Gatekeeper

By Natasha Deen

Short-listed for the Alberta Readers' Choice Awards

A month after solving her first murder (and almost getting killed in the process), Maggie Johnson and her soul brother Serge Popov are hoping for some peace and quiet to figure out...well, everything. But the dead wait for no one. Especially a dead guy like Kent Thomas. He was every parent's dream, the kind of good kid who excelled at school, and never caused trouble. And he was the kind of guy all the guys liked. Add in a hot factor that made him every girl's fantasy, and he was the least likely person to be murdered. So who tossed him off a cliff?

Maggie's determined to find the killer but if she's not careful, she'll end up just like the soul she's trying to save.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yellow Dog
• Release date: Jan 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781927855430

Natasha Deen

Natasha Deen loves stories: exciting ones, scary ones and, especially, funny ones! As a kid of two countries (Guyana and Canada), she feels extra lucky because she gets a double dose of stories. Natasha is the author of many books including the Lark Ba Detective series in the Orca Echoes line, Depth of Field in the Orca Soundings line and In the Key of Nira Ghani which won the Amy Mathers Book Award and was nominated for the Red Maple, MYRCA and R. Ross Arnett Awards. Natasha lives in Edmonton.

Book preview

Nazra

Chapter One

Someone was pounding at the front door at 10:30 PM , and common sense said not to answer. Then again, I see the dead, live with a ghost, and was dating a supernatural being who transported souls. Common sense may have been in my neighbourhood, but it wasn’t on any street I lived. I opened my bedroom door, looking for Serge, my ghostly roommate and soul brother. He was already in the hallway, the overhead lights highlighting his blond hair and freckles.

Go see who it is, I told him.

His blue eyes went wide. You want me to answer the door? You think someone seeing a door seeming to open on its own isn’t going to freak them out?

"No, I want you to go through the door and see who’s on the other side."

He rubbed his stomach and wrinkled his grey shirt. What if it’s someone bad?

Boo-boo, you’re a ghost. No one can see you.

Still scared. You do it.

How can you possibly—oh. I sighed. You’re messing with me.

He grinned.

I’d been living with Serge for about a month, and his smile still surprised me. In life, I’d hardly seen it. In life, he’d usually treated me to a smirk and an up-close view of his middle finger.

It’s ten-thirty and some nutter is banging down the door. You really think I’m going to let you go near it?

This was saying something. Serge and I hadn’t been friends when he’d been alive. And had he still been breathing, he would’ve been far more likely to toss me into the path of whoever was on the other side of the door than to help me. His death had changed both of us, and though I mourned the things he’d never get to do—have kids, buy a house—I knew his dying had brought him the one thing he’d never had been able to find in life. Peace.

It can’t be anyone super evil, I said as I headed down the stairs and toward the door. Buddha’s on my bed.

I saw him run from a mouse during our walk last week. He’s probably under your bed right now. Serge pushed past me, took the lead.

I saw that mouse too, and I think it had Hantavirus. Buddha was just being prudent.

Serge shot me a pitying look from over his shoulder. We hit the bottom of the stairs. The carpet muted the sounds of our footsteps as we crossed the small expanse that would take us to the steps that led to the front door.

The linoleum at the foyer was cold on my feet and I wished I’d worn thicker socks. I pulled my ratty bathrobe closer to block the tendrils of winter air creeping through the cracks of the door.

Serge peered through the peephole. I can’t see who it is. He winced as another round of banging rocked the frame. I think it might be the hulk, and he’s hungry.

Go through the door. I dropped my voice so whoever was on the other side wouldn’t hear me. Though with the noise they were making, I doubted they would hear a sonic boom.

Okay. Serge hitched his flannel bottoms, pushed back his shoulders, took a breath and went through the door. At least, he tried. His head smacked the wood.

I swallowed my smile.

Not a word, he said, refusing to look at me. Not one word. He took another breath, closed his eyes, then lifted his hands into the air. After a moment, he wiggled his fingers.

I rubbed the frown from my forehead. We don’t have time for your holy-roller impression.

Serge kept his eyes closed. Are you dead?

No, but I feel like you’re killing me.

Until you have expertise on how to manipulate solid matter with ectoplasm or whatever goo I’m now made of, shut up. I’ve been dead for a month, and this is what works for me.

I sighed.

And stop with the mouth breathing.

The banging continued from the other side as Serge slowly pushed his fingers into the wood. When that worked, he followed with his head. A few seconds later, he pulled himself back into the foyer.

So? Who is it?

It’s the lady, y’know…

Which lady?

The one with the great boobs.

I sighed. Boys. Dead or alive, they were all the same. Can you give me something else?

If you were a guy, I wouldn’t need to tell you anything else.

If you were a girl, I’d—never mind. I pushed him out of the way. She’s safe?

