Page 25 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Sure, sure. End of the week. It’s Thursday night, but whatever. Not that this is about me, but visiting your folks is a nice reminder that mine aren’t nearly as weird and damaging as I thought.”
“Theyare,” Amara corrected, ignoring the coil of anger in her belly when she thought of Gloria and Greg Gray. “And they are damaging.”
“See?” Gray gave her a friendly whap on the arm. “Bad as you thought it was here, it could’ve been worse. Death and Hilly never abused you, they just want you to spend the rest of your life murdering everyone in the Midwest.”
“I was wrong not to realize Death’s tankard was half full, not half empty,” she intoned, and got another whack on the arm. “Let’s talk about anything and anyone else besides your family. Or mine. Abortion? Who was really behind January sixth and/or on the grassy knoll? Why Harry and Meghan are the worst?”
“Harry and Meghan arenotthe—ugh, point taken. You want a subject change. But hey! At least my family is keeping their word. No contact until they’re ready to apologize.”
“Since they never will, you’ll never have to see them again.”
Gray shrugged. “Their choice.”
“And their loss.” She stood and stretched. “See you in the morning, I’m going up. Also, my mother will make a seven-course breakfast and if you leave so much as a crumb on your plate... well. Lie awake in terror and contemplate alllll the wrath.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Sweet dreams. Ha! That pillow missed me by a mile.”
Lefseis soooo good. Don’t take my word for it; try some.
ChapterTwelve
Years earlier...
* * *
Gloria Gray struggled with three bags of groceries and her keys, then bit back a scream when her apartment door opened from the inside because some bitch was in her goddamned entryway.
“Let me help you with those,” the stranger said, then grabbed two grocery bags, took a few steps back, and slung them into the kitchen. Didn’t eventryto dump ’em on the counter.
Gloria was so pissed and bewildered, it took her a few seconds to lodge a protest. “What the fuck are you doing? There’s eggs in one of those bags!”
“There still are,” the stranger replied, eyeballing Gloria like they were gonna fight or fuck. Then she walked into the living room, dropped her pink-and-green tote bag at her feet, and made herself comfortable on the good chair.
“Bitch, you’ve got five seconds to get your narrow ass out of my apartment before I call the cops.”
“Excellent plan,” her uninvited guest replied. She had boring hair, chalky skin, and skinny limbs like those scrawny models strutting down runways. And weird eyes, so bloodshot they kinda looked red. “And while we wait for the sound of sirens, we can discuss how you avoided indictment across several states for multiple counts of felony child abuse.”
Gloria stopped. Not just walking or reaching for her phone. Stopped thinking, stopped blinking. Her heart stopped. Her breath stopped. Everything just fuckin’... went still.
After a long silence, the stranger said, “The number is nine-one-one. If you were trying to remember.”
Gloria realized she was gripping her phone so hard her fingers were going numb. “How—how did you know about that?”
“I worked in Fairview’s medical records department for five days.”
“You can’t do that! You can’t use your job to—to spy on innocent people.”
“Two counts of felony neglect and child endangerment.”
“I forgot my keys! That’s all that was.”
“You locked your eleven-year-old son outside because he forgot to do the dishes. At night. In Minnesota. In December.”
“He was fine! The doctors all said!”
“One count of misdemeanor malicious punishment of a child.”
