mean there can’t also be living-dead zombies.”
The nurse shook her head. “In any case, Vodoun priestesses don’t create zombies, Vodoun bokors do, and I’ve never heard of a bokor in the area. Not that they advertise.”
“How do you know the priestess isn’t also a bokor in secret?” demanded Lorenzo.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Oh please! How do I know you aren’t one yourself?”
Jo was risking a stiff neck, looking from one to the other. “I’m having trouble believing this and you two are arguing it?”
“You could just go home,” suggested the P.I. immediately, then grinned. He still looked almost handsome when he grinned, even when he was being an ass. “And sing.”
Ashley squinted at him. “Sing?”
“Inside joke,” explained Jo. “And no, I’m not going home, so stop trying to make me.”
“I’m not working with you if you’re gonna freak out.”
“I’m not even close to freaking, I’m just…disoriented.” Jo took another sip of the coffee. The instant stuff wasn’t good, but it had the benefit of at least being coffee. “This isn’t the sort of thing you expect normal people to discuss over drinks.”
“What isn’t?” Lorenzo held her gaze, daring her.
She lifted her chin. “Real magic. The walking dead.”
There. She’d said it. No qualifiers. No hesitation.
Neither he nor Ashley so much as gave her a strange look. Ashley appeared concerned, sure—the walking dead should concern a person—but all she said was, “I’d be more suspicious of a certain Santero who’s rumored to live a couple of hours out of town. He might be into big magic.”
Lorenzo held Jo’s gaze a moment longer, almost approving. It eased something that seemed stuck inside of her—for a moment, anyway. Why did Ashley think he wasn’t married?
The P.I. turned back to the nurse. “If it looks like a duck and smells like a duck and quacks like a duck, at least let me interview a few ducks. Call me crazy, but when I think zombie, I think voodoo.”
Jo and Ashley both obediently said, “You’re crazy.”
He closed his eyes and sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face in exasperation. It was his left hand, complete with wedding band. Jo noticed Ashley notice her noticing.
Not married, the nurse mouthed. Then, Ask him.
Jo shook her head. Yes, she wanted to stop feeling guilty about watching Lorenzo’s wrists—or at least enjoying it. But to ask about his marital status would show interest. She refused to be interested.
She’d just barely joined the living, again. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to think about dating them.
Not that she dated the dead.
No, she mouthed firmly back at Ashley. You ask.
She didn’t expect the nurse to say, “So, Mr. Lorenzo, why do you wear a wedding ring if you aren’t married?”
Jo especially regretted it when the P.I. stiffened, then leveled a look of pure annoyance at her friend. “To fend off nosy broads like the two of you?” he suggested. “Now, can you give me some phone numbers for these magic users we’ve been talking about, or am I wasting my time here?”
Ashley made a face as if to say, touchy! Jo, uncomfortable to have been lumped into the nosy broad category, wasn’t sure she agreed. Life was easier when people minded their own business.
“Just the ones you think will be okay with us visiting,” Jo suggested, more politely. “If there are any you’re unsure about, feel free to contact them first, to clear it with them.”
“You’ll go along and make sure this guy doesn’t turn the entire occult community against us, right?” Ashley walked to one of the filing cabinets that held up the break room’s sidebar. “Because it’s bad enough when the mundanes are ticked off.”
“I promise,” said Jo.
“Us again.” Lorenzo sighed. “Great.”
“So are you two best friends or something?” asked Zack, reaching the Ferrari a step ahead of Jo. Her hand collided with his as they reached to open her door.
She didn’t pull back, just met and held his gaze. Stubborn.
He let go first and she opened her own door. Did nobody outside of Little Italy learn how to be a gentleman, anymore? Or did the women in Texas just no longer appreciate it?
“To tell you the truth, Mr. Lorenzo,” said the sheriff after he got in on his side, “I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“Zack,” he corrected, bringing the sports car to life with a twist of his fingers. “Now the ice queen, I could understand. Not that you’re the pink of perfection, but compared to that one…”
“And you’re such a judge of congeniality?” But at least she came close to smiling. He liked that expression better than that worried look she’d been wearing in the clinic.
Not that it was any of his business whether Josephine James worried or not. Or whether she had friends. Or whether she, like Nurse Vanderveer, gave a rat’s ass about his marital status.
“Look, when I mentioned I wasn’t married the other day, it was no big deal. At least she didn’t go fishing with stupid comments about what my wife thinks, or where she is.” That had annoyed him even before Gabriella’s death; did a wedding ring mean nothing anymore? “But this time, that was just nosy.”
He turned a corner onto the old highway, in the direction Jo indicated.
“She could be my friend,” cautioned Jo, lest he criticize the ice queen too heavily. “If I start making friends again.”
He almost asked, Why wouldn’t you?
Luckily he caught himself. Taking care of her wasn’t his job, even if he did like her better than Mzzz. Vanderveer. And he did; unpainted nails, uneven tan and all. Jo James was solid, and real—and a distraction.
“All I’m saying is, you might want to aim a little higher for companionship.”
“I didn’t ask you,” she reminded him, stubborn.
“Your loss.”
“I’ll survive.”
He grinned and continued to drive toward the first address on Ashley Vanderveer’s short list. This lady, she’d claimed, was a Bruja who would talk to anybody who came by.
Even, Jo had teased, him. Which Zack kind of liked. The sheriff was a lot safer to deal with on an antagonistic level. If he didn’t glance over at her, he could almost pretend she was one of the guys. And if she was one of the guys, he wouldn’t have to worry about her.
