The Gravedigger's Son - Darynda Jones Page 0,4

three times how much he owed.

“Are you shopping today?” she asked.

He shook his head again. “Looking into the deaths,” he said.

“Are you Deaf?” she asked, in both English and ASL.

He cringed that she’d picked up on that fact so quickly and sagged in relief at seeing his native language. It was like dying of thirst and finding an oasis in the desert. “Yes,” he both signed and said, making sure his voice was almost too soft for the woman to hear. “But I hear a little.”

It was a lie. He didn’t hear at all. What residual hearing he did have was about as useful as a sledgehammer at a tea party. Rune heard. The demon inside him. And through him, through the parasite who’d taken up residence inside his body, he could hear, as well.

He talked a little, too, though he tried to wiggle out of it every chance he got. Even though he could now speak reasonably well, he could also hear his voice. Again, through Rune, but he could hear it enough to know that it didn’t sound quite right. It was too deep, maybe. And he didn’t pronounce words correctly. He often missed the S sound at the end of plurals, never quite mastered the hard G, and don’t even get him started on the R.

His relationship with Rune was an equally beneficial one. Quentin gave Rune sustenance and safe harbor. Rune gave Quentin the ability to hear and see at great distances. And they both had a profoundly honed sixth sense. They could both feel when a supernatural entity was nearby, which was how Quentin knew they hadn’t missed the demon. Not yet.

“And you’re here about the deaths?” the barista asked him before tugging her apron down to expose her cleavage.

He nodded. “I am. Anything you can tell me?”

“Are you an investigator of some kind? I mean, you don’t look like a cop.”

“I’m not a cop. I was hired by the family member of one of the victims.” He’d told the lie so many times, he almost believed it.

“Really?” She leaned over the counter. “Which one?” Her signing wasn’t bad. A little elementary, but he was impressed that she even tried. So few did.

“Sorry, that’s confidential.”

“Oh, of course.” She turned to the side and looked out the window. “Three deaths in three days. That just doesn’t happen here, you know?”

He could no longer see her mouth well, and discomfort prickled along his spine. Even with Rune’s hearing, and her attempt at signing, he would rather see her face.

“Do you know how they were connected?”

She turned back to him, and he relaxed. “They weren’t related, if that’s what you mean. Mrs. Rodriguez had lived here forever. She drove a school bus. Even though they think she may have had a heart attack before she fell down the stairs, there was definitely something suspicious about her death.”

“How do you know?”

She spread her hands before answering. “The cops have to get coffee somewhere, and we’re the only coffee joint in town.”

Joint. She said “joint” and did the sign for smoking pot. He laughed softly. “And the other two?”

“I know, right? Billy Tibbets was a glassblower. The only one in town. Took after his dad. So, he died first.” She ticked the deaths off on her fingers. “His car shifted out of park while he was checking his mail.” She shivered. “The second one, Angela Morrisey, was electrocuted in her bathtub when her space heater fell in.” She eased closer. “What the hell? I mean, these houses are old, but damn. That is so against code, right?”

“It is.” And no one in their right mind would prop a space heater over their tub.

“Exactly,” Rune said. “But why these three people?” Fortunately, no one but Quentin could hear the creature.

“That’s what we need to find out,” Quentin replied.

When Rune first began speaking to him, Quentin worried that everyone would be able to hear him. They could not. Then he worried he was crazy. What was that saying? The jury is still out?

“Well, I’m Sarah,” the woman said, giving him her sign name, an S on her right cheek. She held out her hand.

Quentin took it for a quick shake. “I’m Quentin.” He didn’t offer his sign name. It wasn’t normally done in his culture until you got to know a person better. An amateur mistake, but he still appreciated the effort.

“And I guess I should do my job,” she said with a schoolgirl giggle that belied her age. “Can I get