To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Who would believe me?”

For the most part the papers said exactly what Nate had told me. Except for a few paragraphs of legal nerd talk, the agreement was straight forward and something I could live with. Once I left GRS today, I’d have no problem never mentioning the entire incident.

Ten minutes later, I’d finished filling out the forms and returned them to Madge. After a quick perusal, she tapped them into a neat pile and slammed a staple into the corner. “Welcome to GRS, Mrs. Carron.”

I considered reiterating that I wouldn’t be staying, but from her bored look, I could see she didn’t give a crap. “Thank you.”

“Come on.” Nate stopped at a glass door and slid my pass along the key panel again. The locked released with a little click and he pushed the door open. Keyboard tapping and low conversations I couldn’t make out hummed inside. “After you.”

I stepped around him into what looked like a normal office setting. Cubicles filled the center of the room and long, glassed-in conference rooms lined each end of the work area. The place looked identical to the offices on the first two floors where I thought Jeff had worked.

“Morning, Mr. Cramer.” A chubby guy in a tight white shirt and a Harry Potter tie popped his head over the top of his wall. “New recruit?”

“Morning, Harold. This is Lisa.” I started to say hello, but Nate placed his hand on my waist and guided me toward one of the conference rooms at the end of the cubicles. “She’s undecided whether she wants to work for us, but I think I can persuade her.”

Harold chuckled. “If anybody can, it’s you, Mr. Cramer.”

When we were out of earshot I said, “You and Harold got a bromance going?”

Nate scowled at me. “He’s just a colleague.”

“Seems more like a groupie.” With a gentle shove, he pushed me into the room and shut the door. “Are you some kind of reaper rock star?”

He turned to face me. “Hardly and Harold is not a groupie. He’s a Wannabe.”

“A what?”

“He wants to be a reaper but he’s not endowed with the grim.” Nate walked to a flat panel television and picked up the remote. “If you decide to come to the dark side, you’ll be working with several Wannabes.”

“Huh, that’s interesting.” I glanced at Harold’s cubicle. He stared at me with the same longing I stare at bikinis with every spring. I want to wear one so badly but it was never going to happen.

“Have a seat.” Nate pointed to a chair with the remote. “This film is a little dated but it gives all the pertinent information you’ll need to make a decision.” He slid the clicker to me. “If you have any questions, pause the DVD and ask.” Next he pushed a pad of paper and a generic black pen at me. “You might want to take notes.”

“All right.” I retrieved the remote and settled back into the chair. “This should be interesting.”

I didn’t know what to expect but a 1950’s style infomercial was not it. The women in the film wore torturous shoes and bras that could repel a missile attack. Their hairstyles reminded me of Madge’s at the front desk, and I noticed all the women were stationed at the Wannabe cubicles.

I pointed to the television. “So—what—no women were reapers in the fifties?”

“There have been women reapers all through history. I told you the film was a little dated.”

“A little? Since this video was made entire empires have fallen. We’ve walked on the moon, and wised up about smoking in the work place.” A thin smoky veil filled the cubicle area where the women were happily typing and smoking. My lungs hurt just watching them.

“Focus on what they’re saying, not the actors.” Nate sat in the chair directly opposite me.

I concentrated on the message and buried my feminist outrage. After a minute, I found myself absorbed in the narrator’s explanation of GRS.

“Every reaper is a descendant of Charon, the Ferryman.”

I paused the video and looked at Nate. “A descendant of Charon? The same Ferryman on the River Styx?”

Nate nodded. “Every few hundred years, Charon comes to the surface for a vacation. This usually results in one or two pregnancies.”

“So, let me get this straight, Charon takes shore leave, knocks up a few women, and then goes back to his ferry?”

“Yeah, he’s the ultimate sailor.” He glanced at his watch. “As a matter of fact, it’s about time for his next holiday.”

I shook my head. “Remind me to stay as far away from him as possible.”

I pressed play and settled back in my chair. I admit the reapers had a good system. They were divided into different groups—illness, children, war, natural causes, violent crimes. I wondered what group I’d be in if I’d accepted the job.

Once you make the commitment to join the GRS team you will be given a bevy of tests, both physical and psychological.

I refrained from asking what kind of tests. I didn’t think I wanted to know and the less knowledge the easier it would be to forget this crazy mess.

With support from your area’s command central, you will embark on a career that is not only monetarily rewarding, but a service to all mankind. Welcome to GRS.

The video ended. Nate walked to the television and shut off. “What do you think?”