He nodded.

I flipped on the outside light, unbolted the door, opened it, and ignored the blast of icy air that shot through me. Mrs.— Great. Thanks to Serge, I’d totally forgotten her name. Double thanks to Serge, I was also having a hard time not staring at her chest...and being mortally jealous. I’m so flat, I’m concave.

Maggie, thank God! I didn’t think you’d answer. She came inside, shoved me sideways, and left the scent of expensive lotion in her wake.

I closed the door and shut out the dark night.

Is Sheriff Machio around? It’s an emergency.

No, I’m sorry. Nancy and Dad went to the city for dinner and a movie. They won’t be back for a while. Maybe midnight—My brain kicked back into gear—Mrs. Pierson.

That will be too late! Her sharp words and sharper tone made me step back.

Rori’s missing. I went to check on her, but her room’s empty and— Hysteria and panic pitched her voice thin and high. The smell of a mom whose love for her daughter was so strong came through her pores, scented the air with its psychic perfume of cinnamon and vanilla.

For a second, I wondered if my mother had ever smelled like that. I’d never get the answer to that question, and now wasn’t the time to brood over the woman who’d abandoned me at birth. I focused on Mrs. Pierson and the fear that bleached the colour from her skin. Holding to calm instead of connecting with her panic, I asked, Isn’t there a deputy at the office?

I called, but it’s Frank.

Cripes. That guy couldn’t find the sky with a compass and a Sherpa. But you did tell him about Rori, right?

Paul—

Her husband.

—was talking to him when I left. She turned frightened eyes to me. I thought if Nancy was here—I know she’d find Rori—. The reality of the situation hit and she started to cry.

I did the only thing I could. I hugged her.

Serge stood to the side, looking as helpless as I felt.

Oh, God. Nancy’s not here. She leaned into me for a minute, then pulled away. Mrs. Pierson pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Maggie, my little girl is out there and lost. She squeezed her eyes shut as though that could stop the tears, but they gushed out in a steady, thick stream. I just want her back so badly, she whispered.

Around her, the air stretched and flickered.

I took a small step back.

The vague outline of a body began to form. Sketchy, grey, no details, but the size and shape definitely made it a kid. The fact that it was appearing beside Mrs. Pierson made it her kid.

Serge and I looked at each other.

Her daughter wasn’t missing anymore. We’d found her. But then again, we always find the dead.

Chapter Two

Iasked Mrs. Pierson to wait, told her I wanted to get dressed, then I would go back and help her look for Rori. While she telephoned her husband to get an update, I ran up the steps, then shut my bedroom door.

Use my phone, I told Serge. Text Craig.

Shouldn’t we text Hank and Nancy?

I shook my head. I don’t want to think of either of them getting that message. Dad will push the minivan to the extreme to get home, and that thing’s older than God. It’ll disintegrate on the road.

Just text Craig. If anyone was going to be helpful, it was Craig. After all, he transported the dead. If he didn’t know how to lend aid, no one would.

I’m not an expert at that. Remember what happened the last time I tried to use your electronics?

Yeah, you sent an email to your father, and since it was from my email address, I got pulled into the police station and almost charged with slander.

Libel, he corrected me. Slander is speech, libel is text.

Patience is me talking to you. I stayed focused on the conversation with Serge because I didn’t want to think about Rori and having to tell her mom she’d never see her daughter grow up.

Problem was, the longer I stayed in the room, the more I wanted to stay in here. Nothing brings out my yellow stripes like a dead kid. But cowardice couldn’t win. I reminded myself that Rori deserved a proper funeral and Mrs. Pierson deserved to know where her baby’s body was. It’ll save me time if you text him. We need to get this thing with Rori over and done with. I winced at how callous it sounded. You know what I mean.

He nodded. I’ll try.

I grabbed my jeans and an old football sweater of Dad’s, and took a quick sniff. It still smelled of laundry detergent and fabric softener. Good. I raced into the bathroom to change. The hoodie was over my head when I heard, Oops.

I froze. Dare I ask?

Ignorance is bliss.

Try again. And try not to get me arrested this time. I pulled on the rest of my clothes, then hopped out of the bathroom as I put on a pair of socks.

It’s all done, he said. And I texted Nell.

Why?

She’ll kill both of us if I don’t tell her. I’m not ready to re-die. The cell binged twice. They’re both on their way.

Before I could say anything, Craig materialized in my room.

Serge grinned. You gotta teach me how to materialize wherever I want.

No. I put my hand up in a stop gesture. No one’s teaching Serge more peeping Tom tricks. The guy’s already an expert. He doesn’t need to be a savant.

I had a freaked out mom and a dead kid, and neither of those two things were enough to shut off the rush of hormones and heart when I saw Craig. Brown hair, brown eyes, long legs. But he was more than eye candy. He was like heart fibre. A guy who knew my Big Secret, which meant around him, I could totally be myself.

