Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score

11

6:25 a.m., Friday, August 14

“Pathetic.”

Something hard and pointy jabbed Riley in the rib as she tried to suck humid air into her lungs.

“My grandmother could have outrun you on her one-hundredth birthday.” Elanora sniffed in derision and slammed her walking stick into the ground. “And she was missing her right leg from the knee down.”

Riley rolled over onto her stomach and accidentally sucked a blade of grass up her nose. “What…does…running…sprints…have…to do with…being…psychic?”

Ten feet away, Gabe vomited gracefully behind a tree. His wind sprints had been half a mile long.

The sun was up, and the early morning swelter was accessorized by the obnoxious buzzing of cicadas. It was too early for the bumper-to-bumper rush hour commuters. But there were plenty of joggers loping past and shooting sympathetic glances their way. She was too tired to block out their thoughts.

That old lady reminds me of Sister Gertrude from junior high.

I can’t believe I wasted a bikini wax on that guy.

Did I just run through Justin’s fart cloud? God, what did he eat?

“I do not need to explain my teachings to you,” Elanora announced.

“No, but it would be nice,” Riley wheezed.

The thick breeze stirred, bringing with it a scent so bad Riley had to take another whiff just to verify that it was indeed the worst thing she’d ever smelled. Burt, however, seemed to enjoy smelling rotting, half-cooked roadkill and nosed the air for more.

She wondered if it was the fart cloud from the jogger and if he’d had his intestinal tract looked at.

Burt snuffled off onto the overgrown lot where knee-high dried grass and dying trees dotted the unkempt lot. In the center of the land that nature had given up on reclaiming was a Tudor-style home that had once probably not been an eyesore. Abandoned for the past decade, it squatted on the land under a coat of peeling paint and boarded-up windows.

The For Sale sign had been there as long as Riley had lived next door.

“Burt, come back here,” she called. The dog lifted his head then looked back and forth between her and the house, debating.

“Now, please.”

Reluctantly, the dog trotted back to her side, and she leaned on him to regain her feet.

It still smelled like something earthy and gross but fainter now. In Central Pennsylvania, bad smells were quite common. Between paper mills and mushroom farms, breezes always carried with them a hint of something awful.

“You will complete twenty push-ups. Now.” Her grandmother announced, returning to her folding chair and sitting primly. Burt wandered over and collapsed in the shadow of Evil Elanora, tongue lolling in the grass. He’d survived two of the ten wind sprints Evil Elanora had forced on her.

Apparently burning off physical energy honed the mind…or some bullshit like that. Riley was too dehydrated and nauseated to remember.

“Why are you limping? Basil women don’t limp,” her grandmother complained.

“I slipped on a flaming burrito while running for a fire extinguisher.”

Judging by the pinched look on the older woman’s face, she should have kept that tidbit to herself.

Between burrito accidents and psychic preseason, Riley might have to see if Nick’s cousin Brian had a spare wheelchair she could borrow for a few days.

Her sister, Wander, appeared before her, looking like she’d just stepped off the set of a yoga photo shoot. Her long braids were pulled up on top of her head in a high tail. She wore a cropped tank and yoga shorts, both in a dusky purple. The natural glow of her brown skin glistened like she’d been dusted by a bronzer fairy. It was how Wander sweated. Riley, on the other hand, looked as if someone had tossed her in the river and dragged her back out by the hair. Wander was lucky she was a nice person. Otherwise, her sweaty big sister would have been able to work up the energy to hate her.

“How was your five-mile run?” Elanora asked solicitously.

“Lovely. The river walk really opens my heart chakra in the mornings.” Wander took a dainty sip from her matching water bottle. Riley eyed the bottle and fantasized about stealing it and running away to hide in her shower.

“Can you guys keep it down?” Blossom complained from the shade of a pine tree just off the mansion’s parking lot. “I’m trying to Tai chi my ass off over here.”

She was getting dangerously close to Burt’s favorite pooping spot, but Riley was too breathless to vocalize a warning.

“Push-ups. Now,” Elanora insisted, waving her walking stick at them.

Riley was going to find the person who gave her that stick and then beat them with it.

Gabe had finished vomiting and joined Wander and Riley on the ground.

“One,” they groaned as a group.

“Two.”

The back door of the mansion swung open, and Burt jumped up to greet Nick. Her unsatiated lady parts paid close attention as he strolled toward her looking like a lust-fueled mirage in gym clothes and sunglasses.

“Heading to the gym. Thought you could use some water,” he said, handing her a man-sized thermos.

“My hero,” she gasped and popped the top. She tilted her head back and let the water rush out into her mouth and down over her face and neck.

Nick chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Later, Thorn.”

She responded with a gulping noise.

“You’re looking domineering today, Elanora,” he said with a wink and a flash of dueling dimples.

“I am aware.” Her grandmother was dressed for the weather in lightweight ebony pants, a sleeveless midnight tunic, and a black and more black scarf wound around her head. She was wearing a chunky amethyst necklace and five rings.

