Riley Thorn and the Corpse in the Closet by Lucy Score
24
9:05 p.m., Sunday, August 16
Minutes later, Riley found herself seated at the round table with her sister, her grandmother, and her mother, sweating profusely and wondering exactly how her life had come to this. They were bathed in the light of way too many open flames for a summer night with no air conditioning. Red lights on the video cameras winked, taunting her with the reminder that she was about to embarrass herself not just in front of her family and friends but also her ex-husband’s new fiancée and the greater Harrisburg area.
It was ninety-four degrees in the room, yet when Elanora had commanded them all to sit, they all followed orders like a bunch of sweaty sheep. No one dared speak up.
The opening remarks had been short and not sweet. Elanora had stoically addressed their dehydrated audience with an explanation of her family’s “gifts” and how they used those gifts to serve.
Gabe’s pores were so efficient at sweating that a fine mist was rising from his dark skin where he stood in the corner waiting for Elanora to give him an order.
The rest of the audience was a mix of bored journalists and the overly excited public, including her neighbors. Mrs. Penny was drinking a martini in one corner next to Lily, who was fluttering an oversized Spanish lace fan in front of her shiny face. Mr. Willicott sat with his back to the action and facing a wall while Fred kept scooting his chair closer to Elanora.
Bella sat pretty and perky on a chair in the front row and made faces at her cameraman like she was a kindergartner.
Kellen stood against the wall, looking relaxed with his arms crossed. But Riley could feel some kind of anxious energy emanating from him. Nick was next to him. The two painted quite the attractive picture in humid candlelight. And one of them was all hers.
Wander nudged her under the table, and Riley realized she’d missed a cue. Her grandmother’s talon-like hand was reaching for hers. The feathers in Elanora’s hair were long and checkered, swooping backwards and nearly tickling Gabe’s broad chest.
“Sorry,” Riley murmured. She took Wander and Elanora’s hands with her own sweaty palms and pretended she was somewhere else doing anything else in the world. Her forearms were already stuck to the table. She’d probably lose a layer of skin peeling them off.
“Maybe we should reschedule for a cooler evening, Mom?” Blossom suggested. Riley vowed to give her mother the best Christmas and Mother’s Day presents.
Relief rippled through the crowd as brows were mopped.
“We will now begin,” Elanora announced, ignoring the perfectly reasonable suggestion and closing her eyes. The hope was snuffed out all around them, and the temperature felt like it had risen another five degrees. Riley shot Nick a look.
He shrugged and mouthed, “You’ve got this.”
She did not have this.
She couldn’t parade herself in front of cameras and whip out a party trick to make people believe she was a respectable psychic. Hell, regular people didn’t know what a respectable psychic was.
The candle flames barely flickered in the thick, still air. The lights in the room seemed to get lower, and a whisper stirred up in the audience. They got brighter and then flicked on and off as Bella gasped audibly.
Elanora opened one judgmental eye.
“Mrs. Penny!” Riley hissed.
The woman shrugged and stepped away from the light switch. “What? I was just adding atmosphere.”
“We do not require your atmosphere,” Elanora said. “The spirits bring their own. We will now open ourselves to the souls who have passed on.”
Her grandmother squeezed Riley’s hand in a crushing grip, and Riley reluctantly closed her eyes.
Okay. Fine. What’s up, spirit guides? Any chance you could set off the carbon monoxide detectors and get me out of this?
The pastel clouds came into focus in her mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t any cooler in her vision place. The clouds seemed to be pooling and melting like ice cream in thick, colorful drips.
“Sorry about the heat, guys,” Vision Riley explained to the clouds. “I was really hoping to give you guys a night off.”
Her grandmother began to speak somewhere far away.
“There is a man here who has something to say. I’m getting an ‘H’ and an unprecedented amount of body hair.”
Vision Riley smirked at the idea of her ornery grandmother “getting an unprecedented amount of body hair.” Maybe Elanora would be less terrifying with a nice mustache, she mused.
There was a faraway gasp, and a woman tearfully said the name “Harold?”
Riley listened as Elanora relayed Harold’s lawn fertilizing process to his widow. The woman had probably come in hopes that Harold would express his love from beyond the grave. Instead, he was lecturing her on lawn care. Sometimes it was better not to get the messages from beyond.
“I’m getting a scent of lemons. Very clean,” Wander said, her voice rising in the room. “Furniture polish.”
“Oh my God. It’s Aunt Esther!” someone in the crowd announced.
Great. What the hell was she supposed to do? Sit here and hope a dead loved one popped into her head?
Beth.
The name popped into her head, and Riley tensed. The last thing she needed was the spirit of Kellen’s little sister to make her presence known in front of both her big brother and Nick.
“No Beth,” Riley instructed her spirit guides. The dripping clouds pulsed once, and Riley realized it wasn’t a spirit trying to get through. It was Nick and Kellen standing side-by-side and thinking about the same woman. There was a kind of intensity pumping out of them. A controlled desperation for answers.
Of course she was curious about what had happened to the girl. But neither Nick nor Kellen had ever asked her to look. And if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t want to carry that kind of psychic baggage on her own.
