Free Speak the Dead by Grant McKenzie

new hard drive. I know a kid who’ll sort you out. I’ll ask him to call.”
    Jersey brushed the dirt off his knees, handed back the empty glass, and headed for the rear door.
    â€œYou’ll need a new lock on here as well,” he called over his shoulder. “This one’s buggered.”
    Standing in the alley, looking across the potholed gravel at the dark windows of the mortuary, Jersey pulled out his phone and dialed dispatch.
    When the call connected, he said, “Darlene? I need an address.”

14
    S ally awoke to a persistent rapping of knuckles on her front door.
    She yawned and stretched before sliding out of bed and slipping into her bathrobe and slippers. Jiggy, having migrated from the foot of the bed to curl in a fluffy ball with her head on the spare pillow, opened one lazy eye, blinked, yawned, and went back to sleep.
    â€œIt’s okay for some.” Sally left the bedroom and shuffled to the front door.
    JERSEY’S PHONG RANG as he waited outside Sally’s door. When he answered, Amarela said, “We’ve got a problem.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe son went nuts when I broke the news. No tears, no quick stop on grief, just straight to pissed. What the fuck is that about? Both your parents are dead, and I’m the bad guy.”
    â€œWe all react—”
    â€œSave it,” Amarela snapped. “He was a fucking asshole. I told you I hate doing this.”
    Jersey turned away from the apartment and headed down the stairs. Sally would have to wait.
    â€œOkay, calm down,” said Jersey. “He’s pissed. That’s not our problem.”
    â€œNo? The lieutenant wants to see us.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThe asshole called the mayor, direct. Had the number on speed dial. Made me fucking stand there while he did it, too.”
    â€œAnd the mayor called Morrell?”
    â€œDuh. My phone started ringing at the same time the fucking NOK is slamming the door in my face. I should have Tasered the prick.”
    â€œI’ll grab a taxi and meet you at the station.”
    â€œScrew that, I’m not walking in there by myself. Where you at? I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go in together.”
    As he pushed open the lobby door of the low-rise apartment building, Jersey gave his partner the address of a nearby Grind’m If You Got’m coffee shop that made a synapses-firing Red Eye. His caffeine level was dropping uncomfortably low.
    WHEN SALLY opened the door, there was nobody there.
    With an irritated sigh, she relocked the deadbolt and padded across the room to the front window. She looked down and saw a husky figure walking away. The breadth of his shoulders and the fit of his jeans told her it was Jersey, the detective who had so unexpectedly kissed her on the back steps of the mortuary.
    She still didn’t know quite what to make of that but, despite the boldness of his actions, his lips had been soft and his eyes so very gentle. Hmm, maybe she did know after all; she liked it… liked him.
    She wondered if he had stopped by to ask her out, but lost the courage at the last moment, or if the knock had been strictly work related. If it was business, why had he walked away? And, more importantly, if he hadn’t walked away, what answers could she give him without sounding like a complete loon?
    Sally snugged her dressing gown tighter at the collar and padded into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She liked to start the day with a few strong cups while she watched The View to catch up on what had annoyed the ladies lately.
    She actually had a recurring daydream where she was a guest on the show promoting a small book she had always contemplated writing entitled, Beauty Tips for the Dead . The only problem was that she couldn’t imagine any living person—outside of the funeral businesses—wanting to buy it, and the dead didn’t have active credit cards.
    IN THE STAIRWELL outside the apartment,