Page 81 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

I guess we’re staying for a while.

So I approach the Bean women once more, lowering myself to the ground next to Juniper and sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees. Earlier I wanted to fill the silence, but now it seems inappropriate to do so; I wait quietly, taking my cues from the woman next to me. I watch the leaves scattering in the wind; I note the headstones around us that seem well cared for and the ones that don’t. I remember what Juniper said about feeling sad for people who are forgotten after they die, and I promise myself that when I someday lose the people I love, I’ll bring flowers to their graves.

“Want to listen?” Juniper says some time later, startling me. When I look at her, she’s holding out an earbud; the other is already tucked into her ear. I take what she offers without question, putting the single headphone in and listening to the music that floods through my mind.

“It’s calledDanse Macabre.It tells the story of Death on Halloween night,” she explains, letting her head drop back to rest against Nora’s headstone once more. “He appears at midnight and begins playing his fiddle, calling the dead forth from their graves. They dance until dawn, and then they return to the ground until the same time next year.”

I nod, imagining the scene. “What about Nora?” I say. I wrap my arms more tightly around my knees. “Does she dance with them?”

“Not sure. She loved to dance, but if someone told her to, she’d be less likely to do it.”

“Defiant.”

“Very.”

“What kind of dance are we talking?” I cast my eyes around until they fall on an empty plot. “There’s room over there,” I say, pointing.

“Mmm, no,” Juniper says, shaking her head. “You know that scene in the animatedAnastasia, during ‘Once Upon a December’? When she imagines all the people dancing, but they’re kind of waltzing around in the air?”

“Incredibly, yes,” I say dryly. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“That’s sort of how I’ve always pictured it. A bunch of skeletons, bowing and curtseying and spinning and twirling above me.”

“Just skeletons?” I say. “Not zombie-looking people?”

She shakes her head at this. “That’s too scary. In fact, if you think about it…” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as she thinks, the wind playing with her pink hair. “The scary part about a corpse is that itresembleslife. It’s that juxtaposition between what it looks like versus what it actuallyis. I think your average adult would not say that a skeleton is scary, right?” she says, looking at me.

I ponder for a second. “I think I agree.”

She nods. “Because once a body has reached skeleton stage, all humanity has vanished. There’s no question, conscious or subconscious, of whether that body is dead. It’s obviously dead. What freaks our brains out is seeing something dead that still hashintsof aliveness about it. It’s the same as the concept of the uncanny, right? Not Freud’s uncanny—Uncanny Valley.”

I swallow at the sound of her warm, husky voice talking about Freud and the Uncanny Valley and dancing skeletons. “Yes. Exactly.” My body is coming alive with electricity, sparks dancing in my veins, and I could honestly kick myself. But the way her mind works is fascinating. I want to take out a monthly subscription to her world view.

Yes. The way she sees things is intriguing. She’s smart, she’s irreverent. She’s beautiful, and I still retain the very visceral memory of her pressed up against me. It’s normal that I’m feeling these things. But what exactly do they mean?

Ugh. I almost groan out loud as I realize I might need to ask Caroline for advice.

“So no zombies,” Juniper says, happily oblivious to my inner dilemma. “Only skeletons.”

“All right.” I nod, then direct my gaze to the sky. “Only skeletons.”

We listen to the piece on repeat for long enough that I lose track of time. And when Juniper’s head nods onto my shoulder some time later, I remove the headphone from her ear. Then I pick her up and stand as gently as possible, carrying her in my arms all the way back to the car. I carry her from the car to her bed once we arrive back at the house, and she doesn’t wake up once—not even when I remove her shoes and place the covers over her.

I can only assume she’s dreaming of dancing skeletons.

Once I’m done tucking her into her bed, I go back downstairs and make a phone call.

And here’s something you should know about me: I hate talking to people on the phone.Hateit. I find it stressful to have to respond in real time without being able to sit and think of a reply. I am not my best self on the fly. I am at my best when I can mull things over, look at all sides, maybe do some research.

It’s a trait I keep thinking I should grow out of at some point, but so far that hasn’t happened. If anything, my aversion to talking on the phone has only grown the older I’ve gotten.

But it’s Rodriguez I need to talk to right now, and unfortunately, Rodriguez is the opposite of me. He hates texting, and he rarely checks his text messages.

So call me stupid, but I make a list of things I want to ask about before I call him. I do the same thing before I go through the drive-thru. Preparing ahead of time helps me feel less frazzled when the time for action comes. Because when I get put on the spot, I end up either looking like an idiot or letting my true personality shine through—impatient and slightly abrasive. I don’tmeanto come off that way; I just get flustered and those things come out.

So yeah. Preparation is best. I make my list, dial his number—just kidding, I have exactly one phone number memorized, and it’s my mom’s; I pull up Rodriguez’s contact info—and wait as it rings.

And when he answers, I jump right in with my question: “Hey. What do you know about hunger banquets?”

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