Page 19 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

Twelve

“What is it with people and dogs?” I ask, annoyed at the cremation box holding a golden retriever. “The dog that came with the house is a royal pain in the ass.”

Wanda chuckles. “Dogs match energy—I saw that on a TV show once. They get a vibe or something—like a sixth sense. Aura reading, maybe.” She looks at me thoughtfully.

“That’s what the pet psychic said. She said there are no bad dogs, just owners that don’t know how to lean into the partnership and accept they rely on the dog as much as the dog relies on them.

” She looks at the ceiling, lips moving without sound as her head bobs back and forth, as if repeating the words to herself, then she smiles.

“Yep, that’s what she said. I’ll never forget it because I thought that was so insightful it must be true. ”

I take the clipboard from her, skimming the paperwork. “I need that dog like I need a rosebush shoved up my ass. ”

Wanda shrugs, rolling the dog into the retort. “I’m just saying, the pet psychic said the dog knows.”

“Knows what?”

She huffs, annoyed as she pushes the button to start the machine, steady hum filling the air. “What you need. What you’re missing. That you’re out of balance. Keep up, honey.”

I give an annoyed grunt and head toward my office.

“What’s the dog doing?” she asks, chomping her gum as she follows on my heels.

“For one,” I say as I drop into my chair, “barking like a banshee.”

She considers this, blowing a bubble, cinnamon scent of it wafting toward me from her position on the other side of my desk. “Probably means you need to talk more.”

I scoff.

“What else?”

“Chewing my shit to smithereens.”

“Hm.” She blows and pops another bubble. “What kind of shit?”

“My vibrator for one,” I say without looking at her as I sift through a pile of mail.

“You need a blood-pumpin’ piece. Next.”

I give her a look that doesn’t need translation. “And everything else. She eats whatever I don’t want her to.”

Wanda makes a contemplative sound and says, “Probably means you need to go have some fun.”

I hate everyone.

“Thanks for your analysis.” I open my laptop. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“That apartment is a dream,” she gushes, propping a hip against my desk and clasping her long-nailed hands together.

“Even though it’s right in town, it’s so quiet.

And what a nice break from hearing my sister and her husband yelling about whose turn it is to take out the trash.

” She smacks her gum with a smile. “How’s the house? ”

“Aside from the dog that’s a menace to society? Slow.” I click open my email. “Those DIY bitches made me think I’d have a flipped house in an hour, including commercials.”

She chuckles, pushing off my desk to stand in the doorway.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, all the true crime I watched and my ex-husband still walks around breathing oxygen without a care in the dang world.” My head snaps to her, and the smile on her face is so nonchalant I must have misheard her.

She shrugs. “Everything seems easier on camera.”

I blink. We have never talked about what did or didn’t happen with her ex-husband and her arrest.

“Anyway.” She waves a dismissive hand through the air. “When Dondi left this morning, he was saying that the Sellecks were asking about you selling again.”

“Of course they were.” I scroll through my emails.

I’ve always resisted the Sellecks’ offers.

Partially because I had no idea what I’d do if I sold, but mostly because of Zeb: He was burned alone.

No matter how many bodies I watch become ashes, no matter how many T-shirts I wear or favorite bands I play, I can’t shake the thought or the guilt.

Now, with a one-way ticket plan, I fully intend on taking the Sellecks up on their offer so I can get out of here—even if I have to carry the guilt along with me in a U-Haul across the country—just not yet.

I haven’t said anything to Wanda and Dondi because the house hasn’t convinced me it’s worth two pennies.

Other than the view, it sucks. “Did he tell them to suck a tit?”

She laughs, loud this time, her prominent bust bouncing with the shake of her shoulders. “I’m sure he said, ‘The Dondinator will ask the Ash Queen.’”

I can hear that.

But—I check the clock, and it’s only eight a.m. and Dondi doesn’t usually deliver any bodies from the morgue until after nine.

“Why was Dondi already in this morning?”

She presses her heavily hair-sprayed hair with a hand, knowing look on her face. “He helped me move the rest of my stuff in.”

My eyebrows raise; her painted lips form a heart-shaped pout. There it is: Dondi and Wanda are fucking in my bed.

I’ll be cremating that mattress.

“Don’t look at me like that, Scotty. We’re humans.” She pauses to shimmy. “We aren’t all like you.”

My chin jerks back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs, smug look on her face. “I don’t know, honey, maybe you should ask that dog of yours.”

At my glare, she strolls away.