricated herself. “Nice to see you, too, Mom. You know you’re getting shorter, right? This is my friend, Graham Gray.”
“Of course, of course, Amara’s told us so much about you,velkommen, Graham!”
“Thank you, ma’am. Please call me Gray.”
“As you like, dear.”
