Good As Dead

Chapter Four

Laci's house looks empty. I frown, pressing my face against a window to look inside. The white walls are freshly washed, the commercial-grade, stain-resistant carpets and furniture cleaned. When I move to the bedroom windows, I see hangers dangling in otherwise empty closets.

Everything's ready for a new occupant.

I check my phone again, wondering if the address Laci sent me years ago isn't her latest. At least I'm on the right street. The front door is locked, so I sit on the steps while calling the hospital contracted out for this community. It takes two tries and lying through my teeth about being a member of the family before I get a sympathetic receptionist willing to reconnect me over to the hospice division without a case number.

The woman who answers sounds brisk but tired. "Corinna Hernandez was pronounced dead yesterday. A Ms. Laci Hernandez, niece to the decedent, ordered the body to be flown back to Orion City that night."

"Did my—cousin—go with her aunt?" My eyes scan the empty house again.

A trace of impatience enters her voice. "I don't know that, ma'am. We only transfer the deceased from hospice to funeral home. Surviving relatives and companions need to arrange their own traveling."

After I hang up, I press the phone against my forehead, willing the cool metal case to ease the pounding headache there. Well, shit. That created more questions than answers. I know Laci, and she wouldn't leave like this. When a hospice patient dies, the surviving loved ones can legally remain in community housing for three more days. Enough time to finish any lingering paperwork and move out. Laci would take those days to keep after Valentine. I know it in my gut.

There's nothing else to help me here, so I get back in my car and drive, trying to figure things out. Okay, so if Laci didn't go back with her aunt's body, what happened? Did Valentine find her on his property and call security? They'd just give her a fine to pay. Unless she tried to stake him. No. I might be oblivious at times, but even I would notice an ambulance taking away someone with a piece of wood sticking out of his chest. Then what happened? He found her spying on him. And killed her? Kept her?

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel as the idea burrows into me. Even if vampires don't exist, monsters do. Rapists, murderers; being a victim of Fivefield doesn't say anything about what kind of person you are.

No, I can't keep thinking that. If I do, I'll run over to his house and rip off the door to look for Laci. That guy repulses me like nothing else. The thought of him even looking at her makes me want to twist off his head. Maybe Laci never believed it, and certainly doesn't now, but I really do love her. Just because I didn't feel anything when she kissed me doesn't mean I feel nothing. That freak has another thing coming if he thinks I'll give up looking for her.

The steering wheel groans under my grip. I flex my fingers and see dents left behind. "Don't you get weird on me, too," I mutter to my car. Then I reach for my phone again.

I still have forty-five minutes of free time left. It takes five to call Mrs. Kent and promise to make her meatball soup from scratch in return for learning the address for the Burnetts, and another ten to drive there.

The stocky white guy who answers the door isn't much taller than me. He's old, probably the same age my dad would be, and dressed in a sweater and slacks despite the heat outside. "Yes?"

"I'm friends with a friend of your daughter, Melanie. We're worried about her being gone, and want to know if there's any news." I rehearsed the words on the drive here to make sure they sound concerned instead of outright panicky.

He runs a hand through thick, brown hair that looks frizzed at the tips, like he does that a lot. "I can't reassure you; I'm worried, too. But you're welcome to come in."