Craig gave me a tight hug and a quick kiss.

I gave myself a breath to enjoy the warmth and solid strength of him.

What’s going on? he asked. The text said something about an emergency situation. His mouth went to the side. "Actually, it said eked gentry sofia, but I’m guessing that was an autocorrect fail…unless you’re suffering some kind of brain clot and that was your way of calling for help."

That was Serge.

Give me a break, said the ghost. You try not having solid mass and texting during an emergency.

I’m just messing with you, said Craig. The text came through perfectly. So what’s going on?

Some stuff’s up with the blond lady with the great boobs, said Serge.

Loni Pierson? asked Craig. He caught the expression on my face. What?

Seriously, his only description is ‘great boobs’ and you know it’s Mrs. Pierson?

Craig grinned. What can I say? Being ten thousand years old gives a guy a lot of time to learn how to appreciate the female form.

Wow. Boys. Quickly, I gave Craig the rundown. Missing kid. Hysterical mother. Kid’s ghostly form appearing beside mommy. But the weird thing is how she’s materializing. She’s not all formed.

He stepped back. Define ‘not all formed.’

You could see the outline but no details, said Serge, and it’s all …like those old TVs when they can’t get reception. Not staticky, but squiggly.

Craig went still. Is there any colour to her?

No, it’s like pencil smeared on paper.

What kind of ghost is she? I asked. I’d dealt with poltergeists, lost souls, angry ghosts. I figured Rori was too little to be any of those. Then again, she was a six-year-old, which made her an expert at pulling tantrums.

Craig tossed my phone at me. Start texting as many people as you know. See who’s awake and can help.

I caught the phone. Help with what? The only people who see the dead in this town are standing in this room.

That’s just it, said Craig. She’s not dead. And if we find her in time, she won’t have to be.

Not dead!

Not dead, he repeated, his head down, his fingers working the keyboard. But she’s close.

Can’t you ferrier her?

Mags, he said, talk and text. Please.

I tossed the phone on the bed and nodded at Serge. We already texted Nell, I said. She knows everyone. I turned back to Craig. Why can’t you use your supernatural abilities?

Because it doesn’t work that way. I’m just a ferrier.

There was no just about his job as a ghost transporter. In their natural state, ferriers were gigantic, with scales, wings, horns, serpentine tails, and hooves. They captured escaped souls—the bad guys were the only ones who attempted escape from the afterlife—and brought them back. But ferriers were also there at death and transported the dead from this plane to the next. Sometimes they were reborn, sometimes they stayed, sometimes…other things happened. I closed my mind to memories of Serge’s parents.

I only get the information on the souls I transport across the bridge... Rori’s not my charge; I can’t see anything to do with her. He stopped texting and made eye contact. Although...ferriers are attracted to each other. If one’s here to get her, I should be able to see them.

If one was here in Dead Falls, I would be able to see it, too. That gave me hope—all I had to do was look for an enormous creature flying over the town. I’d look like a dork, driving with my head out the window and my gaze on the sky, but if it saved a life, I was okay with that.

He frowned. It’s a slim chance. We usually only come at the point of death.

And there went my hope.

"Still, if I find the ferrier, I’ll let you know. And if I find Rori, I’ll definitely let you know. In the meantime, let’s start looking." He shoved his phone into his pocket, gave me a quick kiss, and disappeared.

I turned to Serge. Wait here for Nell then— The doorbell rang. Never mind. Sounds like she’s here.

I ran down the stairs and opened the door. Usually, Nell looked like she’d fallen off the cover of a fashion magazine. Tonight, her curly hair stood out like she’d been electrocuted, and she wore no makeup. She’d left her wool jacket unbuttoned and it showed she’d pulled on a sweater over her pajamas. Serge— She caught sight of Mrs. Pierson and swallowed her words. Rori’s missing?

Nell! Mrs. Pierson moved forward.

I stepped back so Nell could have room to hug the woman.

Mrs. P, I’m so sorry, she said. This isn’t like Rori at all.

I know, I’m just devastated. She’s all I have and—

It’s okay. Nell smiled at her. We’re here and we’ll help.

I jumped in. I’m going to go with Mrs. Pierson. You—I subtly jerked my head in Serge’s direction—take your car. I pulled Nell into a quick hug. Thanks. And you have never looked hotter.

She gave me a soft punch to the stomach.

Let’s go. I locked the door behind me and ran down the stone path to Mrs. Pierson’s Mercedes.

I climbed into a car that still had its new car smell and leather seats soft enough to compete with churned butter. As I buckled up, Mrs. Pierson climbed in and gunned the engine.

