Don of the Dead (6 page)

Logic had never been my strong suit. If it was, I would have reasoned my way to figuring out that Joel Panhorst was a dud long before he pulled the rug out from under our relationship and the fifty-thousand-dollar wedding I was in the middle of planning. But this time, even I could see the writing on this wall.

"That explains everything!" I told Gus. "Finished business or no unfinished business, it must have been LaGanza . He wanted the money for himself. Millions, right? That's what you said. Sounds like a motive for murder to me."

"No way." Gus shook his head. "It's all wrong. Just sit back down and—"

"Not a chance." I dared one more look at the clock and it confirmed my worst fears. By the time I drove down the hill to LittleItaly …

By the time I parked in back of my apartment building…

By the time I raced over toMangia Mania and ducked into the ladies' room to check my hair and my makeup…

I'd be lucky if Dan didn't give up on me and go home.

And there was no way I was going to take a chance on that.

I shooed Gus out of the way and maybe because he wasn't used to being bossed around, he was too stunned to argue. He stepped aside, and before he had a chance to change his mind, I raced out the door.

My head down, I flew by Ella's office, and even though the door was open and I could hear her on the phone, I refused to make eye contact. She'd wave me inside. Like she always did. She'd want to chat. I said a hurried goodbye toJennine , who answered the phones in the main office, and I was out the door and into my car in record time.

But it wasn't until I drove through the impressive iron gates at the main entrance to Garden View and out ontoMayfield Road that I breathed a little easier.

No more work for the day.

No more cemetery.

No more Gus.

At least for tonight.

I flicked on the radio and sang along with "Old Time Rock and Roll," my mood improving with each block I put between myself and the cemetery.

For the first time since GusScarpetti showed up outside his mausoleum, I could finally concentrate on having a good time.

I could keep my mind on Dan Callahan.

And off murder.

He was wearing black pants with a brown shirt
and one of those blue windbreakers I was used to seeing on the old men who hung aroundCorbo's Bakery. Fashion sense aside, it was easy for me to keep my mind on Dan from the moment he walked intoMangia Mania, spotted me, and waved. He was cute.

Scruffy hair, worn sneakers, and all.

That was the good news.

And the bad?

It was apparently not going to be so easy for Dan to keep his mind on me.

He brought my brain scans with him.

He slipped into the chair across from mine and slid the large manila file folder marked MARTIN, PENELOPE onto the table right next to the list of drink specials. He scooped a lock of hair off his forehead. "Sorry I'm late."

"Not a problem." Really, it wasn't. Except for the file folder and a niggling worry that Dan was thinking more
professional
than
personal
when it came to me, I was feeling magnanimous. Especially since I was a little late myself. And since when I got there and Dan was nowhere to be found, I had time to add a quick coat of Paris Nights to my lips and run a comb through my hair.

I felt like a new woman. A new woman who wasn't going to let anything spoil the evening.

Not even that file folder.

As if he was reading my mind, Dan's smile was apologetic. It was also as adorable as a basket of puppies. In the dim light that was supposed to pass for ambiance, I saw his eyes spark with excitement.

Some guys get that look when they talk about money. Or sports. Or sex.

Dan's hot button was bound to be a little different. Just like Dan himself.

He shrugged out of his windbreaker and leaned his elbows on the table. "The time got away from me,"

he confessed. "That happens a lot. I was getting ready to leave the hospital when I ran into Dr.Cho . I told her how I'd talked to you in the ER the other day and she mentioned why you were there. That's when it hit me. You see, I've been searching for just the right topic for a new study. Not that I don't have enough on my plate to keep me busy what with working with the patients in the psych unit, but… " His words trailed away. I guess he figured he'd said enough for me to understand the workings of a mind that was obviously way above mine.

"There's always room for more research," Dan said, and because he had no idea how much I didn't agree with him, he went right on. "I had this really great idea about the possibilities of comparing the aberrant behavior of patients who had sustained head injuries and showed damage to their occipital lobes to the behavior of patients who—"

"Aberrant behavior?"

I admit, it was a touchy subject. I guess that's why I jumped on it, my voice sharp, my insides suddenly bunched, as if a hand had reached down my throat and tied my stomach into a couple hundred tight, painful knots.

Dan was talking about aberrant behavior. He was talking about me. All in the same sentence.

It pissed me off, especially since it was impossible to even begin to come up with any sort of argument to counter his. At that point, I suspected my behavior was a little aberrant, too.

Not that I was about to admit it.

To him or to myself.

I took a deep breath and offered him a smile that was tight around the edges. "Just so we can set the record straight, I want you to know that when I talked to Dr.Cho about hallucinations, it was a hypothetical sort of thing. I'm not a nutcase. I wasn't talking about me."

