Page 43 of Death and Do-Overs

My entire body heated ten degrees as I wrote my number on his arm, just from that tiny bit of touch.

“See you around, Marshmallow.”

Imogen still hadn’t reached me by the time Levi disappeared. I was grateful, because I needed a moment or ten thousand to convince my body to calm down.

If that’s how I reacted to a brief touch of Levi’s arm, how on earth would I handle working with him on the rest of this investigation?

CHAPTER 10

MAR

If sunshine was a person, that person would be Imogen Q. Barrera. I trudged down the cobblestone street, a black hole of pessimism and somber silence. Imogen bounced with every step, a rainbow of optimism and enthusiastic blabbering. She was everything that I wasn’t, and exactly the friend I needed right now.

We ordered coffee and donuts at a little cafe and sat at one of the outside tables like any two middle-aged women catching up on an average Tuesday morning.

“Happy Halloween!” Imogen thrust one of her duffle bags at me. “Before I forget, here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” I asked.

She smiled and shook the bag, clearly wanting me to take it. “It’s clothes for you.”

Imogen expectedmeto wearherclothes? The mental image alone left me feeling like a circus clown. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine fending for myself.”

She wrinkled her nose and let her arm drop. “I don’t understand.”

I gestured down to my entirely black outfit. “We have opposing aesthetics.”

“You…” She laughed, hard. “You actually thought I wanted you to wear my clothes?”

Another pause, this time longer than the last, as she cackled. She pressed her lips together between bursts as she worked to compose herself.

I waited.

“Goodness no, silly.” She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “I brought you your own clothes.”

My shoulders tightened, a stiffness that crept up my neck.My clothes?

“I figured this adventure could take us time, and I know how terrible it can be not to have a fresh set of clothes to change into.” Imogen leaned in conspiratorially, looking one way and then the other down the empty street. She whispered, “Especially the underpants.”

That was exactly why I’d purchased a package at the general store.

“You dug through my underpants,” I said, my voice flat and betraying none of the frustration I was feeling. “How exactly did you get into my house, Imogen?”

She recoiled, sitting straight as a pin, and blinked. Her cheeks went pink. “Wendy had a key. I thought I was helping? Did I do the wrong thing? Mar, I swear I would never ever do something to purposefully upset you. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

It seemed I hadn’t masked my agitation as well as I’d thought.

A fresh batch of tears sprung into Imogen’s eyes, this time with hurt instead of humor.

“I don’t hate you,” I said quickly. I snatched the bag from her. “I appreciate your help.”

She stared at me, unblinking, like she was waiting for something more. I had no idea what that something was.

“Okay, good,” she said, still looking uncertain. “If you’re sure.”

Sure about what? I wished the two of us could find an equilibrium where she wasn’t terrified that I’d suddenly decide not to like her anymore, and where I wasn’t worried that an involuntary face twitch would make her cry.

“We’re friends,” I told her.

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