Page 61 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘You’re such a fucking rat, Jimmy!’

Jet channeled it, taking it out on the concrete. One hit, two, three, a huge slab cracking and falling away, revealing the dark dirt underneath. She bent to pick it up, double-handed, wrenching her back to haul it out.

Luke was off the phone already, more yelling.

‘Why did you let her pick up a sledgehammer, Jimmy? Youlet anyone just walk in off the street and pick up your tools? Who are these people now?’

Jet glanced up.These people, ones without yellow helmets, standing by the open gate, watching. Probably neighbors from River Street, being nosy, drawn here by all the fuss Luke was making.

‘Stand back, Jet. Let me clear this part.’

Billy moved into position, standing wide across the trench, slamming down, again and again, a trail of sweat escaping down his temple, blinked into his eye. He didn’t stop to wipe it, not until his sledgehammer found soil instead.

He dropped down to remove the rubble, his hands dusty and scratched. ‘Here, cleared another section. Let’s check it.’

Jet had been leaning on her hammer, using it as a crutch. She dropped it now, swapped it for the spade. Raked it, blade down, over the new section of mud. Dug the tip in to overturn the surface, moving from back to fro–

The spade found something.

Flipped it out of the soil.

A corner of material, filthy and sodden.

‘There’s something here,’ Jet said, breathless, jumping down into the trench to get closer.

She used the tip of the spade to loosen the mud, brush it away. A corner became a flap, and Jet could see a pattern printed into the material now, underneath all that dirt. A pattern she recognized: little cartoon oranges, freckled, green leaves out the top like hair.

‘Oh my god,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘This is one of our dish towels, from the kitchen,’ Jet said, the hair rising up the back of her neck, a thousand cold fingers tracing her spine. ‘Mom has a set of three. Didn’t realize one was missing.’

She brushed more dirt away with the spade, carefully, even more carefully, revealing the rest of the grimy, folded dish towel. Lumpy, because it was wrapped around something.

‘Shit, I need gloves.’

‘Work gloves?’ Billy suggested, pointing at the row of watching builders.

‘No.’ Jet shook her head, eyes following his outstretched finger. ‘Plastic gloves, like the police use. It –’

Her eyes snagged on something else, in one of the builders’ hands. Not gloves, but lunch: a clear plastic bag, resealable at the top, a triangular sandwich inside. One was already half eaten, balanced in his mouth.

‘That will do,’ Jet muttered, scrambling out of the hole toward him. He froze when he saw her approaching. It was the same guy as before, eyes petrified and wide, or maybe that was how he always looked.

Luke grabbed her arm, got in her way.

‘Jet, can you tell me what –’

‘– Not now, Luke. I’m a little busy.’

‘This ismysite. Mine.’ His fingers dug in. ‘I’m in charge here, and you’re not allowed to just –’

‘– Man, Luke, you are going to feel real stupid in about thirty seconds. We found it.’

‘Foundwhat?’

Jet shrugged him off, an extra jab with her elbow.