Page 37 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

“No. You were dead.” I pasted a bright, determined smile on my face and headed for the side of the graveyard where less ornate gravestones made it obvious the graves were newer. Nineteen years dead wasn’t Victorian times. “We’ll find it. How hard can it be?”

After thirty minutes of reading names off gravestones and none of them being the right one, I had my answer. Pretty damn hard. We could keep at this for a couple more hours and still not find it. By that time, it would be getting dark. And while I wasn’t scared of finding myself in a graveyard after sunset, it wasn’t on my wish list.

“I’m sorry,” Baxter said quietly. “This was a stupid idea.”

“It wasn’t. We’re just not going about this the right way.”

Baxter sighed. “I don’t know much about cemeteries.”

“Neither do I. But I know someone who does.” I didn’t add that calling him only a couple of days after rejecting him would be excruciatingly awkward. If I were lucky, he wouldn’t pick up.

Of course, Sod’s Law being in full effect meant Glenn answered on the first ring. The way he said my name gave zero clues about how he felt about finding me on the other end of the phone.

“I have a question about graveyards,” I said apologetically. “And I couldn’t think of anyone else who might know the answer.”

“For a book?”

“Something like that.”

Baxter drifted away, studying headstones with exaggerated interest. I detailed the problem I faced in as few words as possible, doing my best to make it sound theoretical rather than that I currently stood in the middle of a cemetery while the clouds decided if they were going to hang onto the rain or let rip.

“Graveyards have databases,” Glenn explained. “The plot numbers appear on a map.” Are you at a computer?”

“No. I’m… No.”

“I am. I tell you what. Give me the name of the cemetery, the full name and date of death of who you’re looking for, and I’ll see what I can do.”

The pause once I’d relayed the information stretched. “Problem?” I asked.

“I’m confused,” Glenn said. “One minute you’re telling me you’re seeing a Baxter, and now you’re looking for the gravestone of someone with the same name. And it’s not that common a name.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I’m getting that about you.” A tapping of keys followed.

Baxter had moved on to another gravestone, giving it the same focus as the previous one. He was far more composed today than he’d been at the car park, which either meant he was hiding his feelings better, or that he didn’t find visiting his own grave as traumatic as the scene of his murder.

“Found it,” Glenn announced with some pride. “Plot three hundred and twelve. I’m sending a map to your phone.”

The photo came through within a minute, scrutiny revealing we were searching the wrong area.

“Thanks,” I told Glenn. “I owe you.” I ended the call soon after, Baxter shooting me a quizzical look when I joined him.

“How did your second date go?” he asked mildly. “I forgot to ask.”

I waved his question away. “Later.”

He nodded, and we crossed the cemetery in silence. I stopped once we got close. “It should be that one,” I said, pointing. It took a few seconds to realize my last few steps had been solo, Baxter having frozen in place.

A man stood at the grave.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

Baxter’s nod was stiff, the color having drained from his face. “That’s Jamie. My boyfriend when I died.”