“Because you’re my mom.” Shanna put the cup down to avoid spilling the drink as she swung her arms. “I only wanted you to love me.”
Mom gave her a sad smile and took her hand. She brushed her fingers and trailed the hand-woven bracelet around her wrist. “That’s very sweet, dear,” she said, meeting her eyes. “But I’ve forgotten you. You know the time we lost is never coming back. And as much as we try, we’re never going to be able to make upfor it.” She gave a light shake of her head, her pale blue eyes not leaving Shanna. “I’m a lost cause, girl. Don’t let yourself become one, too.” She leaned in. “He’s out there. You might still have a chance.”
“Like you did with Dad?” It was meant to come out accusatory, but Shanna’s voice broke halfway through.
“You and I share the same curse, but that doesn’t make us the same in here.” Mom laid a hand above Shanna’s heart. “I’m an aging adventurer who can’t stand still for long. I drink my coffee black. I hate the smell of incense—any of it—so I prefer candles in my spells. And I don’t mind slipping away and having people forget me.”
She pushed a few strands of hair off Shanna’s face. “But you don’t have to be me. You’re a wonderful, bright young woman. Don’t follow in my footsteps. Find yours.”
Shanna swallowed, leaning her cheek into her mom’s palm. As kindly as Mom looked at her, the real familial love was still lacking behind those eyes. Itwastoo late for them—but for the first time, a little light of hope shone in her chest. Maybe her coming back to Queenstown was never about getting Mom back or getting answers.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Mom smiled. “I take it I might not have a candidate to run the shop, after all.”
“I think I have something to do first.”
“Ah, kids these days.” Mom stood, throwing her hands up in mock disapproval. “You can never get them to stick to one thing!”
***
Tucked between a complex of row houses and a larger storage building, the single-story medical examiner and coroner’s office seemed innocuous, innocent. The few trees in front swayed in the light breeze, and a dog barked in the distance as Simon and his two companions headed for the entrance. Simon asked to have a death certificate issued, and they pointed them to the coroner’s office.
“Come in,” a male voice said. The man in question was a shorter guy in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline and a thin mustache to make up for it. “How can I help you?”
“Dr. Burnett, yes?” Simon said. “Did you sign this?” He showed him the online version of the death certificate.
“I believe so. Is there a problem?”
“A small one.” Simon took off his sunglasses. “You pronounced me dead. And I’m clearly not.”
Burnett scanned his face, brow wrinkling. “I … sir, I don’t know what to say …”
“How about you tell me how exactly you were able to recognize my body?”
Burnett straightened, looking from Simon to Chris. “Listen, now. We do honest work here, and it sounds very much like you’re trying to accuse me of something. For which I will not stand.”
“Oh, yeah?” Chris took a step forward.
Burnett snickered. “If you think I’ll be frightened of a little goth girl …”
“How about him?” Chris gestured to the open door.
Stan entered and positioned himself behind her.
Burnett slowly raised his eyes from Chris to Stan’s hard, unforgiving face.
Chris gave him a sickly sweet smile. Stan continued to glower.
“He had to skip yesterday’s boxing lesson,” Simon said. “He’s highly annoyed about it.”
“Okay, okay, listen.” Burnett reached out his hands for defense.
“Good, we will.” Simon put his phone on the table and hitrecord. “You talk.”
“I don’t have much to say! I—I remember the case because it turned out to be Simon Montague, and everyone’s heard of him.” Burnett squinted at him dubiously. “I mean, you?”
“Go on.”
