Page 33 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

Angie nods.

“Yeah, second or third, once removed or whatever. I can never get it all straight in my head, so we just stick with cousins, although we only met after we were dead.” She shrugs. “I lived in Los Angeles while I was alive, and Bruce lived in London.” Her eyes track over to me. “You’re cute. Who are you again?” Angie sips her coffee as she watches me, clearly trying to figure out how I fit into this scenario, given that I’m the only one here who still has a pulse.

“Just Tristan.” I reply. “I’m not very interesting.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You’re in an in-between place which most people with a corporeal body can’t access, and you can see all of us, which means you must be some sort of medium.”

“Nope, just had the bad luck to have a near death experience and now I see dead people,” I reply.

“Fuzzy! Don’t do that!” We turn to see the small pomchi squat for a moment at the side of the archway and leave behind a spreading puddle of pee. “Oops.” Angie winces as the doorway flickers and the hazy surface flushes an angry red.

Tucking her book into her pants pocket, she reaches down and scoops up the small dog. “This is Fuzzy and the other one is Malani.” She glances around to look for her other dog, who is waddling toward the edge of the dais. Before anyone can open their mouths to shout a warning, the little chunky dog falls off the edge and disappears.

Angie rolls her eyes and sighs. “She does that all the time in new places. She’s blind.”

The little dog suddenly reappears next to Angie’s feet and sits on her haunches, giving a dazed shake of her head.

“She’s blind?” Dusty says in surprise.

“I don’t think it’s occurred to her that she can have her sight back.” Angie lifts her coffee and takes another gulp. “You try explaining the concept of the afterlife and self-image to a dog.”

“I think we’re getting a little off subject here,” Bruce interrupts. “Angie, what exactly are you here to help with?”

“To babysit the doorway while you go off and do whatever it is you have to do.” She waves her mug in the direction of the arch. “You know what Abuela is like. I didn’t ask for details.”

“You can leave the doorway?” I knew he had been able to on Christmas Eve and again on Valentine’s Day, but I assumed there were only specific days he was able to get away.

He nods. “Yeah, I can leave, but the longer I’m away, the more it pulls me back.”

“So you’re connected to it somehow… physically, I mean,” I muse as I stare at him.

“Yes, well, this is all very interesting, primo, but I got things to do.” Angie shoos Bruce out of the way, and I realise a huge comfy-looking armchair with a matching footstool has appeared beside the doorway. “Off you go.” She flops down into the chair, then settles Fuzzy onto her lap and reaches down to scoop up Malani and place her next to her sister.

A side table also appears beside the chair and sitting atop it is a coffee machine and a stack of books. It looks so cosy I’m aching to get back home, even if it is beginning to resemble an aquarium.

I wonder how Danny and Sam are getting on with the beginning of their investigation into Bruce’s death. Hopefully, being a cold case, it should be a little more straightforward than the last two cases. I’m really just hoping no one’s going to shoot at me or drug me this time.

My gaze flicks back to Bruce’s cousin and I find her clutching her coffee mug, her attention buried in a book with a very ripped half-naked guy on the cover. I watch as Dusty edges around her and leans in to read over Angie’s shoulder. I can’t help the amused smile that tugs at my lips as Dusty’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open.

Angie glances up at Dusty and smirks. Closing the book, she hands it to Dusty with a wink before reaching for the pile and picking up a new one. Dusty takes the book and innocently slides it into the pocket of her raincoat, clearly forgetting it’s completely transparent. The oiled torso of some guy is now plastered to the clear plastic of her pocket.

“Love you, estúpido,” Angie calls out, not looking up from her book.

“Love you, estúpida,” Bruce repeats with an affectionate smile before turning his attention back to me and Dusty.

“Okay, then. Guess I’m coming to help you figure this out.”

8

“Okay. Thanks, Maddie.” I hang up the phone and glance over to Sam, who is sitting at the other side of the kitchen table.

“What did she say?” He looks up from his laptop.

“The bones belong to a male, between thirty and thirty-five years of age. The cause of death is inconclusive. There’s some damage to the skull, and also the second and third cervical vertebrae.”

“DNA?”

“Not back yet, but they seem positive they can get a profile from the bones or the teeth.” I scratch my jaw absently. “But it will take time. They’ve estimated he was in the ground for roughly thirty to forty years. They’ve currently labelled him a John Doe and his remains have been shelved for when Cold Cases gets around to it, which may not be anytime soon.”