It's a Wonderful Midlife Crisis
Date: 2020-02-16 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Paranormal; Fantasy; Romance; Humour; Urban Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Ghosts; Magic; Fiction; Humor
Description: A Paranormal Women's Fiction with a bit of class, and a lot of sass, for anyone who feels like age is just a number! Whoever said life begins at forty must have been heavily medicated, drunk, or delusional. Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and life was pretty damned good. But as they say, all good things come to an end. I’d honestly love to know who ’they’ are and rip them a new one. One year later, I’m a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing home,
Rights: Copyright 2020 Robyn Peterman. All rights reserved.

It’s A Wonderful Midlife Crisis

Good To The Last Death Book One

Robyn Peterman

Robyn Peterman

Copyright © 2020 by Robyn Peterman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

Cover design by JJ's Design & Creations

Edited by Kelli Collins

Contents

Acknowledgments

Book Description

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

More In The Good To The Last Death Series

Robyn’s Book List

PWF Pal Pimping

Note From The Author

More Paranormal Women’s Fiction

About Robyn Peterman

Praise for Robyn Peterman

“Daisy’s life has been turned upside down, and we get to watch the aftermath. Prepare to root for a new heroine. You’ll fall in love with this hilarious hoyden and all of the hot water she dives into. Head first! Masterful and heartwarming, don’t let this one get away!”

—NY Times Bestselling Author Darynda Jones

“Brilliant and so relatable! I laughed, I cried, I swooned, and I sighed. Heavily. Robyn Peterman has her finger on the pulse of midlife madness, and I can’t get enough.”

— USA Today Bestselling Author, Renee George

“I’d read the phone book if Robyn Peterman wrote it! It’s A Wonderful Midlife Crisis is a home run of hilarious, heartwarming paranormal fun. Midlife’s a journey. Enjoy the ride. Crisis included… Read it!”

— Mandy M. Roth, NY Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author

“Hilarious, heartbreaking, magical and addictive! No one can turn a midlife crisis upside down quite like Robyn Peterman. A stay-up-all-night novel that will have you begging for more.”

— Michelle M. Pillow, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

Acknowledgments

This book has been in my head for two years. It took a call and a nudge from Shannon Mayer to make me pull the file out and finish it. Each word was a joy to write and I owe Shannon for yanking me into the Paranormal Women’s Fiction group. Playing in a sandbox with strong talented women who have each other’s backs is a rare and special experience.

As always, while writing is a solitary experience getting a book into the world is a group project.

The PWF 13 Gals — Thank you for a wild ride. You rock.

Renee — Thank you for all your support, your friendship, your formatting expertise and for being the best Cookie ever.

Wanda — Thank you for knowing what I mean even when I don’t. LOL You are the best and this writing business wouldn’t be any fun without you.

Kelli — Thank you for saving me from scary grammar mistakes. You rock.

Melissa, Nancy, Susan and Candace — Thank you for being kickass betas. You are all wonderful.

Donna and Jennifer — Thank you. I couldn’t have better critique partners. I adore you.

Jay — Thank you. Your cover captured what was in my mind perfectly.

Mom — Thank you for listening to me hash out the plot and for giving me a brilliant idea.

Mandy — You rock hard! So happy I can call you my friend.

Steve, Henry and Audrey — Thank you. The three of you are my world. Without you, none of this would make sense. I love you.

Dedication

This one is for all my gals over forty.

Book Description

Whoever said life begins at forty must have been heavily medicated, drunk, or delusional.

Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and life was pretty damned good.

But as they say, all good things come to an end. I’d honestly love to know who ‘they’ are and rip them a new one.

One year later, I’m a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing home, and dead people think my home is some kind of supernatural bed and breakfast. Gluing body parts onto semi-transparent people has become a side job—deceased people I’m not even sure are actually there. I think they need my help, but since I don’t speak dead, we’re having a few issues.

To add to the heap of trouble, there’s a new dangerously smokin’ hot lawyer at the firm who won't stop giving me the eye. My BFF is thrilled with her new frozen face, thanks to her plastic surgeon, her alimony check, and the miracle of Botox. And then there’s the little conundrum that I’m becoming way too attached to my ghostly squatters… Like Cher, I'd like to turn back time. Now.

No can do.

Whatever. I have wine, good friends, and an industrial sized box of superglue. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, apparently.