Nick left and Burt flopped back on the ground and immediately fell asleep.

“Now that your bodies have been purged,” Elanora began, shooting a judgmental look in Gabe’s direction. “It is time to cultivate the mind. You are each here because you have a special gift that you have selfishly ignored.”

Burt rolled over in his sleep and gave an adorable little grumble.

Riley felt a surge of maternal “aww.”

Elanora spared the dog a glare, then continued. “We will now begin our meditation to prime our minds for the benevolence of our spirit guides.”

Riley raised her hand. “Question.”

Her grandmother’s nostrils flared. Apparently questions weren’t a welcome addition to psychic boot camp.

“Does everyone have the same spirit guides? Or do we all have different ones? And why don’t they speak the same language as we do? Why can’t they just say, ‘Hey, your neighbor’s husband is planning to murder her with a shovel’?”

“Excellent question, sweetie,” Blossom said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. Her mother’s hair had exploded to three times its normal circumference in the humidity.

“No. It is not. It is a stupid question.”

“Mom.” Blossom sighed.

“You should already know these things. I don’t know what Gabriel has been doing in your company for the past two months, but apparently it did not involve teaching you anything.”

“Gabe has been a great friend,” Riley said, jumping to the man’s defense.

“It’s true,” Wander insisted. “He’s been a wonderful addition to the family.”

“Gabe is a delight to us all. He’s so tall he barely needs a step ladder to get into the cabinet in the kitchen,” Blossom added.

“Gabriel is not here to be a friend or a family member or a cabinet opener,” Elanora said, briskly snapping open a black lace fan. “He is here to teach you to master your gifts, to be an example of a life of service. He is here to toughen you up and rid you of your laziness, not be corrupted by you.”

Riley felt that the statement was directed mostly at her.

“Mom, I love you, but sometimes you’re a real buzzkill,” Blossom said.

“Buzzes are meant to be killed. Basil women are destined for a life of service. It seems as if you’ve all forgotten that.” Her steely gaze flicked to Riley. “Except for those of you who never bothered learning it in the first place.”

Riley sighed. “Okay, Grandmother. We get it. We suck. We’re lazy. We’re squandering our gifts. Let’s get this over with. What do you want us to do?” Movement in the parlor window caught her eye, and she spotted Mrs. Penny with a pair of binoculars trained on them.

Elanora hinged forward in her chair and fixed her with a cool stare. “I want you to recognize what a distinction it is to be born into this family, this legacy. I want you to honor your gifts through hard work and selfless service.”

“And I wanted to have sex with my boyfriend and sleep in today, but we don’t always get what we want,” Riley pointed out, feeling surly.

“Let’s meet in the middle and agree that we would all like to improve on our gifts,” Wander the peacemaker suggested.

“All in favor say ‘Aye,’” Blossom said.

“Aye,” everyone but Elanora said.

Riley’s grandmother rolled her eyes. “This is not a democracy.”

“Mussolini,” Riley coughed into her hand.

Blossom elbowed her and hissed, “I’m the one who has to live with her. Can you please try not to piss her off? I’m already down to my last jug of dandelion wine.”

“Sorry.”

“We will begin our practice by stepping into our spiritual state and then exiting,” Elanora announced. “We must master showing up as our best selves in order to do our best work.”

“That is very wise,” Gabe said.

“No one likes an ass kisser, Gabriel,” Elanora said.

Sheesh.Riley didn’t know which one of them was more in the doghouse, she for disrespecting her family heritage or Gabe for discovering ice cream.

“You will all close your eyes now,” her grandmother announced. “Approach your spiritual mental space with intention.”

The only thing Riley wanted to approach with intention was a shower.

Then she thought about dog crap. They really needed to be better about picking it up. Especially if they were going to be boot camping in the middle of Burt’s toilet.

“Return to the mortal realm,” Elanora ordered.

Riley realized she’d never left it. Oops.

“Now, return. Treat it like opening a door and stepping into a room. With one breath, you are here and in the next, you have moved on to a different plane.”

Plane. Plain. Plain…potato chips. Mmm. Snacks. Nick Santiago covered in Jelly Krimpets and Middleswarth Potato Chips. Yummy.

“Resist the baser urges of your squirrel-like mind and step through the door,” Elanora ordered.

Reluctantly, Riley set aside her snack fantasies. They’d sit here until the end of time if her grandmother caught whiff of the fact that she wasn’t taking this seriously. She took a reluctant breath and willed the cotton candy clouds to appear.

“Now, exit your spiritual space and return to the present.”

The clouds that had just materialized disappeared like a balloon popping, and Riley wobbled in her seated position. She felt like she did in Wander’s flow yoga classes, two steps and a half-dozen breaths behind everyone else.

“Go back again,” Elanora insisted.