The twinkle in Dan's eyes melted into an expression so close to disappointment, I almost felt guilty for not being crazy.

My guilt lasted about as long as his disappointment did. Not one to be put off, he cocked his head and studied me with a sort of laser intensity, the way I remembered him looking at my X-rays back in the ER.

"That's exactly how I thought you'd respond," he said. He tapped a finger against my file folder. "But remember, brain scans speak louder than words."

"I thought that was actions."

He either didn't get it or he didn't want to. He ignored me and went right on. "Even though Dr.Cho didn't find any physical problems as a result of your fall, your brain scans are unusual, Pepper. When I thought about that, it made the whole thing click. I suppose I owe you a great big thank you."

What he really owed me was some kind of explanation about what the hell he was talking about.

My blank expression pretty much said it all, but Dan didn't let that stop him. His eyes lit with that weird spark that told me that, occipital lobes notwithstanding, his brain functioned in a different dimension from mine. "You've heard the old saying: Publish or Perish. Well, I haven't published anything recently. Not for at least six months. I've been on a sort of hiatus and let me tell you, for a researcher, that's not a good thing. Then I met you and it all came together in a flash of inspiration. That's when I realized how lucky I was that we were meeting here tonight."

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the most romantic thing a guy had ever said to me.

It was, however—pathetically enough—the most romantic thing a guy had said to me in a long time. It was also the perfect opportunity for me to change the subject.

I grinned and leaned forward, fingering the edge of the file folder and walking the fine line between flirting and sounding toocutsie .

"I think we're pretty lucky, too," I said. "I mean, tripping over each other like that in the ER. It was as if fate—"

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Fate? Do you believe in it? In something you can't see and can't touch and can't feel?"

I was a practical woman. At least I always had been before I'd started hanging around with a guy who'd been dead since before I was born. Before I met Gus, I would have told Dan that I didn't believe in anything that wasn't as real as the table between us.

Now I wasn't so sure.

I got rid of the thought with a twitch of my shoulders and reminded myself thatMangia Mania was a Gus-free zone. That night, I wasn't supposed to be thinking about the ether. Or the ozone. Or wherever it was that ghosts came from. I was thinking Pepper. Pepper and Dan. I was thinking a couple drinks, a few laughs, a little fun.

If any of that good stuff was going to happen, I knew I had to toe the line between sounding philosophical and coming across as a whack job. "I believe things exist that none of us have ever imagined. But that doesn't mean I hallucinate," I added, so he didn't get the wrong idea.

Dan gave me that laser look for another couple seconds. "You're awfully defensive and you really don't need to be. You see, I believe in stuff like that, too. Most people are surprised when I tell them. They think that scientists don't have any imagination. But I do. After all, I'm a researcher. If I only believed in what I can see and touch and feel, I'd never discover anything."

It made sense. It also provided me with the perfect opportunity to bare my soul and share my secret.

I didn't.

Dan was just waiting for me to prove his aberrant-behavior theory and no way was I going to fall for that. It was too early in our relationship to admit that I had my very own thing that went bump in the night.

Something told me that even if we ended up living happily ever after with two-and-a-half kids, a house with a picket fence, and a golden retriever romping in the backyard, it would still be too early in our relationship.

"I believe in opportunity as well as in fate," Dan said, his voice whisking me out of my daydream and back to the reality of theMangia Mania bar and the manila file folder that sat on the table like the reminder I didn't need that I was there because of Dan, and Dan was there because of my occipital lobe.

"That's the thing I wanted to talk to you about tonight," he continued. "This study could be monumental.

Groundbreaking. If I can get approval from the hospital board and the right funding, I'd like you to—"

Whatever he was going to say, he was interrupted by a burst of applause and a chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" coming from the next room. Like most of the art galleries, restaurants, and bars in the area,Mangia Mania was located in a building that was as old as Little Italy. From my work at the cemetery, I knew that the neighborhood was established when the cemetery was—back in the middle of the nineteenth century. A cemetery needed stonemasons to sculpt statues and carve headstones, and Garden View imported artisans all the way fromItaly for the task. The stonecutters brought their families.

Their families brought their culture and theirOld World traditions.

The bar atMangia Mania was long and skinny with a window that looked out at the pizza place across the street, and walls that were covered in sepia-toned photographs of women holding steaming bowls of pasta, men playingbocci ball, and kids in Catholic school uniforms. There was a doorway on my left and through that, the main restaurant, a room that was just as long but not as skinny. It was filled with tables, people, and the beginnings of what sounded like one kick-ass celebration.