All in all, it’s shaping up to be a wonderful midlife crisis…

Chapter One

“No. Way. Are you freaking serious?” I screamed as I flattened myself against the wall of my laundry room with a thud, trying not to hyperventilate. “There’s a hand in the laundry basket. There’s a hand in the laundry basket. There’s a hand in the damn laundry basket.”

Sliding carefully along the wall so the unattached appendage didn’t jump out and grab me, I eased my way out of the tiny room and sprinted to the kitchen. It had a door that led outside, just in case the hand was up to no good.

Wait. What kind of good could a lone hand in a basket of dirty laundry be up to?

No good. That’s what kind of good a companionless hand could be up to.

“I’m nuts,” I muttered, closing my eyes and pressing my fingers to my temples. Forty was supposed to be the new thirty, according to all the magazines. If this was forty, I was going to take a pass. I’d only been forty for three hours and it was already seriously bad. The solitary hand was the rancid icing on top of a really crappy birthday cake.

Pacing my kitchen and keeping my eyes peeled for more random body parts, I spotted the empty coffee container and almost cried. Handling the ridiculously absurd while un-caffeinated was not going to end well.

“I don’t have the energy for this right now,” I told no one in particular, since I was alone. “Who did I screw over in a former life that I’m dealing with this shit?”

Unfortunately, I’d been seeing semi-corporeal versions of dead people for a few weeks. I’d become the kid from the Sixth Sense except that was a movie and this was real life… and my dead people did not look like Bruce Willis.

Up until now, all my deceased buddies had done was stare and laugh—or so I’d thought. There was nothing quite like being the butt of a cadaver’s joke… that was, if the hand was a joke and not a warning that I was going to be six feet under soon.

“Isn’t it enough that you freaks follow me around? Now you’re leaving body parts in my dirty clothes? For God’s sake, today’s my birthday and this behavior is totally unacceptable. I almost puked. And let me tell you something,” I bellowed to the empty kitchen. “If I’d thrown up because one of you idiots thought it would be hilarious to put a hand in with my dirty panties, you’d be cleaning that mess up. Are we clear here?”

Of course, there was no answer. There was never an answer. They didn’t speak—just silently accompanied me to the grocery store and around my house. They were very partial to reality shows. I’d started leaving the television on all night so they didn’t wander into my bedroom while I slept. Thankfully they hadn’t discovered where I worked yet. However, I had no doubt that was coming soon.

“Come on, you guys. It wasn’t funny.” Maybe reasoning with them would work. Hell, I didn’t know if they were real or if I was imagining them. There was a fifty-fifty chance I’d lost my mind. “I think I’ve been pretty nice about letting you stay here rent-free. I don’t deserve to be given a heart attack at seven in the morning.”

Again, no answer.

Again, maybe I was nuts.

Was there even a hand in my laundry basket? Maybe it was a fleshy, skin-colored winter glove. Since it was October and I lived in Georgia it was doubtful. Not to mention, I didn’t own any fleshy, skin-colored winter gloves. I had a little more fashion sense than that. Until I had my iced coffee with an extra-large squirt of chocolate syrup, I wasn’t going to test the theory.

Pleasant. I’d be pleasant. A nice conversational tone might prevent another gag-inducing prank… or not. “Okay, I’m going to eat and leave the house. Whoever left their hand in the laundry room needs to remove it before I get home or I’m going to…”

What the heck was I going to do with a disembodied hand? Should I put it in the freezer? Should I bury it? Damn it, if I buried it, did I have to do it at the cemetery on hallowed ground instead of my yard? It would suck up, down and sideways if it popped out of the ground during a backyard barbecue. What if I got busted at the graveyard for burying a hand and had to do time in the big house? God, the heinous consequences were endless.

Terrified to open my cabinets, I debated how hungry I was. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, but if there were eyeballs next to my oatmeal, I’d have to check myself into the loony bin.

From out of nowhere, a partially translucent woman tore around my kitchen, wailing in like a banshee—and ironically, she was missing a hand. Had the weirdos been trying to kill each other? Wait. That made no sense whatsoever. They were already dead. The varying states of decay were a dead giveaway—pun intended.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I shrieked as I scrambled up onto the kitchen table in fear for my life.

Could I make it out the door and into my yard? Crap, I was still in my nightie and it was chilly today. Furthermore, what in the hell was I going to do outside? Call for help to get the handless dead woman out of my kitchen? Not too many choices here.

“Stop,” I shouted in the voice I’d learned to use during my self-defense class at the Y.

She did.

Now what?

