Free Unbinding Love: An Angela Panther Mystery Novella (The Angela Panther Mystery Series) by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson Page A

of my face hitting the dead guy’s face. Either way, both sucked.
    The ME was right. Rigor had set in. His face was hard as a rock. I’d learn later that I’d broken my left maxillary bone—the bone under the eye, and my left ring finger, but at that moment I was more concerned about the grossness of lying on top of a dead guy.
    I lay still for a moment as everyone above asked if I was okay. “I’m fine,” I said, too embarrassed to mention the pain throbbing in my hand and face. I pushed myself up with my right hand and scooted over and off of the dead guy as quickly as possible.
    “So of a beach ball,” Aaron said. Even from six feet under I could see his face turning red. “We’ll get a stretcher and get you right out.” He shook his head. “Just…Just try not to touch anything.”
    “Little late for that.”
    Mel laughed.
    The medical examiner snorted and walked away.
    I knew liked him.
    “Juan Garcia.”
    I glanced at the dead dude. “Was that you?”
    His wide eyes didn’t budge.
    “I’m over here.”
    I flipped my head to the right and the man’s ghost was floating on that side of me. So was Benny.
    “I’m Juan Garcia.”
    “Angela Panther. Nice to meet you.”
    “Would be nicer under different circumstances.”
    “For you, probably. Know how you got here?”
    He nodded. “I was killed.”
    So many sarcastic comments, so inappropriate at that moment.
    “What about the who, what, when, why, and how? Do you know any of those?”
    “None of it made sense until after I died, when I could see the person that did it.”
    The men with the stretcher showed up at the top of the hole. “Listen, we gotta make this quick because only a few of those people up there know I can talk to your kind and they’re gonna get me outta here in a sec.”
    “Okay. I came here for a lock box that Emma Marx told me Bill Marx left for me. I didn’t know she died. I got a letter from her. Now I’m not sure who wrote the letter. When I arrived, I was attacked, but I couldn’t see who did it until I was dead.”
    “Who was it?”
    “Bill Marx. He was dead. He did it to me. He killed me.”
    “Why?”
    “He gave me the code for the lockbox but it wouldn’t open.”
    “What’s in the lockbox?”
    “Money. And lots of it.”
    “Why would he tell you about the lock box and the money? Did he owe you money?”
    The stretcher dropped down and I crawled onto it, keeping my injured areas as safe as possible from additional harm.
    “Come up with me. I’ll have more questions but talking will kind of be hit or miss. Plus, I can help get you where you need to go.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    The crew pulled the stretcher up, and when my head popped over the top of the hole, Mel started laughing. I shot her a stink eye look that shut her up fast.
    “You okay?” Aaron asked.
    I nodded but it was a lie. “Juan Garcia is the dead guy. Said Bill Marx killed him when he couldn’t open the lock box.”
    “A dead guy killed him?”
    I nodded. “I knew something was up. Where’s the lock box?”
    He pointed to the front of the house. “Had my guys put it in my car.”
    “Bill wants in that lock box bad. Juan said there’s money in there but I can’t figure out what Bill would want with money now that he’s dead.”
    “Why can’t he just open the thing himself?” Aaron asked.
    “I can’t figure that out either,” I said.
    “Emma’s mother,” Mel said. “Didn’t she do some magic whatchamacallit that wouldn’t let him see his son? Maybe she did something so he couldn’t get into the box too?”
    “But why?’
    “Because the money was for Emma and Justin,” Mel said.
    “And now Emma’s dead and she’ll need the money for Justin. So why doesn’t she come and get it?”
    “Because she doesn’t know where it is?” Mel asked.
    “Wouldn’t Emma have told her?” I asked. I scratched my head with my left hand and howled from the pain.
    “What’s wrong?” Mel asked.
    “I think I cracked my finger on