“The GPS on the zombie says you’re not at any of your home addresses.”

“No, we went out for food.”

“And took the zombie with you; is it sitting in the car?”

“No, he’s right here.”

“Inside the restaurant.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not allowed to bring zombies inside restaurants, Mr. MacDougal.”

“Whyever not?”

“It’s a health ordinance, something about rotting corpses near food.”

“But Thomas isn’t like that.”

“Yeah, I do good work. Why did you take him to a restaurant? If you’re done questioning him, then I can put him back in his grave tonight.”

“He was hungry.”

“What? Who was hungry?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas is a zombie, they don’t get hungry.”

“Well, he’s done a very good imitation of it.”

“What?”

“He’s enjoying his meal, quite a lot.”

“Zombies don’t eat,” I said.

“Would you just like to speak to him directly?”

“What?”

“Thomas, it’s Ms. Blake calling to check up on us.”

A man’s voice, cultured, with a slight southern echo in it, said, “Miss Blake, I am told that I owe my adventure on this side of the veil to you.”

My mouth was suddenly dry. I had to swallow before I could say, “Mr. Warrington, I hear you’re enjoying your meal. What did you order?”

“A breakfast skillet, they call it.”

“Yeah, they can be tasty.” My voice sounded normal, but my pulse was fighting to speed up.

“I like this Coca-Cola very much.”

“Me, too,” I said. “Can you put Mr. MacDougal back on the phone, please?”

“And the phones, they are amazing. Whoever thought that I could be talking into this little box and you hear me miles away. It is a marvel.”

“Yes, it is, just need to speak with Mr. MacDougal for a minute.”

MacDougal came back on the line. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

“Yeah, he is. Finish your meal, have coffee, dessert, let him get the full ride.”

“We intend to.”

“Great, maybe you can take him to someplace a little higher end tomorrow.”

“Denny’s was all that was open this time of night, near my house.”

“Totally understand. I’ll see you soon.”

“Good night, Ms. Blake. This experience has surpassed our wildest expectations.”

“Customer satisfaction is always a priority,” I said, and hung up. I called Manny back.

“What did the client say?”

I told him.

“Anita, zombies don’t get hungry, and they are incapable of eating. They don’t have a working digestive system.”

“I know,” I said.

“It’s one of the clients having you on, Anita. You couldn’t have talked to the zombie. They answer questions, but not like that.”

“I’ve had a few that could,” I said.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“We haven’t been working together much the last few years,” I said.

“Have you ever had a zombie that did this?”

“If you mean eat a real meal like a live human being, never, but I’ve seen zombies that got hungry.”

“You never told me that either.”

“I don’t mean go-to-Denny’s hungry, Manny, I mean flesh-eating zombies. You know some of the cases I’ve had. I didn’t raise them, but I got to clean up the mess afterward.”

“Do you think he’s a flesh eater?”

“I think he’s eating a skillet breakfast at Denny’s and enjoying his adventure this side of the veil; his words, not mine.”

“Hell, Anita, that’s wrong, that’s so wrong. He should not be that aware.”

“I know that, I so know that, Manny.”

“Pick me up on the way. I gotta see this zombie for myself.”

“The office is on the way, see you in about twenty minutes. Maybe sooner if I hit the lights and sirens.”

“This isn’t police business, Anita; isn’t that against the rules?”

“No one knows how a flesh-eating zombie starts out, Manny. Just in case it starts with wanting a nice meal at a sit-down restaurant, let’s get there sooner rather than later.”

“You really afraid the zombie will start rampaging through Denny’s?”

“Yeah, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said.

“See you in twenty, or sooner.”

“Make it sooner,” he said.

“Lights and sirens it is.” I took the time to put all my weapons on and grab my vampire-hunting kit, because it had the really big guns and scary shit in it. I’d fought flesh-eating zombies before; they were as strong as a vampire but didn’t feel pain, which made them a whole lot harder to stop. I prayed as I ran for the stairs, Please God, don’t let him turn on them. Please, don’t let him hurt anyone.

I was calling the zombie a him, not an it; that was not a good sign. All the flesh eaters I’d seen had been truly walking corpses and hadn’t looked alive at all, but there was always a first for everything. I did not want the very first gentleman flesh eater. I really didn’t.