By the fifth forced exit from the land of pastel puffiness, she was dizzy and listing into her mother. When she’d once again made peace with the earth’s gravitational forces, Riley raised her hand again. “Can we take a break? I’m getting spiritual vertigo.”

“Rest is for the weak,” Elanora snapped.

“I’m okay with being weak if it means I get five minutes to remember gravity,” Riley said, opening one eye.

Her grandmother was sipping a very large bloody Mary that had appeared out of nowhere. “If you are incapable of performing the exercises like everyone else, then you are excused. Just don’t complain to me when your powers take control of your life rather than the other way around. Mark my words, Riley Thorn, you will regret it.”

The joke was on her grandmother—Riley already regretted it.

But she stayed put anyway. Her mean old lady grandmother had the vaguest of points. There was no point in dabbling in being psychic. Either she learned to control her gifts or she let them control her.

Elanora met her gaze and gave a stiff nod. “Again.”

* * *

Riley lostsense of all time as the summer sun and humidity battled it out to ruin the day for humans. Burt had long since retreated into the house, following the scents of bacon and coffee.

They’d graduated from spiritual touch-and-gos to intense focus exercises that involved clutching sharp crystals and sniffing incense that smelled like dried crap and moldy berries to heighten the clarity of their spiritual senses.

“It’s odd. I keep getting the distinct whiff of death and roses,” Wander said, sounding like she was underwater somewhere. Her sister had a psychic snoot that could sniff things out like a dead aunt’s favorite perfume or what a student had for dinner last night.

Riley wished she would have been the one with the sniff-a-voyant nose. Her sister would be a much better psychic than she was.

Somewhere in the middle of memorizing a very long Latin mantra, Riley felt herself slipping into the cotton candy world like a kid on a slide in a McDonald’s playground.

She found herself blinking at the puffy, colorful clouds. “Uh, did you guys need something?”

The clouds pulsed with light, and she heard far-away whispers layered over the drone of her grandmother’s voice.

She squinted through the fluffy fog, hoping for a glimpse of Bianca Hornberger or Larry Rupley. Neither was there. Instead, Riley found another man. A stranger to her. He was chunky and Caucasian, the kind of pale that made her think of vitamin D deficiencies. His straggly hair was tied back in a ponytail. His shorts were stained. And his t-shirt and socks were holey. And dirty.

Riley caught a whiff of something musty and unpleasant.

There was a vibe there. Aggressive disdain, she decided. As if he’d never agreed with anything that had happened to him in his entire life.

Was he connected to the wealthy, plastic Bianca? Or did he have something to do with Larry’s disappearance?

The clouds pulsed again, and she felt her vision self levitating over the Susquehanna River. She tried to look down to make sure her body was still there, but instead she was drawn to the grungy, exploding stranger.

“Okay. So a grungy guy disappointed with life and the West Shore,” she summarized. The clouds lit up as if she’d solved a Wheel of Fortune puzzle. “Great. So how is he related to Bianca? Or Larry?”

There was no immediate response.

“Look, guys, if he’s not related, I need to focus on one puzzle at a time. Well, okay, two. I need to find out who killed Bianca Barbie, or it would be nice if you could tell me where Larry went.”

A silver cord materialized, encircling the man’s waist. “Okay. Did exploding stranger have lap band surgery?”

The cord projected into the air. Riley followed it as it arched across the river and traveled above the city.

“Well, hell,” she said.

The cord ended around a hovering Bianca Hornberger, who looked annoyed by the inconvenience.

“So Larry and Bianca are somehow linked,” Riley said.

Images flashed before her, speeding up as they went. Bianca in her closet, admiring herself in the mirror. Stiletto shoes that had never been worn. Large sneakers hitting the pavement in a slow rhythm, labored breath coming in short, heavy bursts. She saw Front Street and the Bogdanovich mansion. Then the imagery flickered again, and she was looking at Grumpy Guy suspended over the town of Enola on the other side of the river. The stranger didn’t seem to find any levity in his levitation. He was flipping her the bird. The faces of Nick, Jasmine, Griffin Gentry, and Detective Weber flipped before her eyes like cards shuffling. Riley felt a rush of air, and the world around her exploded into sparkles.

She flinched as she felt the needlelike sparkling shards embed themselves in her skin.

“That is not the kind of expression one should have when performing a reading. That is the kind of face one makes when constipated,” her grandmother’s disembodied voice complained from somewhere outside the sparkly beyond.

“She only makes that face when it’s an intense vision. See? Her nose is twitching,” Blossom said from somewhere far away.

“Well, she looks ridiculous.”

Riley felt herself falling, falling, falling. Just before she hit the ground, she felt a jolt as she was yanked back into her own body for a jarring landing.

When she came to, she found herself face down in Gabe’s lap.

“Sorry,” she said, scrambling away from the man’s crotch. She got to her feet, her joints feeling too loose to properly support her.

“Well? What did you see?” Elanora demanded.

“I have to find Detective Weber,” she announced and then ran for the house.