The woman was trembling from head to toe. Where her hand should have been was just shredded skin—if you could call grayish papery-looking stuff skin. No blood at all. If she was alive in the normal sense of the word, I’d guess her age to be somewhere in her late sixties. She was attractive in a ghostly way.

“Did you, umm… lose your hand? I asked, not quite believing I was conversing with someone I was fairly certain wasn’t there.

She simply stared and cocked her head to the side.

“Maybe you don’t speak English. Or maybe you were brain dead when you died so it isn’t functioning now that you’re not exactly alive. Or maybe you were mute in life… or maybe I’m insane,” I added for good measure as I cautiously got down off the table.

She came a little closer, and I jerked back. The rules were wildly unclear.

“Stay where you are,” I warned, holding up my hand and hoping she understood sign language. “If you promise not to body snatch me or eat me, I think I can help you out.

Still she said nothing as I carefully made my way to the laundry room to retrieve what I assumed was her hand.

“I’m using a bath towel that’s seen better days in case you’re a disease-carrying zombie.” Never in my life did I think I would utter those words in a sentence. “So, I’ll toss it to you in a sec.”

Surprisingly, my gag reflex didn’t kick in. Dead stuff usually set it off. However, she seemed so upset about her hand, I was okay. Strange. I approached her with extreme caution. I held out her hand, and she held out her stump.

Oh. Hell. No.

Did she want me to reattach it? How did you reattach something to what was little more than a ghost? Her hand felt real, and she looked real enough, even though I could see through parts of her.

“Here you go,” I said as I tried again to give her the towel-wrapped body part.

She wasn’t having it. She simply stood there with her arm extended and waited.

“I’m not a doctor. Not real sure what you want me to do.”

Her eyes were huge in the hollowed-out sockets—watery blue and filled with what I guessed were tears. I was tempted to take her in my arms and hug her, but I still wasn’t positive she wouldn’t take a chunk out of me.

“I suppose I could glue it back on,” I suggested hesitantly. I knew there was some superglue in the junk drawer. I had no clue if there was enough to glue a hand back on. “Superglue can hold a big fat guy attached by his hat to a steel girder, according to the commercial,” I told the woman as I put her hand on the table and searched the drawer. “It might work on your hand.”

Damn, I was a slob. The drawer was full of stuff I didn’t need. However, I did find my eyelash curler, a few tampons, last month’s electric bill and the superglue.

“Mmmkay,” I said, assessing the situation.

I was going to have to touch her to make this work. I was hoping to live longer than forty years, but if my time was up—it was up. Maybe all the dead people were hanging out to let me know I was soon to be a goner. It would be nice if I went out doing something kind for someone. Reattaching a dead woman’s hand wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it was the only one I had at the moment.

“Here goes nothing,” I mumbled as I bit down on my lip and covered the stump with the goopy glue.

She watched in fascination as I then picked up her hand and connected it to her stump.

“I think I have to put pressure on it for at least one minute for it to hold. I’m pretty sure that’s what the guy in the commercial did. But to be safe, we’ll do it for two.

She looked at me. I looked at her. The silence was awkward and loud. If I was imagining the bizarre exchange, I needed some help immediately. Twice I thought I should start a conversation to be polite. I was Southern. It was in my DNA.

“Today’s my birthday,” I told her with a weak smile that I was fairly sure resembled a grimace. I was still hoping she wasn’t going to bite me. I needed to stop watching zombie movies.

The woman kind of moan-grunted in response. Since my life might still be on the line, I nodded and thanked her. Feeling the need to smack myself in the head, I refrained. If I dropped her hand, all hell could break loose.

After what felt like two hours, the two minutes were up. I stepped back and waited for her hand to crash to the floor. It didn’t. She held it up and moved her fingers. I was shocked that the superglue worked on her tendons too. Wait. Attributing normal to the impossible was nuts—like me.

“Wow,” I said with a surprised laugh. “Can’t believe that worked. Does it hurt?

As expected, she said nothing that made any sense, but she did give me a smile before she faded away.

I sat down heavily on the kitchen chair and mentally went over what had just happened. It was outlandish and unreal, and I couldn’t even talk to anyone about it. I was on my own in Crazytown.

I supposed if there was anything to be thankful for, it was that she wasn’t a flesh-eating zombie. She was just a dead person with a problem and I’d solved it for her. Note to self… stop watching horror movies.

The knock at my door pulled me back from my screwy introspective thought. Who was here at seven in the morning? The ghosts never knocked. They just appeared when they felt like it. I peeked through the peephole and audibly sighed in agony.