“What did he mean by monetarily rewarding?” This had piqued my interest. I’d never considered getting paid to reap souls, but Jeff got his paycheck from somewhere. His life insurance had barely carried us a year and my savings was nearly depleted. I’d been putting off getting a job so I could be there for the kids, but I couldn’t ignore the need for employment any longer. “Do we get paid for being grim reapers?”

“Yes.” Nate folded his hands on the table. “Plus, you get bonuses for quota.”

I eased forward in my chair, mimicking his posture. “What are we talking here—barista pay or would I actually be able to support my family?”

The corners of Nate’s mouth quirked up in a
gottcha
kind of way. And as much as it irritated me to admit it, he had my interest. When I got pregnant with Bronte, I dropped out of college and never went back. At this point in my life the best I qualified for was an entry level position in retail or a receptionist.

“You would definitely be able to support your family.” He paused. “Jeff did.”

I couldn’t argue. We’d always had everything we needed—not everything we wanted, but who did nowadays? “How dangerous is it?”

Nate shrugged. “Not very dangerous for us. Mainly we deal with the weather or inconvenient locations. You won’t be assigned to War. That’s the most dangerous post.”

His statement brought my reeling mind to a halt. The image of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people killed in a single attack and only a few reapers to dispatch their souls popped into my mind. “What happens if a soul isn’t reaped?”

“Purgatory, ghosts, limbo—it depends on the life they lived and what they believed.”

A knot formed in my stomach, obligation pressing on me. If I didn’t reap, then who would? Even if I’d been chosen by some ancient accidental pregnancy, the task had fallen to me. What if it later fell to one or all of my kids? If I took the position I’d be able to help them adjust. Not to mention the money. Thoughts of a bright Christmas and fixing my dollar-sucking pit of a house pulled me toward the decision I so vehemently resisted. I planned on leaving GRS today and never looking back. How quickly plans changed.

I gave a heavy sigh, praying I wouldn’t regret this. “All right, I’m in.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The expression on
Nate’s face was a cross between relief and disappointment. I knew he didn’t think I’d make a good reaper. He’d made that perfectly clear at the Holiday station, but he’d done his job by recruiting me.

“Great.” His tone and words were in direct opposition with each other. “Let’s get the paperwork started.”

I followed him out the door. All the Wannabes looked up when we exited. “Everybody, Lisa Carron will be taking Jeff Carron’s place.”

A few of the workers smiled and waved. There were even welcomes from a woman sitting in the front row and Harold, but I also noticed raised eyebrows at Nate’s announcement. Obviously he wasn’t the only one who questioned my abilities, which made me even more determined to succeed.

I gave a little wave, but didn’t know what else to say. Nate headed toward a door I hadn’t noticed at the other end of the room. We stepped through, sealing out the Wannabes’ intense attention. Dark doors similar to those on the ground floor stretched down a wide hallway.

He stopped at the first office. “Morning, Nigel.”

A crisp looking man in an argyle sweater vest and slicked back hair sat at an impeccably organized desk. “Good morning, Nate.” His eyes drifted to me and back to Nate. “Mrs. Carron has accepted the position?”

“Yes, she has.” I answered, irritated that Nigel talked as if I wasn’t in the room.

His lips pinched together, his gaze cutting to me and back to his desk. Either this guy was a complete ass or was in girl-panic mode. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a neatly compiled folder of papers.

“Lisa, this is Nigel Bottomzumpt. He will take care of your personnel paperwork. Worker’s Comp, leave requests, and your orientation packet.”

“Nigel Bottomsup?” I asked, not sure I’d heard correctly.

“Bottomzumpt, Mrs. Carron. With a z-u-m-p-t.”

Touchy
. “Gottcha,” I said.

“She’ll need to fill out the usual forms, W-4, retirement package, life and medical benefits forms.” He placed a black pen on top of the packet and slid it across the desk. “You do have a beneficiary in case you die in the line of duty don’t you?”

“To be honest, Nigel, since my husband died I’ve tried not to think about the what-ifs of something happening to me.” I called it my coping strategy. Vella called it burying my head in the sand. From the way he stared at me it looked like my avoidance issues needed to be faced. “My kids will receive any money I have.” Which, if I died tomorrow would keep them in mac and cheese for a month. “I’d like Vella Anderson to be the executor of whatever benefits I’d get from GRS.”

Nigel furrowed his brow. “You don’t have any living relatives that might be better.”

He asked the question in a way that told me he knew my parents were alive. Of course he would since Jeff had been a reaper. Nigel probably kept a spreadsheet on all the employees of GRS and their families.

