Wild Wild Death Read Online Free PDF

and I shivered now like I always did back at the cemetery when I told the story. “Only they never returned for him. Nobody knows why. And there was this mausoleum that somebody had built and never finished paying for so the cemetery used Goodshot’s money and put him in there. His casket is kept in the mausoleum on a sort of platform.”
    “I think it’s cal ed a bier.”
    “How would you know that?”
    A smile tugged one corner of Quinn’s mouth. “I hang out with a cemetery tour guide.”
    “A former cemetery tour guide.”
    He patted my knee. “Former cemetery tour guide.”

    “Who talks to the dead.”
    It wasn’t exactly subtle, but I was long past toeing the line. For my sake as wel as for Quinn’s. I am not, after al , stupid. Deep in my heart, I know that people have to accept me for who I am without external proof. I wish Quinn would have just believed me back when I final y admitted that I keep getting mixed up in his cases because I’ve got this goofy Gift and it’s nonreturnable and the ghosts I deal with tel me they’l haunt me for the rest of my life if I don’t help them.
    But that wasn’t how it worked, and then Quinn final y did have… wel , I guess it wasn’t living proof… but it was proof. That’s for sure. He did final y have proof that I was tel ing the truth, and it was time for him to man up and admit it.
    “We’ve got to talk about it, Quinn,” I said. “When I told you I talk to the dead and solve their mysteries, you walked out on me, remember?” I guess he did because his green eyes flashed. “But then you died.
    And you were a ghost. At least for a little while. And you came to me and you told me where the cops could find the guy who shot you. I couldn’t make up that kind of information and get it right, could I? That proves the experience was real. That I real y do talk to the dead. We need to talk about this, Quinn, partly because I need to hear from you that you don’t think I’m a nutcase, but mostly because you can’t keep something like this bottled up inside you. You were dead!”
    “As dead as this team, and it’s only June!” I guess while I was busy passionately defending my position, some more bad stuff happened out on the field because Quinn slumped back in his seat and the people around us groaned, got to their feet, and headed for the exits. “Another loss for the record books,” he said.
    And another go-nowhere, solve-nothing, can’t-get-passed-it conversation between me and the guy I once thought was the man of my dreams.
    There was no use prolonging the evening; I got to my feet, too, and headed up the steps to the main concourse of the stadium with Quinn right behind me. At the top of the steps, a brisk breeze whipped my curly hair and a new batch of goose bumps erupted up my arms and across my shoulders.
    Quinn’s not a cop for nothing. He’s pretty good when it comes to noticing things. “Here.” He already had his windbreaker off and he draped it over my had his windbreaker off and he draped it over my shoulders. “I’m tired of watching you shiver, so don’t give me any bul about who might see you looking like a dork in my jacket.”
    I was too chil y to argue.
    I slipped my arms into the jacket, snapped it shut, a nd warmth enveloped me along with the scent of Quinn’s expensive aftershave. My mood brightened.
    At least for as long as it took us to get out onto the street. Right outside the stadium, there was a knot of people around a man with a microphone and a woman dressed in a buckskin dress and a feathered headdress.
    “I could put a stop to the curse,” the woman said.
    Her dark hair was done up in braids that hung over her shoulders, and she had a dozen strands of beads around her neck that reminded me of the jewelry El a liked to wear. She was holding a smoldering bunch of smel y herbs and she raised her arm and waved the smoke toward the stadium. “I come here every game and do my best to try and clear the bad