Ding Dong Dead by Deb Baker

was in the passenger seat. Julie sat alone in the back.
    “Nina will be here in a few minutes,” Gretchen said.
    “Smart thinking,” April said. “You would have been in big trouble if you left her out. Again.”
    Exactly! Gretchen wasn’t going to subject herself to Nina’s wrath unless she absolutely had to.
    “Here she comes,” Julie said.
    Nina parked in the shade of an orange tree.
    “Tutu can wait in the car with Enrico,” Gretchen said to her aunt. “It’s a nice day. She isn’t going to roast.”
    “Why can’t she come?”
    April snorted. “She might wee-wee on the graves, that’s why.”
    They piled into Gretchen’s car, and she drove inside the cemetery gates.
    “I love visiting cemeteries,” April said from the backseat. “Especially old cemeteries. It’s one of my hobbies. I can hardly wait.”
    “That’s creepy,” Nina said, turning her lithe body to glance into the back.
    “And ghost chasing isn’t?” April replied.
    “I can’t help it if I attract otherworldly beings,” Nina said. “They gravitate to me because of my ability to communicate with them. It’s not like I have a choice. They pick me. Flora’s situation is a perfect example. She didn’t show herself to anyone until I arrived, did she?”
    “That’s true,” Bonnie said.
    “Cemeteries are steeped in history,” April said. “You get a flavor of the different eras and cultures when you take the time to read the headstones.”
    “My hunt to help a ghost is steeped in history, too,” Nina reminded her.
    Gretchen’s hands were sweaty on the steering wheel. She stopped the car next to the same palm tree that she’d leaned against after running away from the dead woman’s frozen stare.
    The cemetery didn’t look as forbidding in the light of day. Mountains framed the skyscape, and ancient red earth spread underfoot. To Gretchen, the lack of greenery looked exotic, and the desert hues warmed her. Living in Arizona was like living on another planet, the smells and visuals so different from Boston where she had grown up.
    Gretchen looked around—palm trees, several native shade trees, white crosses rising from tall grave markers, the sun glistening from metal grave sculptures and ornaments.
    “Ever been to Tombstone?” April asked, hefting her body out of the back of Gretchen’s car. “Boot Hill Cemetery is where many of the old-time western gunslingers are buried. One of my favorite tombstones says, ‘Here lies Lester Moore/Four slugs from a 44/No les, no more.’ ”
    The women stood outside the car. Julie hadn’t said a word since getting out of April’s car. Her dyed black hair looked harsh in the daylight. Both her and Bonnie’s faces were pale.
    “Are you feeling all right?” Gretchen asked them.
    “I’m a little jittery,” Julie said.
    “Me, too,” Bonnie agreed.
    “If you ever get to Key West,” April went on, “go to the old cemetery in the ‘dead’ of town.” She elbowed Bonnie. “Pun intended. That’s the spookiest cemetery and the most interesting. The graves are aboveground. The coffins are stacked on top of each other because the bedrock is too hard to dig into. One of the graves reads, “I told you I was sick.’ ”
    “Shush,” Nina said. “We have to show proper respect for the dead. And you’re scaring Julie. Gretchen, lead the way.”
    “Over here.” Gretchen retraced her steps as she remembered them. First to the tree, then at an angle to Matt.
    An eerie silence permeated the spring air. A light breeze ruffled Gretchen’s hair.
    “Where is the first headstone?” Nina asked her. “You have a lost expression on your face, like you don’t know where you are.”
    “It was dark. Let me see.” Gretchen stopped and studied her car, parked where Matt’s had been two nights ago. She visualized an imaginary line from the car to the palm tree, then to the lipstick-marked grave. “There.” She had been off by only a few graves. The women followed her as she