Page 11 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne

“I–” I trail off, my head so stuffed full I don’t know where to begin.

“What?”

“I–I guess there’s still a little part of me that feels like this is too much to ask of you. That I’ll lose you,” I admit.

He shifts closer to me on the extremely uncomfortable sofa and leans in, dropping a sweet little peck on my lips.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere so let’s not go over old ground,” he says. “We’re both a little out of our depth here but as long as we’ve got each other, it’ll all work out.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen you do some pretty incredible things, Tris.”

“That wasn’t exactly by choice,” I grumble. “I think your faith is somewhat misplaced.”

“I can really see you turning into a grumpy old man when you’re older, Tris,” Dusty interrupts with a dramatic huff and an eye roll. “Next thing you know you’ll be wearing tartan slippers and a beige cardigan.”

I turn my head to look at her. “I’d never wear tartan.”

Dusty snorts. “Beige isn’t your colour either.”

“You’re the one that brought it up, not me,” I point out.

“It was just an observation regarding your frequent level of crankiness.”

“You’d be cranky too, if–” I pause and sigh. “You know what, never mind. We’re getting off topic.”

“Fine, but the stiff in the magic office has a point, you know.”

It seems that Dusty was only Mr Hadley’s office she was unable to enter. As soon as we were led into the waiting room, she pounced on us.

“He had several points.” I purse my lips. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“The bookshop can’t be left unattended while the murder investigation is going on and they’re trying to track down Viv’s kid.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be a kid anymore. He’d be about our age, I guess,” I remind her.

“Whatever.” She waves a hand negligently. “My point being, someone needs to keep an eye on the place.”

“It has you, Bruce, and all the rest of the ghosts.”

“Someone with a pulse,” she flips her hair.

“Why me?”

“Why do you always ask that?” She rolls her eyes.

I shrug. “It’s a perfectly valid question.”

Dusty stops her pacing of the worn floral-patterned rug and sinks onto one of the chairs.

“Dusty?” I lean forward as I see worry and guilt flash across her immaculately made-up face. “What is it?”

“I just–” She takes a breath and rubs her forehead as if she’s got a headache, something I’m not sure is possible in her incorporeal form. “I feel–”

“Guilty?” I hazard a guess.

She nods and releases a slow breath. “I wrote her off as just some crackpot who swindled people out of their money and loved gin. None of us really took the time to get to know her, to try and figure out what was going on in her life or why she drank so much. It really hit home at her funeral just how alone she was, and none of us ever bothered to find out why.”