CONSPIRATORS

Donna sat at the kitchen table with her brother, Marvin, who was doing their accounts on a laptop.

“He won by a landslide, again.” Marvin pushed silver specs up on his nose. He was tall and broad-shouldered in a white polo, accessorized by a pencil over his ear.

Donna shrugged. “People like Mayor Thornton. He never does anything.” From her bag, she extracted a mirror, and a crimson lipstick which she applied precisely. “Things will change when we’re in charge.” She shut the mirror with a snap.

“Between his Trad cronies and gray power, the Mundanes might as well be running the town.” Marvin ran a hand through his brush cut, knocking the pencil to the kitchen floor. “He’s approved another nursing home. Doesn’t he understand what that does to us?”

“Our day’s coming.”

A man strode in, Paul Bunyan with a cell phone. He waved it at his siblings. “Have you seen the election results?”

“Where have you been?” Donna stood, hands on hips. “Marvin’s been redoing our projections for hours.”

Junior slammed his brother’s laptop shut. “You can’t fix this with accounting. Time to think big.”

“Please, expand our little minds.” Donna rolled her eyes at Marvin who reopened his computer and resumed typing.

“Len’s coming.” Junior glared at Marta. “Play nice.”

Without lifting his eyes from his spreadsheet, Marvin said, “You can’t trust him.”

“At least he doesn’t sit on his ass while the Trads run things.” Junior dropped into a chair next to his brother, his comic book muscles straining to escape his red checked shirt. “He’s a Mod, and he’s got Waldock.”

“You’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of asking for Waldock’s help? Oh wait, maybe because he’s dead.” Marvin shook his head.

Junior stood to face Donna. “What about you? Will you help Len?”

“That depends on what he’s offering.”

“Waldock, in total control.”

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“I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said.

“But he needs your support . . .”

Donna palm-blocked Junior and returned to helping Marvin with the accounts.

When Junior tried to object, she turned her back on him. Pouting, he went to stand behind the kitchen counter and started drumming his hands on the marble surface. Next, he picked up a pair of spoons and drummed louder. Marvin kept typing. Junior walked over and tried to catch his brother’s eye. Marvin didn’t look up. Donna smirked but kept her eyes on the laptop as well. Junior cleared his throat to no avail, then pulled out his phone and started playing a game.

There was a knock at the door and it swung open. A chill breeze reached the kitchen. Limping steps sounded in the hall which Donna strode to intercept.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” She brought Len into the open-concept living room adjacent to the kitchen.

“You mean because I’m not dead?” Len lowered himself into a leather chair. His knees wound up higher than his waist, the drape of his loose pants clinging to his skeletal leg. Cancerous growths marred his white-stubbled chin. Against a black leather jacket, his face looked ghostly.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Donna.

“Ginger ale.”

“Sorry. Coffee?”

“My stomach can’t take the hard stuff anymore. Tea.”

Donna looked up at Junior, standing behind the counter. “You making the tea?”

Junior shook his head.

She strode into the kitchen. “Then shoo!”

Len appeared to shrink as Junior sat next to him on the couch.

“Why are you here?” Marvin hadn’t moved from the kitchen table. “We’re busy.”

Len sighed. “Jack knew things would end in a showdown. As Helen got weaker, she couldn’t control him, but the hag wouldn’t admit defeat. When she realized she was dying, she was desperate to kill him first.”

Junior caressed the knuckles of his left fist. “She won.”

“No, we have. I know how to eliminate her, once and for all.” The lids drooped over Len’s rheumy eyes. “But my strength is failing too.”

Marvin’s chair scraped as he got to his feet. “I don’t understand. You want to kill Helen for revenge?”

“Better. Jack expected her to kill him, so he made a backup plan.”

“Which obviously didn’t work,” said Marvin.

“A plan to bring himself back.” Len showed his teeth.

“That’s Waldock for you, too tough to take death lying down.” Junior knocked his fists together.

Donna crossed her arms. “You’re lying.”

“He figured out a way to manipulate gravedigger fungus.”

Junior quirked his head. “What?”

“An underground fungus that grows into the neural pathways of the dead.”

“The nurr—huh?”

“Junior’s taken a lot of headshots,” said Donna. “Let me translate.” She turned to Junior.

“You know, those gray mushrooms that sometimes come up in graveyards.”

Junior made a face. “I hate those things, whispering at you and creeping you out.”

“To protect burial sites,” said Len.

“I don’t see the connection,” said Donna. “They’re harmless—and rare.”

“Tell me about it.”

Junior shrugged shoulders like mountains in an earthquake. “So, Gravediggers make people hear creepy voices in cemeteries. That’s not exactly a weapon.”

When Len showed his teeth this time it was almost a smile. “That was before Jack Waldock.”