Page 6 of Little Dark Deeds (Georgiana Germaine #12)

It was then I realized my father’s death was no accident.

One murder to be solved became two.

And solve them, I did.

In the past few years, our schedules had been busy, and Tiffany and I hadn’t spent as much time together. A couple months earlier, we met up for lunch and promised to make a bigger effort to see each other once I was married.

At present, I was sitting in Tiffany’s living room, wondering why I was there when she didn’t seem to be, and not being able to recall how I got there in the first place. I was dressed in the same white satin brocade nightgown I’d worn to bed, which confused me even more.

What was I doing here?

And why?

It felt a lot more comforting to remain in denial, to believe everything was fine ... that Tiffany was safe, happy, and alive. To believe she had a good reason for skipping our wedding. Every fiber of my being wanted to believe it, even though not one fiber did.

If she was fine, I wouldn’t be here.

I stood, shouting, “Tiffany, are you here?”

I was met with silence.

Given my familiarity with the house, I began nosing around.

Tiffany’s suitcase was next to the front door, all packed up and ready to go.

Her purse rested on top. I rummaged through it, finding her cell phone.

There were several missed calls. Not just from me, but from a handful of other people, including a call from my mother.

Setting the phone back inside her purse, I shifted my focus to the master bedroom.

The bed was made, but there was no sign of her. It was then I noticed the bathroom door was closed. I walked toward it, reaching for the knob.

“You shouldn’t go in there.”

I gasped, whipping around to find Tiffany sitting on the bed in a bathrobe, even though she hadn’t been there moments before.

“Is this what it’s like?” she asked.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Your dreams. Is this what they’re like, the ones you’ve always told me about?”

“We don’t know that this dream is one of those dreams. I went to bed with you on my mind. Makes sense I’d dream about you.”

It was a half-truth, and I expected she knew it.

“Of course, it is, Georgiana,” she said. “You may not want to accept what’s right in front of you, but you have to, sooner than later.”

“If it’s one of those dreams it would mean that you’re ...”

“Dead. It’s all right. You can say it.”

“I won’t. It can’t be true.”

She slapped a hand against her knee. “Not true, eh? Tell that to the jerk who murdered me.”

I sat down beside her, a wave of nausea twisting my gut. “Can we talk about it, about what happened to you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I pulled a pillow over my lap and leaned against the headboard. “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t show up for the wedding.”

“How was it, by the way?”

“We shouldn’t be talking about my wedding. We should be talking about you.”

“Why? The topic of your wedding is so much more interesting. And hey, sorry I didn’t make it, but you know ... I got delayed.”

Permanently, it seemed.

I pointed at the bathroom door. “Is that where it happened?”

She nodded. “Not the classiest way to go out, is it? I was stabbed. Didn’t feel too good, either. Death by stabby-stab. Yeah, I don’t recommend it.”

Even in death she’d managed to maintain her quick-witted sense of humor.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to murder you,” I said. “Ever since we were kids, you were always the one everyone liked.”

“Well, people have their reasons.”

“Speaking of which, what happened?”

“There you go again, shifting the conversation back to murder.”

“I can’t help it.”

I glanced across the room at a series of framed photos on the dresser, homing in on one in particular. Two girls, arm in arm, posing in caps and gowns, beaming with pride as they held up their high school diplomas.

So young, so innocent.

So much life ahead of them.

But one of those had just been cut short.

“I’m not ready to accept what’s happened,” I said.

“I’m going to wake up in the morning and give you a call, and you’re going to answer.

You’re going to tell me you didn’t make it to the wedding because your flight got canceled, or delayed, or you missed it because you got held up in traffic. Anything, as long as it’s not ...”

The truth.

Tiffany hopped up, moving a hand to her hip. “Do you want to see your wedding gift?”

“Sure.”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She left the room, returning with a wrapped gift.

Setting it down in front of me, she said, “Go on, open it.”

I stared at it for a time, my emotions cresting as reality set in.

The tears came, and I let them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, she said, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a horrible cry face? I mean, one of the worst I’ve ever seen. You look like a depressed basset hound.”

“A depressed basset hound? Even if their faces are sad at times, they’re still cute, right?”

“They are. Not you, though.”

I wiped my eyes, even though the tears showed no signs of stopping.

“I know just what you need to cheer you up,” Tiffany said. “I’ll be right back.”

This time, she returned with a bag of chips, the same kind she’d stolen from me in grade school.

She tossed the bag at me, erupting with laughter. “It was my wedding gag gift. I couldn’t help myself. Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, memories of you nicking them from my lunch bag.”

“Who knew you’d get so irate over a stupid bag of chips.”

“You learned what happens when you come between a girl and her favorite snack.”

Even though I felt lousy, I managed to crack a smile.

“That’s better,” she said. “Open your present, and don’t be all dainty and stuff with the paper. I don’t have all day. Or do I? Who knows? I’m new at this ‘entering your dreams’ stuff.”

I grabbed the wrapped gift, tearing the side open as I removed the bubble wrapped contents inside.

Getting past the ridiculous amount of tape she’d used took some time, but it was worth it.

The gift was a large, round piece of wood.

Etched in the center was a tree with the initials G & G inside a heart.

“I love it,” I said.

“I knew you would. I remembered your love story ... and you saying the first time Giovanni saw you was when you were sitting under a tree on the college campus. And he proposed to you in the exact same spot. Figured you could find a place for it in your house.”

“I will, and I’ll always think of you when I look at it.” I set the gift to the side. “Can we talk about you now?”

Tiffany sat on the edge of the bed, her expression sullen. “If we must.”

“Does anyone know you’re dead?”

“Yeah, word’s starting to get around.”

“When were you found?”

“I don’t know. Since it’s the middle of the night, yesterday, I guess.”

“Who found you?”

She hung her head. “My ... uhh, my dad. He was supposed to be giving me a ride to the airport.”

I thought about the conversation I’d had with Harvey the night before, about how solemn he’d been. Had he known then what I was learning now? Had everyone? Had they all been keeping it from me?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I don’t think I’ll be here much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”

“Try,” I said.

“It’s like my spirit body is being pulled away from here, away from this place.”

“Is there anything you can do to stop it?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to try. What happens to the those you’ve communicated with in other dreams?”

“Every person is different. The most common thing that happens is they’ll be talking to me one minute, and the next, they start to fade away until they’re just not there anymore.”

“Then I’d better say what I’ve come to say.”

“Go on.”

She nodded, taking a breath. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything, name it.”

“Will you look out for my dad? Will you help him through what’s happened? I don’t want him to go through life not living it. He’s always lived for me, you know? My happiness is his happiness. He lives alone. I’m worried.”

“I’ll be there for him. You needn’t worry.”

“Good, then I’ve said everything I need to say.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I can’t help it, Gigi. It’s time for me to go. I can feel it.”

“Please, not yet. We haven’t even talked about your murder.”

She swished a hand through the air. “You don’t need me. You can figure it out on your own. Lean into your intuition, and hey, thanks for ... well, always having my back. You were a great friend. I wish we had more time together.”

I opened my mouth, planning to return the sentiment then stopped when she started to fade, a little at first, and then a little more, and then I was alone, as if I had been alone the entire time.

My friend was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

Not today or any other day.