Mrs. Pierson, shouldn’t you put on your seat belt—

But she was already peeling out of the driveway. The car rocked to a stop as she shoved it from reverse into drive, then rocketed forward as she floored the accelerator.

I glanced behind the driver’s seat, where the shadow of Rori lingered. It hadn’t changed texture or colour, but I didn’t know how long it took for a child to die of hypothermia.

This is Paul’s fault, Mrs. Pierson said as the car gained speed. Him and his obsessions.

Her tone suggested she was talking more to herself than me. I was happy to stay quiet and keep my attention on the sky for a winged creature, lights, or anything else that would give us a clue where Rori was.

I’m sorry the boy is dead—

I jerked my attention from the window to her.

—and I’m sorry about what happened to the Popov family—

Okay, she was talking about Serge.

—but Paul’s been obsessed with it. With the kid. Let him rest. What’s to be gained by brooding on what wasn’t done to help him?

Probably the chance to make sure no kid ever had to live in the hell on earth that Serge had, but I didn’t say that.

Paul’s missing dinners, Rori’s parent-teacher interviews, the fall assembly, bath time, bedtime story. He misses so many things, already. I’m not saying he shouldn’t be volunteering at the distress lines— She took a breath, tightened her grip on the steering wheel. I get it, I do. We moved from Vancouver so Rori would have a small-town life and we land in the middle of a family scandal that’s got the media frothing. But how is that a reason to bail on your family? To forget about your daughter because you’re caught up in some privileged middle-class mid-life crisis— Her breath hissed with frustration and resentment.

So that was the gist of the argument. How much time he was—or wasn’t—spending with his family. And Rori, being a kid, blamed herself for her parents’ fighting. What I didn’t get was Rori running away. Nell babysat her, and from everything I’d heard she was a really good kid. Sweet. Shy. Not the kind to take off from her house in the middle of the night.

I tried to think like Nancy and come up with good cop questions that would help us find Rori. When did you notice she was missing?

She went to bed at eight. I went on the deck, trying to get some air. Paul followed. She took a breath. God, I’m so tired of fighting with him. We started arguing—

I figured she was gearing up for another round of husband bashing, but I didn’t have time for that. And Rori. When did you notice she was gone?

I went to check on her around nine-forty-five and realized she wasn’t in bed. Her voice went tight with fear.

Mrs. Pierson, where did you look for Rori?

Everywhere, she said.

Adults. The most unhelpful group in the world. Where is everywhere?

The house, the yard. Paul started down the block, I phoned Frank. She gulped for breath. Then I came to you.

The speedometer ticked higher. I stopped talking, started concentrating on staying alive. I’ve never been the kind to pray, but I found myself wishing, hoping, and praying that no one else was on the road. The streets had a skiff of ice and frost and Mrs. Pierson’s driving had us sliding on the road top. I didn’t want to add to the body count—and especially, I didn’t want to add my body to the count.

A few minutes later, we swung onto her street. Mrs. Pierson was a stay-at-home mom. Her husband’s practice wasn’t gigantic, but he was a doctor with a miraculous talent for investment banking, which explained the gigantic house and the four-car garage in the acreages of Woods Way. The family home bordered an undeveloped tract of forest and field, which equalled a lot of land for a little kid to get lost in.

I stepped out of the car and into the red and blue glow of the flashing police lights. Whatever criticism Mrs. Pierson had about her husband, he’d rallied the town. Calls for Rori sounded down the road and the beams of light from phones and flashlights bobbed in the cold night.

I left Mrs. Pierson to find her husband and headed to the house. As I walked up the driveway, a pair of headlights swung my way and put me in their spotlight. I moved toward the car as Nell cut the engine and got out. The interior lit up, showed Serge unbuckling his seat belt and climbing from the passenger side. I didn’t blame him. Dead or not, I’d buckle up if Nell was driving.

Any luck? She jogged up to me.

We just got here. Nell, this doesn’t make sense. From everything you’ve said Rori’s not a runaway kind of kid.

No, but she’s not good with noise or fighting, either. Her favourite TV channel is the one where they just show different pictures from around the world.

In other words, her parents screaming at each other would have her looking for refuge. And all these people roaming around, yelling her name, is more likely to scare her—

Than make her realize they’re here to help. No one was near us, but Nell came up close. Serge said she may still be alive?

Yes, but who knows for how long that’ll last— I stopped, looked up as I heard the beating of wings. A ferrier flew above us, his speed slow and steady.

What? Nell lifted her head to match my gaze.

Craig, looking for Rori.

She squinted into the dark, but Serge and I were the only ones in town who could see him.

Help me out. I’m a super-shy six-year-old who wouldn’t take off from home, but I’ve run outside because I can’t stand my parents fighting.

They would’ve—should’ve—heard the door beep, said Nell. The alarm system is set up to make a sound every time a door or window opens.

"Unless the door was