Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Doorbell - a bell, chime, or buzzer outside a door that is rung to announce the presence of a visitor or caller.”
Frankie
What does one do when they find a body hanging in their closet? Scream? Run? Try it on?
I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I walked out of the bedroom and directly into the living room where I grabbed a Cherry Coke, popped the top, and took a huge drink. Piper watched me with an amused expression on her face.
Finally, I pulled the can away from my lips. “There’s a body hanging in my closet.”
Her mouth opened and closed. I walked back into my room and she followed and we both stood there just staring at it.
It was on a hanger, like a dress or a nice shirt.
It was a guy who had shaggy blond hair that fell well over his forehead.
He was dressed in a pair khakis, a white button-down shirt, and an ass-ugly sweater vest. His chin lay against his chest and his eyes were closed. The body itself was flat and lifeless.
It didn’t move.
It didn’t jump out and yell, “Boo!”
It might have been less creepy if it had.
“Where did it come from?” Piper asked.
“Is there a body store in Alaska I didn’t know about?” I quipped.
She took the can out of my hand and gulped a long drink. “It isn’t a coincidence that your boyfriend works for the Grim Reaper and now you have a body in your closet.”
“Charming isn’t my boyfriend,” I argued.
Though she was right about one thing. This was not a coincidence.
But after what happened, I couldn’t exactly call him up and say, “Did you happen to leave something at my house?” Charming slept with me and then disappeared.
He left me. I wasn’t going to call him for help the first minute a body turned up.
“Why is it here?” Piper asked.
I shrugged. Then I leaned forward and poked it. The hanger swung back and forth on the rod. Piper smacked me in the arm. “Don’t poke it!”
I couldn’t stop staring at it. But not because it was morbid. Because there was something familiar about it. I’d never seen this person (or whatever you wanted to call it), but there was still something about it that felt recognizable. “He’s actually not bad looking.”
Piper gasped. “First you poke it and now you’re hitting on it!”
“I am not hitting on it,” I grumbled. “Give me my soda.” I snatched the can back and drained it. “It seems to me that we should be much more traumatized about finding a body in my closet.”
“Well, we already decided we needed therapy.”
“What should we do with it?”
“Guess we can’t call the cops.”
“Not without looking like we put it there.”
“You could call—”
“No.” I interjected. “I am not calling him. He made his choice.”
“So it’s over between you two?” She seemed a little sad at the thought.
The pain that sliced through me was swift and strong. But I didn’t flinch; I might as well get used to it. “Yeah, it’s over.”
And then the doorbell rang.