Page 46 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Hey!”
“I was wrong, before. I think you should own it. We’re definitely gonna make it a thing. I’m getting T-shirts made.”
“Good God, you’re not kidding, are you?”
ChapterTwenty-Three
“Can you believe it?” Jimbo Muller picked himself up off the cement cellar floor and staggered over to them as he brushed himself down. “Whoo, adrenaline rush! I can’t believe I didn’t break my damn neck! Embarrassing, right? Breaking my neck changing a lightbulb? It was only a three-foot fall, Crissakes. Goddamned shaky two-step ladder... the guys on my work crew woulda laughed themselves stupid.” Muller blinked. “Who the hell are you two, and what are you doing in my basement?”
“I’ve got some crap news for you,” Amara said.
“Aw, man.” Muller ran his fingers through his short gray hair and sighed. “Look, if it’s about my ex-wife, just tell her I’m still waiting on the bonus from my last job. The guy promised it to me by Monday, and if he doesn’t bring it by, tell her I’ll personally make sure—huh.” Muller looked at the sprawled figure on the floor, then at Amara, then at the sprawled figure on the floor. “Aw, shit. That’s me.”
“Yes.”
“Lying still on the floor.”
“Yes.”
“But also standing here talking to you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?” Muller asked.
“Of course.”
“Why are you carrying a little garbage can?”
* * *
“Oh. Hi.” Beverly Lundergard struggled to sit up in bed, but was overtaken by a racking cough so deep and drawn out, it sounded like she was vomiting up a lung. Her swollen face, with its unhealthy yellowish cast, got steadily darker as the coughing fit went on and on. As Amara and Gray approached the bed, she waved them back, whooped for breath, and seized the nearly empty bottle of water which was, thank God, uncapped.
After a few gulps she lay back, letting out the occasional wet gasp. “Not too close,” she croaked, flapping a hand at them. “You two don’t wanna catch this.”
Wetwo? The first time was odd. The second... well. She’d have to think about what that meant.
Gray cleared his throat. “We won’t catch your double pneumonia, ma’am.”
“Don’t take chances.” Beverly had to rest for a few seconds before she could finish. “Not even a chance of a chance. This sucks; you’ve got no idea. Sorry, I didn’t hear the doorbell. And I forgot to—” Another series of retching coughs; Beverly groped for the near-empty Kleenex box on the table beside her and hacked up a golf ball-sized lump of green phlegm streaked with blood. “Forgot to lock the door,” she finished, dropping the befouled Kleenex into the overflowing wastebasket beside the bed. “Is that for me?”
Amara clutched her garbage can tighter. “No.”
“Okay. What can I do—” Another cough, and she gulped the last of the water with a wince. “For you two? My God, someone lined my throat with razor blades while I slept. Was it you guys? Better not have been.”
“Ms. Lundergard?—”
“Bevvie. And whatever it is, I don’t need it and I’m not buying it. My roof is fine, my windows are fine, my car windshield is fine, I don’t need Girl Scout cookies, I don’t want to buy band candy, I hate my cell phone provider but they all suck anyway. Sorry you wasted a trip.”
“We didn’t.”
“Good for you, I guess.” Beverly closed her eyes for a second. “I am. So sick. Of being sick. Before you go, could one of you refill my water bottle? Sorry again about not being able to buy anything.”
Gray started to do it, but Amara put a hand on his arm and shook her head. Bevvie pulled in a deep breath and her eyes popped open. “Actually. Um, actually, I think that last bunch of coughs knocked more than phlegm loose. I feel...” She started to sit, waited for the bone-deep ache to steal her energy, the waves of dizziness that made even the thought of going to the bathroom beyond exhausting. And the relentless tickle in her throat that would, soon enough, turn to a fishhook.
