Free Ghouls Gone Wild by Victoria Laurie Page A

that . . . ,” he tried, but Heath cut him off.
    “Forget about that, you guys! We’ve got bigger issues.”
    “What did you see?” Gilley asked.
    “That guy down there?” Heath reminded us, motioning with his head toward the entrance to the close. “He was dead.”
    I sucked in a breath. “No!”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Positive,” he said grimly. “He was stone cold, totally blue, and his eyes were all buggy.”
    Gilley looked around at us and asked, “What do we do?”
    “Call the police, I guess,” I said.
    Gopher already had his phone out. “Does nine-one-one work in Scotland?”
     
    The local police arrived very shortly after Gopher figured out how to call them (and for the record, 911 does not work in Scotland . . .), and after Heath, Gilley, and I had all been individually questioned and the body was brought up in a black bag on a gurney, we had a chance to regroup by the van.
    “Did they say what killed him?” Gopher wanted to know.
    Gilley looked over his shoulder as a couple of men pushing a stretcher were making their way down the street to an ambulance. “They think it was a heart attack,” he said. “I overheard one of the techs tell the policeman who was talking to me that there were no obvious signs of trauma. They also found some ID and paperwork on him. He’s a maintenance worker for the village, and his shift ended hours ago. They think he was down in the close replacing a lightbulb and that he had a heart attack and died.”
    Heath looked unsettled. “What’s up?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “You didn’t see his expression, M. J. He had the most terrified look on his face.”
    “Well, yeah,” I said. “I mean, if he knew he was having a heart attack down in an underground tunnel with no one around to help him, he’d probably be scared witless.” I remembered the small radio Heath and I had trampled and wondered if it had belonged to the maintenance worker. I imagined him dropping it and stumbling down the close in a panic as his chest filled with pain.
    “Or,” said Heath, “something else scared him to death.”
    Gilley made another little squeaking sound and put his hand up to his mouth. “You think maybe the witches weren’t just chasing you guys?”
    Something cool and wet hit the top of my head and I glanced skyward as another raindrop landed on my nose. “It’s starting to rain,” I said. “Let’s ask them if we’re clear to leave and find someplace to eat so we can talk about what happened tonight.”
    “Sounds good,” Heath said, and he was about to turn away when I caught him.
    “Hey, are you feeling okay?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Can I see under your arm?”
    Gilley laughed. “Why do you want to see under his arm?”
    “He had a lump there earlier,” I said. “A big lump.”
    Heath moved his shoulder in a shrugging motion. “It’s gone,” he said. “And so is my fever.”
    “Still,” I insisted, “mind if I take a quick peek?”
    Heath raised his sweater and T-shirt for me, and sure enough, there was no sign of the large black boil I had seen down in the close. “Okay,” I told him. “You can lower your shirt. You’re right. You are fine.”
    Both Gilley and Gopher were looking at me funny, but two policemen were walking past us so I discreetly held up a finger and mouthed, “Wait.”
    Once the men had passed us, Gopher asked, “Want to explain what that was all about?”
    I sighed and motioned for us to all get in the van. Once we were settled, I explained, “Down in the close Heath began to take on all the symptoms of the bubonic plague. He was running a fever, his complexion was pale, and he had this huge black boil form right under his left armpit.”
    “No way!” Gopher said.
    Gilley stared at me in horror. I knew he was about to freak out, because my partner is a gigantic germaphobe, so I quickly laid a hand on his shoulder and added, “Gil, he doesn’t have the plague.”
    “How do you know?” Gilley