One Foot in the Grave (The Mortician’s Daughter #1) by C.C. Hunter

Author:C.C. Hunter [Hunter, C.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, ghost, loss, Family, Death, Mystery, Romance, teen
Publisher: BookEnds
Published: 2017-10-30T23:00:00+00:00

• • •

Dad’s not in the living room or the kitchen when I go downstairs the next morning. I look at the clock. I’m running late, which means he’s really running late. Considering he might have already left, I check to see if his car is in the driveway. It’s there. Parked. And I get an ugly knot in my stomach.

It’s happening again.

I knock on his door. “Dad? You up?”

He says something, words I can’t make out, and I try to convince myself this means nothing. Everyone’s allowed to sleep late once or twice, right? Moving into the kitchen, I pour some cereal. I sit at the table, pulling pink marshmallows out of my bowl, and dropping them at my feet for Pumpkin. Several times I look at the door, waiting for him to rush out.

I try to figure out what I’m going to say to him. But I can hardly think. That ugly knot gets heavier.

Exhaustion pulls at my mind. Last night I tossed and turned while I considered Hayden’s plan of getting Evil Bill arrested and getting Abby’s ring back to her family. I don’t particularly like the idea, but I don’t have a better one, so I’m going for it.

It’s going to require writing three more fake letters, and lying three more times. One of those lies will be to the police.

But that’s not the hardest part. More difficult than lying is getting the truth. The whole truth. I’m going to have to get Abby to talk to me. Give me the terrible details about what really happened. I’m going to need to include enough of those facts in my letter to make my lie believable.

Sitting there, staring at my bowl with dry cereal, I realize it’s been over five minutes and I don’t hear Dad showering. I shoot up from my chair.

This time I literally bang my fist on his door.

“Dad, you have to go to work!”

“I’m up,” he calls out, and I hear him moving around this time. I don’t leave the door until I hear the shower start.

Ten minutes later, when he steps out, his hair isn’t combed. His eyes look bloodshot. I feel like my ribs are closing in and strangling my heart.

“Dad? What’s going on?” Saying those words scratches my throat.

“Couldn’t sleep last night. I gotta run, Hon.” He squeezes my shoulder and heads for the door.

What the hell am I going to do?

When I hear the door shut behind him, anger boils inside me. I sling my spoon across the kitchen. It clatters against the cabinet. It clanks against the floor, probably chipping the tile. But I’m more worried about the chip in my heart. Worried what we’ll do if he loses this job. Worried about losing my dad.

I jump up and storm into his room. The bed isn’t neat like it was before. Blankets are scattered. His suit from yesterday is thrown on the floor. I do another search, and like before, I find nothing.

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