Page 97 of Not Quite Dead Yet

‘Perfect,’ Jet said. ‘No one will be there. All ours.’

‘And what will we be looking for?’ Billy folded his arms, hugged them over his chest, wearing the same shirt Jet had borrowed last night at the bar.

‘That damn list,’ Jet hissed. ‘And the reason Luke is being so cagey about it. He didn’t know about Nell Jankowski, but there’s something going on at Mason Construction, I’m sure of it. Why Sophia felt she had to poison my dad to make himretire sooner, stop him poking around. She said Luke couldn’t wait. And I want to know why. Because maybe it’s the same reason someone took a hammer to my head five days ago. It’s all connected to the company, so that’s where we’re going.’

She moved toward the closet, her dead arm catching on the back of the couch, making her stumble. Or maybe it was the fact that everything had doubled again, her eyes tripping over the interwoven edges, Jet trying to find her way through, somewhere down the middle.

‘You got a flashlight?’

‘Er, yeah.’ Billy pointed. ‘Should be in that closet, maybe on top of the tool kit.’

‘Duct tape?’ Jet asked, pulling the closet door open, missing the handle the first time, scrabbling to its left.

‘Why do we need duct tape?’

‘Billy.’

‘In one of those side pockets, I think.’

Jet found the flashlight resting on top, the tape just on the shelf beside. Struggled to hold them both in one hand as she avoided Mrs Finney’s eyes in the framed photo above.

‘And you’ve got the flashlight on your ph-phone.’ She nodded toward it, on the counter. The nodding unbalanced her.

‘You going to eat anything before we go?’ Billy asked. ‘The sandwich I made you?’

‘Not hungry.’ She leaned against the wall, tried to blink the world back together. Blink. Stitch it. Glue it. Hell, duct tape it. Blink.

‘Jet.’ Billy softened his voice, already cloud-soft. And what was softer than a cloud? ‘You sure you’re OK to do this? You don’t look –’

‘– I’m not dead yet,’ she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

‘No,’ Billy whispered.

‘Not quite.’ Jet forced out her old-man laugh, gruff and breathy, stopped because it hurt her head. ‘You ready?’

‘To break and enter? To commit a crime?’

‘I’mcommitting the crime, Billy.’ She hooked her good arm through his. ‘You’re just the getaway driver. And the get-there driver. You’re my Emotional Support Billy.’

‘Physical support too, huh?’ he said, arm tensing, holding Jet up, taking half her weight.

‘Just for the stairs. I’ll be good in a minute.’

‘Can’t believe we’re really doing this.’ He scooped up Jet’s truck keys from the counter, and his phone.

‘Best week of your life, huh, Billy?’

‘You said it, Jet.’

The trees loomed over them, thickening the darkness, hiding the moon. They shook their leaves, some kind of ancient warning, snatches of sugary red and fiery orange in the headlights. One perfect leaf dropped onto the windshield, making Billy swerve.

‘Nervous?’ Jet said.

‘Nope,’ he answered too quickly.

They were on Hartland Hill Road, the road out of town, not quite out of it yet, and they never would be, because Dad’s offices were coming up on the left.

‘Pull up over here.’ Jet pointed through the windshield. ‘Don’t go down the drive. There’s a camera on the gate.’

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