She was overheating. The clouds were getting bigger and brighter, sucking her in and suffocating her. She could feel the heavy dampness on her skin. Fighting off the panic, she tried to close the spiritual garage door on her boyfriend’s brain, but she was so disoriented. So hot.
And there was something else in the clouds with her now.
Someone else.
With a queasy drop and a hard jolt, Riley found herself back in Bianca Hornberger’s closet, staring at a glittery ghost.
“Bianca,” Vision Riley gasped.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to your manager,” Vision Bianca announced, studying her fingernails for any flaws. She was dressed as she had been in the crime scene photos. There was a plastic bag next to her.
“Excuse me?”
Bianca coughed delicately into her hand. Then, with a barely discernible frown thanks to the fillers, she reached into her mouth. Like a magician yanking flags out of his throat, Bianca produced a very expensive-looking thong. “Ew! This is not okay!” she snapped. “I have a complaint, and I’m not going anywhere until I speak to the manager.”
“I don’t know if I have a manager,” Riley admitted. “Maybe you should talk to my grandmother. She’s the scary lady next to me talking about body hair and lawn fertilizer.”
“I want a refund,” Bianca announced, fluttering her inch-long lashes in what Riley could only assume was a sign of an impending hissy fit.
“A refund for what?”
“For life. Duh. It was just starting to get good. I was building my brand. I was expanding my following. I had tickets to the Start Leveling Up Today conference. And now I’m just supposed to accept that it’s all over?” she scoffed. “I was this close to getting everything I deserve, and some weird creeper in my closet is going to end it all? I don’t THINK SO.”
“Weird creeper. Can you describe him?”
“Ew. No. Not until I get a refund or a do-over or whatever it is you people do around here.” Bianca glanced around them at the clouds encircling the closet. “God. Who is your decorator? A glue-sniffing preschooler?”
“How about I get my grandmother, and you can tell her how disappointed you are with your experience?” Riley suggested. She didn’t know if that was something she could actually do. And inviting Elanora into her head seemed like it could present its own host of problems. But Riley wasn’t equipped to interview a murder victim as a witness.
“Deal with it yourself.” Elanora’s voice came through like it was on a high school intercom.
Okay. Fine. Thanks, Grandma.
“Uh. Okay. So you’re unhappy your life got cut short,” Riley said, scrambling for a topic that could lead back to the murder.
“I already said that. Now do something about it.”
“I don’t think I can unmurder someone.” She sensed something or someone else in the closet and got up to paw through the hanging clothes.
“Stop touching my clubwear and figure out a way to bring me back. Now!” Bianca demanded.
The presence didn’t feel murdery. In fact, it felt just the opposite. Calm, cool, strong. Familiar.
“Gabe?” Riley whispered.
Vision Bianca kicked her heels against the carpet and let out a blood-curdling shriek.
“Ah! God! What the hell?” Riley stuffed her fingers in her ears. “Who’s the preschooler now.”
Bianca abruptly stopped her tantrum and frowned. “Why aren’t you doing what I want you to do?”
“Because you’re acting like an entitled brat. I don’t want to do things for entitled brats.”
“But…but this always works. It’s how I got the Porsche even though stupid Teddy complained that it didn’t have any room for the kids. It’s also how I got the Land Rover for the nanny so she could drive the kids around. And it’s how I got these.” Bianca hefted her unwieldy breasts in her hands.
“I guess it doesn’t work in the hereafter,” Riley said. “Do you know the person who killed you? Maybe you could haunt him?”
“Why would I waste my time haunting a loser?”
“So you did know him?”
“God! Why are you so obsessed with him?” Bianca demanded, picking at a hair extension and plucking the ends of it. “Ohmygod! I’m not going to get to go to Miami for fall break! Death is the worst!”
“Bianca, who did this to you?” Riley decided she was going to demand a medal from Kellen. This was going above and beyond for a psychic civilian consultant.
“I don’t know. Some guy. He was in my closet when I got home from the tanning salon. No, wait, the lash salon. Whatever. He was just standing there, and I was like, ‘Who the hell are you?’ and he was like, ‘Karma.’ And then I was like, ‘Karma? That’s a stupid name.’ And he was like, ‘You haven’t learned anything.’ And then I don’t know what happened. Now I don’t get to go to Miami, and I already bought half of my outfits.”
“Wow. That’s a lot to unpack. Aren’t you a little old for fall break?”
Bianca screamed shrilly. “Don’t say that word!”
“What word? Break?”
“Old!” The busty ghost clamped her hands over her ears. “I’m never getting old! You can’t make me!”
“I don’t think you can get old now that you’re dead,” Riley observed.
That perked up Vision Bianca. “That’s true. Maybe this isn’t all bad. But I still need to go back. I miss everyone there.”
“I’m sure your family misses you too,” Riley lied.
“Ugh. Not them. They’re so basic. My husband is too busy nerding out over whatever he does for a living. My daughter loves carbs—can you imagine? And my son is okay. But the older he gets, the older he makes me look. I miss my followers.” Her hair toss stirred a breeze in the vision closet.
