"Why do I get the feeling that your daughter wasn't too happy to see me?" CeCe asked as we walked down the narrow stairwell into my basement. I ducked as I made my way carefully down the low and narrow passage. The smell of musty and dusty basement enveloped me. This place needed another deep clean—no cleaning I did was ever enough when the basement was one hundred years old. Through the single window of frosted glass in the stairwell, the evening sun blazed and reminded me of a Thomas Kinkade painting.
"Did you tell her about me, Les?" she asked softly.
I pondered CeCe's statement for a moment. Marlese had never met her. When I first ventured into necromancy, I was careful not to mix my personal and private lives. So what beef did Marlese have with CeCe? At first, I thought it was Marle
