First Grave on the Right (Charley Davidson, #1)

by Darynda Jones

Better to see dead than be dead. —CHARLOTTE JEAN DAVIDSON, GRIM REAPER

So many dead people, so little time. —CHARLOTTE JEAN DAVIDSON

“You called me at four thirty-four,” I said, swiping at his hand. “I hate four thirty-four. I think four thirty-four should be banned and replaced with something more reasonable, like, say, nine twelve.”

“Okay, fine, if I’m dead, how am I talking to you? And why are you so sparkly?” “It’s a long story. Just trust me, mister, you’re dead.”

“Nobody appreciates my inability to appreciate their situation.

Never knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. —

There’s a certain responsibility that comes with having a name like Charley Davidson. It brooks no opposition. It takes shit from no one. And it lends a sense of familiarity when I meet clients. They feel like they know me already. Sort of like if my name were Martha Washington or Ted Bundy.

“We all have a certain knowledge about how the universe works. And when someone comes along and challenges that knowledge, we don’t know how to deal with it. We aren’t hardwired that way. It’s difficult to question everything you’ve ever thought to be true. So, like I said, it’s not your fault. You can believe me or not, but whichever you choose, you’re the one who has to deal with the consequences. So make your decision wisely, grasshopper,”

Flirting like a vixen in heat then pulling the emergency brake in such a way that the mark felt like I’d just slapped him took skill. And naturally, a man like Herschel would take great offense to being led on. Throw in a few insults about small penises and a degrading giggle or two, and the fists start flying.

That’d been happening a lot lately. Dark blurs in my periphery. I figured either Superman died and was swooshing around the country at the speed of light—because dead people don’t move that fast; they appear out of nowhere and disappear the same way—or I was having lots of those little ministrokes that would someday lead to massive and devastating cerebral hemorrhaging.

I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.

“The crap where you look at me like I have all the answers to every question in the known universe. I don’t. I can’t see into the future. I can’t read your past. I damn sure can’t read your palm, whatever the hell that’s about. I can’

“Dude,” I said, leaning over the desk, “I’m about as psychic as a carrot.”

“I’m a … I’m kind of a … I’m sort of like a … well, damn.” I gritted my teeth and just blurted it out: “I’m a grim reaper. Well, the grim reaper, actually.”

If he was dead, how was he so … hot? Like literally hot? Then again, if he was alive, how was he incorporeal? How did he move so fast? How did he switch from one molecular state to another? I’d never seen anything like it.

Genius has its limitations. Insanity … not so much. —BUMPER STICKER

“My fore-parts, as you so ineloquently put it, have names.” I pointed to my right breast. “This is Danger.” Then my left. “And this is Will Robinson. I would appreciate it if you addressed them accordingly.”

Don’t fear the reaper. Just be very, very aware of her. —CHARLOTTE JEAN DAVIDSON

I’d have a longer attention span if there weren’t so many shiny things. —T-SHIRT

“But … he didn’t move like a normal man moves, Charley. He was a blur, so fast it was impossible for my eyes to follow him. Then he was crouched on the table like an animal, powerful, dangerous.” Neil shook his head again, as if still not believing his own eyes. “That’s how he got his name.”

“They call him El Aliento del Diablo.”

If I couldn’t be a good example, I’d just have to be a horrible warning.

“Do you know … do you know what he is?” The question didn’t surprise her. “No. Not at all,” she said, shaking her head. “I just know he’s special. He’s not like us. I’m not even sure he’s human.”

“That’s what he told me. You ferry souls to the other side. He said you sparkle like a newborn galaxy and have more attitude than a rich kid with his daddy’s Porsche.”

The enigma that was Reyes Farrow became more mysterious at every turn.

“Just because I see dead people doesn’t mean I want to be dead people.”

“You’re not like other humans, Dutch. It’s not that simple.”

You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.”