Page 45 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
Carefully, I twisted the lid of Margaret’s urn. I could feel Ellis’s gaze on me, but I kept my eyes forward. The faint scent of ash reached me before I saw it, dry, powdery, clinging to the rim like it didn’t want to let go.
Inside, just visible at the top, was a clear plastic bag.
Relief rushed through me.
Exactly what I’d hoped for.
I grabbed the ziploc bag from Ellis and pulled it over the edge of the urn, tugging it about halfway before flipping the urn upside down. The plastic casing filled with the dust of Margaret as it sifted into the bag. I set it gently on the floor and removed the urn.
A rogue puff of powdery air drifted between us, and Ellis squeaked, clapping a hand over her mouth and nose, shaking her head in horror.
“Oh God!” she choked.
“Keep it together,” I snapped, sealing Margaret away safely. I tucked the bag between my knees and pulled out the vacuum ashes, a smug smirk forming on my face. Uncle Bill would never know that the woman he hated would soon be flying free over the Pacific, while he kept her dust bunnies in his cabinet.
The irony.
“…I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you since she left.”
My blood ran cold. Ellis looked at me in alarm as a man’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by a feminine giggle. I could physically feel the blood drain from my face, my head swimming with sudden dizziness.
“Uncle Bill,” I mouthed to Ellis, terror rising like a wave in my chest.
Horror curdled in my stomach, and I had to resist the urge to break down crying.
“What do we do?” Ellis whispered, barely audible. Her hands had started to shake.
Suddenly, Liv appeared in the doorway, and I nearly screamed at her sudden reappearance. Her eyebrows wiggled as she jerked her head toward the hall.
“Looks likeBillyhas a girlfriend,” she snorted. “And she definitely doesn’t look like his wife, you know, the one from the pictures who looks like she’s fighting off anal fissures.”
“Mmm, Bill,” the woman moaned.
I resisted the urge to die on the spot, knowing I would never be able to unhear his throaty chuckle or that girlish giggle.
“I’ll handle this,” Liv said, clapping her hands. “I’m going to create a diversion. You fill that urn with dustbuster Grandma, and then we hit the road. Ready? Go.”
The second she disappeared from view, a loud crashing sound came from upstairs.
I sucked in a breath, my eyes locked on the door, terrified Bill would run in and find us crouched over his mother’s urn.
The pounding of drawers being yanked open and slammed shut sent a jolt through me. And then... was thatPhantom of the Opera? The overture echoed through the house, followed by Bill’s voice shouting, his footsteps thundering up the stairs.
“What the hell is she doing? Can she physically touch stuff?” Ellis hissed.
“No idea,” I said quickly, before stuffing the tip of the dustbuster ziploc into the urn and shaking it in. Puffs of dirty, dusty air flew out, but thankfully, none spilled on the carpet. “We gotta move.”
I clapped the lid back onto the urn and placed it in the cabinet, heart racing, hands shaking. Then I stuffed the empty bag—along with the one now filled with Margaret—into my tote bag, adjusted the strap, and grabbed Ellis’s arm.
“Stay on my tail. Donotdeviate.”
Upstairs, Liv had gone full horror movie, and I could hear Uncle Bill and his girlfriend thundering around, the lights beginning to flicker.
“Run,” I hissed. “Go. Go, go!”
We took off the way we’d come. Ellis ran a little more gracefully than I did, but I was carrying a bag full of actual human remains, and I wasn’t about to spill a single atom of her.
We burst into the kitchen, and I skidded, smashing my shin into the table. I cursed under my breath, wincing, ears straining for the sound of Uncle Bill’s feet on the stairs in case Liv’s diversion was failing.