Riley was sweating all of the liquid out of her body into a puddle on the closet carpet.
“You want to come back to life because you miss your followers?”
“They’re the ones that get me. They pay attention to me. They ask me about my makeup and clothes. We’re like family.”
“I thought you bought most of your followers and they were fake accounts.”
“Well, yeah, but other people don’t know that. Besides, my fake followers were real where it counts. Flattering me in the comment section.”
“Did you know Titus Strubinger?”
“Gross. That’s a terrible name. No. I don’t or didn’t or whatever.”
“What about GunsNAmmoMurica?”
Bianca shrugged her slim shoulders. Only one of her breasts rose. “You’re boring me.”
“Okay. How about RealBarbie?”
“Uh, duh. That’s me.”
“You’re RealBarbie?” Riley clarified.
“Are you stupid, or does being so unattractive make you hard of hearing?”
“You created fake profiles on YouTube and Facebook just to comment on all of your own stuff.”
“Oh. Em. G. You’re so boring. It’s called social proof. Look it up.”
“I know what social proof is,” Riley said. She felt oddly woozy and hoped she wasn’t going to die in the closet with the ghost of an idiot.
“Then you should know that it’s important to set up your own fake accounts so you can leave the kinds of reactions you want from other followers. You’re grooming your audience to give you the right kind of attention, stupid.”
“You had entire conversations in the comment sections with yourself?”
“Who else is going to be as interesting?”
Dear God. Riley needed a gallon of water, a cold shower, and a new identity. “Did you also use the same username on Channel 50’s website?” she pressed.
“Sometimes. It depends on who I was logged in as.”
“You left some really mean comments,” Riley pointed out.
“I can’t help that I was born a lion and everyone else was born sheep.” She was back to examining her nails. “God, I hope this death place has good salons. I need a lash refill like yesterday.”
“So this guy who was waiting for you in your closet. He knew you, but you didn’t know him?”
“Why do you keep harping on him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to stop him from killing other people?”
Bianca snorted. “What do I care if he kills someone else? I’m already dead.”
Riley was exhausted, and a headache was interfering with her concentration. She had one last Hail Mary to try. “Well, I hope you were at least killed by a good-looking murderer. There’s nothing worse than being murdered by an ugly guy.”
“Oh my God. You’re right. It goes totally against my brand that I was unfairly killed by an uggo. Like, I would never have dated him. I’d be as tall as him in my six-inch heels. And his face. Ick! He just had a regular, boring face. There was literally nothing interesting about him.”
“Was he white? Did he have any tattoos? Did he tell you his name?”
“He was white. But not a tan white. Like poor person white.”
“What’s poor person white?”
“Someone who doesn’t have a pool or take vacations,” Bianca said as if it were obvious.
“How old was he?”
“I don’t know. And you’re boring me.”
Riley felt like her energy was evaporating out of her. There was a weird far away noise like a distant crowd muttering.
She felt a hard tug, and then she was being catapulted backwards.
“Hey! Where are you going? Bring me back a Starbucks!” Bianca called.
“Thorn. Baby, come on. Wake up.”
“Nick?” she croaked.
“That’s a good girl. Open those beautiful brown eyes for me.”
With great effort, Riley pried one eyelid up and then the other. Nick’s handsome face came into focus.
“There’s my girl. Where did you go?”
“Where are we?” she rasped, trying to look around.
“On the floor in the parlor.”
“Please tell me the cameras aren’t rolling.”
His dimples nearly blinded her. “No cameras. About a minute into the show, both cameras overheated. Then you and Gabe fainted. Your grandmother called it a night.”
She tried to sit up, but Nick pressed her back down, and she realized she was cradled in his lap. It was nice. She managed to turn her head to see Wander and Lily plying the prone Gabe with water and damp towels for his forehead.
As if sensing her attention, Gabe turned his head in Wander’s lap and smiled at Riley.
“You okay, Gabe?” she asked.
“I am wonderful,” he said with a happy sigh.
Riley made a note to talk to Gabe about how he ended up in the closet with her and Bianca the Boobed.
“You had me worried, Thorn,” Nick said, drawing her attention. “I thought you got psychically kidnapped or something.” He brushed her hair away from her face.
“I was kind of held hostage by a moron.”
“Oh, good. She’s awake.” Riley’s mother came into her line of sight. “Here, sweetie. I brought you some water.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m sorry for making you do this, Riley,” Blossom said. “If it’s any consolation, your grandmother was not humiliated.”
Not humiliated. It was a gold star and a thumbs-up.
“It’s fine.” Riley drained the glass, spilling half of it on herself. “And she should be impressed. I interviewed a vapid murder victim.” She winced and looked up at Nick. “I realize how weird that sounds, and if it’s too much, I don’t blame you for running off to Costa Rica by yourself.”
“Never a dull moment with you, Thorn. Why would I want to walk away from that adventure?” he said, rewarding her with dimples.
She managed a weak smile before rolling over to barf under the table.
“Baby.” He sighed, holding her hair back.
“I need a shower, a sports drink, and a conversation with Kellen.”