“Yes, my parents and brother are alive, but I’d like my friend Vella to handle the money for my kids.” It was an instantaneous decision and I really should have asked her permission. But I wanted Vella to raise the kids if I died. She didn’t have any children of her own and my parents were old, well into their sixties. Not to mention the fact my mother and I butted heads on every subject. My brother, Bryan, could barely take care of himself, let alone three kids. If I let him raise the kids, they’d end up in juvenile court by the time they were sixteen. “Trust me, this is best, and if my status as being a reaper ever came out, Vella would be far more understanding than my parents.”

Nigel glanced at Nate, as if asking his permission to allow it.

“Is there a problem?” My gaze bounced between the two of them.

“No,” Nate said. “You have the right to choose whomever you want.”

“Damn right I do.” I wasn’t sure why there was even a question.

Nigel’s mouth tightened. “All right then. Please print legibly.”

I turned my attention to the forms, ignoring the sick feeling the thought of dying gave me. The questions were extensive, not the usual insurance or privacy forms. I’m not sure why they even bothered with making me swear I wouldn’t tell anybody. Couldn’t the big bosses smite me with a single blow if I blew the whistle on the super-secret reaper club?

My hand hovered over the page. I’d already told Vella about Nate and she’d ask again. Hopefully I wouldn’t get us inadvertently added to the supernatural kill-list by telling her about my new job. After all, she’d need to know since she’d be raising my children.

It took about half an hour to fill out all the forms. My fingers cramped from writing on the tiny lines. “All done.”

As I handed the packet back to Nigel, the cell phone on his desk started playing
Single Ladies
by Beyoncé.

His mouth thinned even more and he picked up the phone. “Excuse me.”

My first thought was that Nigel had a sweetheart, but my suspicions were quickly extinguished.

“Hello.” He spun his chair so the back faced us. I let my eyes travel over his spotless office. “Yes, I will pick it up on my way home.” His words drifted over the top of the chair.

Hmm, did Nigel have a wife? That was harder to believe. I couldn’t picture what kind of woman would fall for him. Maybe someone meek and mousey.

“No, Mother, the couple’s yoga is tomorrow night.”

Ewww!

I’m sorry, but doing couple’s anything with a parent skeeved me out. I had to repress the urge to mimic gagging. My gaze cut to Nate and by the sneer on his upper lip he also struggled with the ick factor.

Nigel’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I got it, Mother. Now, goodbye.”

When the call ended he spun to face us and set the phone back in its original spot. He opened the folder of forms I’d filled out and thumbed through them. After a few minutes, he shut the folder and looked up, giving me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Everything looks in order.”

I sat there, waiting for more, but I guess he was finished talking. “Okay then. What next?”

“You’ll need to get your pass.” Nate looked at Nigel. “As usual, thanks for your help.”

Nigel smoothed his hands down the front of his vest. “You’re welcome, Nate. It’s always a pleasure dealing with employees who stick to protocol.” He looked at me, his gaze almost accusatory. “Welcome to GRS, Mrs. Carron.”

I didn’t know why Nigel disliked me, but the man obviously didn’t approve. Maybe he held with Nate’s belief I’d suck as a reaper. “Thank you,” I said. “Have fun with your mother at yoga.”

His gaze narrowed, as if trying to figure out if I was mocking him. Of course I was. That was my impulse reaction when somebody treated me like something they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe.

I followed Nate to the next office. A large, fortyish, Samoan woman, with skin the color of caramel and eyes the color steel, sat behind a long counter.

“Nate Cramer. Where have you been hiding yourself?” Her greeting was the direct opposite of what we’d received in Nigel’s office. I instantly liked her. “I’ve missed you, Sugar Pie.”

“You know how it is, Rosie, work—work—work.” He walked to the counter and leaned on it. “But I’m back.” He turned, gesturing me forward. “Rosie, this is Lisa Carron.”

Her smile spread, showing off pearly teeth. The skin around her eyes crinkled. “Lisa.” She took my hand. “Welcome. I’m so sorry about your husband.”

“Thank you, Rosie.” Warmth spread through my hand when she clutched it. The sensation sent a wave of calmness through me, giving me the impression there was more to her than just being the office help. I made a mental note to ask Nate about the workers. Sure they were Wannabes, but what made them qualified to work at GRS. “I’m happy to be here.”

She released me and pointed to a blue screen. “Why don’t you stand over there and I’ll immortalize that pretty face of yours on a GRS pass.”

That comment endeared her to me even more and I did as she asked. The thought of having my own access card gave me a little thrill. It had been a long time since I’d been anything other than Jeff’s wife or the kids’ mother. Discovering that reapers really existed overshadowed the fact that I was now gainfully employed.

I let my arms hang at my side. “Should I smile or not smile.”

“You should definitely smile, Sugar.” Rosie wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

I hesitated, once again cursing myself for wearing Jeff’s sweatshirt. “I think I’ll leave it on, if that’s okay.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

A camera was mounted at the end of the counter. She bent and directed the lens at me. “Say
grim reaper
.”

I laughed and she snapped the picture.

“Perfect.” Rosie moved to her computer. “It will be just a minute.” She tapped on the keys. “Nigel has already got your information in the system.”

“We only left his office two minutes ago,” I said.

“That’s our Nigel.” The way Rosie said his name made me think that maybe she had the hots for him.

I tried to imagine the two of them together, but couldn’t quite make that love match. The whirr of a machine behind the counter started. After another minute, Rosie handed me my very own GRS access card. It was still warm from the laminating machine so I held it around the edges and marveled at my picture.

My smiling face beamed back. It was the happiest I’d looked in over a year. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Sugar.”

“All right.” Nate straightened away from the counter. “Rosie, as always you’ve brightened my day.”

“You’re such a sweet talker.” She waved a hand at him, her laughter filling the office. “Lisa, don’t let this silver-tongued devil talk
you
into anything dangerous.”

The mention of danger popped my bubble of joy. The way she had said
you
made me wonder just how many people Nate had coerced into hazardous situations. Had Jeff been one of them? “I sure won’t, Rosie.”

“Come on.” He indicated the door. “On to payroll.”

Money, now that was a subject I could sink my teeth into. It was the only reason I’d taken this job—well that and the niggle of universal obligation. I trailed Nate. “So what kind of pay are we talking about—you know, just a ballpark figure?”

“I’ll let Willow fill you in on all the details.” He stopped at the next door. “She’ll be able to answer any questions you have.”

Willow was a typical Alaskan name. We also had a lot of Ravens, Denalis, and Auroras in the state. More than likely Willow was young with the kind of natural beauty that looked like she’d been skiing over the weekend. I walked into the office and realized I was partially right.

She looked up from her desk and gave us a super model smile. Green, almond-shaped eyes were accentuated by her long red hair, which was pinned up in a messy up-do. If I tried to pull off that hairstyle it would look like I’d been wrestling a chimpanzee all night.

“Good morning.” She stood and held out her hand. “You must be Lisa Carron.”

It appeared everybody at GRS knew about me. I accepted her greeting. “Yes, and you must be Willow.”

She released my hand. “That’s me, or Money Bags as everybody calls me behind my back.”

Nate sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “That’s not what I call you behind your back.” He smiled and folded his hands across his stomach. “Or to your face.”

She lifted a brow at him. “Always a charmer, Nate.”

Though Rosie basically said the same thing, Willow’s tone was not complementary. Obviously these two didn’t get along. I sat.

“I think I can correctly assume that you’ve taken the position here at GRS?” She opened a file lying on her desk but her gaze never left me.

I exhaled. “Against my better judgment, yes, but I need a job.”

Her smile was sweet and understanding. Despite Nate’s problems with Willow, I liked her. “I understand your hesitance, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.” She paused. “I’m sorry about your husband. All this must have come as quite a shock.”

Finally, somebody who understood what I was going through. “Thank you. Yes, I’m still reeling a bit, but I’m glad I found out.”

I really wasn’t. But many times during my life I hadn’t gotten the memo from the big guy upstairs. In order to cope with all the changes I needed to believe there was a higher purpose in me becoming a reaper.

“All right, let’s dive in.” She placed her hands on top of the file. “GRS is set up on a pay scale that takes into account time in service and rank.”

“Rank?” I asked.

“Yes, you will start out as a Deputy or a GR1.” She slid the top sheet of paper toward me and pointed to a graph. “This is the pay to start with. After your six month training period, you’ll move up to a Deputy GR2. This will increase your income $112 per pay period.”

It was difficult to disguise my disappointment over my base pay. The amount would barely be enough to cover our expenses. I nodded and studied the graph, not trusting that my frustration wouldn’t leak out. Instead I looked at Nate. “What are you?”

“Lieutenant GR6.”

I scanned down the table. His pay was impressive, about three thousand dollars more a month than I would be making. “What rank was Jeff?”