It was Stan—my latest mistake. Actually, my only mistake in a seriously long stretch of celibacy, but definitely a mistake.

Getting back into the dating scene twelve months after Steve died was too soon. I wasn’t ready for it. However, the bottle of wine I’d consumed at Patsy’s Bar and Grill last night didn’t agree with my assessment—not that it was a date. It was a booty call that never should have happened. Ever. At least I didn’t stay the night. A walk of shame at three in the morning was far classier than when the sun was out.

I’d already done surgery on a dead woman. It wasn’t fair that I now had to deal with Stan.

Happy birthday to me…

“Hi Stan,” I said as I opened my door enough to be polite, but not far enough to invite him in.

“Hello Daisy, you’re looking lovely today,” he said with an overly confident smile on his handsome face.

Glancing down, I realized I was still barely dressed. I hopped behind the door and poked my head out.

“Stan, what can I do for you? It’s kind of early.”

“I’m really sorry about last night, Daisy,” Stan said without any hint of apology in his perfectly cultured voice. I was sure he’d dressed in the pink polo shirt and starched madras pants with painstaking care. “I can usually go longer than that.”

Kill me now.

“It was great,” I lied and gave him a smile that I prayed didn’t look like I was constipated.

Stan was a nice guy with a job. He was extremely good-looking and had the personality of a box of hair. What on earth had I been thinking? Actually, it was the merlot that had done my thinking for me. I was an idiot. Casual sex wasn’t in my wheelhouse. I knew better. And accountants in madras pants didn’t equate to good sex—or even good conversation.

“I was just wondering when we had intimate relations last night… Did you… umm?”

“No. No, I didn’t, but no worries,” I insisted politely while trying desperately to ignore all of the floating entities that had popped up to see the show. Stan had no idea six semi-corporeal strangers were standing behind him watching my mortifying life play out in full color. Far be it from me to clue him in. I knew I was going crazy. No one else needed that info.

“I’d be happy to, you know…” Stan said as he made the peace sign with two fingers and then shoved his tongue between them.

“Good God, no!” I shouted on a gag and then slapped my hand over my mouth as the slightly decaying old man hovering over Stan’s left shoulder laughed like a loon. “I’m good—really. I have to go visit my gram at the nursing home in a bit and then get to work.”

“Can I see you again?” Stan asked as he made sure his meticulously gelled hair was still in place.

It was.

“I think maybe we should just be friends,” I said diplomatically, considering all I wanted him to do was leave.

“Is it because I could only go for ten minutes?” he asked with a slightly perplexed frown on his ridiculously pretty face.

“Actually, it was two minutes,” I corrected him. “But it’s not that at all. It was a very energetic two minutes.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a satisfied smirk.

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. The laughing dead dude rolled his buggy eyes for me and I almost giggled.

“Welcome. However, I’m not in the right place for a relationship right now. It’s not you. It’s me. You’re just too… umm… perfect for someone else. You deserve someone who likes to shop at preppy stores. I, you know, don’t want to hold you back, and I’m not good at math, so… ahh,” I stuttered, searching for more inane crap to spew. He wasn’t an asshole. He just wasn’t for me.

And I wasn’t ready for any of this. It wasn’t Stan’s fault. I had my own intimacy issues. However, it was all kinds of stupid to have gotten drunk and tried to work them out with someone who was less appealing than eating a full bag of plain rice cakes.

“I see what you mean,” Stan said as he nodded seriously then glanced over at me with pity. “While the sex was outstanding, I’m far smarter than you.”

“I’m sorry… what?”

Correction. He was a complete asshole.

The hanging specters didn’t like that one either. They flew around Stan like a freaking tornado. It was difficult to focus on the boring man on my porch with all the hoopla going on.

“Well, I do have two Masters and my CPA license. And you’re just an attractive widowed paralegal with a great rack,” he said in a socially acceptable, pleasant tone, clearly unaware he was an asshole.

There were several ways to handle the situation. One was to kill him, but I had too much going on to spend any time in prison for murder. Plus, I’d never killed anyone. My fortieth birthday wasn’t a good day to start a life of crime. This was a small town and I didn’t need that kind of reputation. The second was to escort him right out of my life.

I knew exactly how to do that.

“Stan, I’m going to suggest you leave before I tell you that you have a tiny penis and I wasn’t exactly sure we were having sex at all. You wear too much aftershave and if you’re going to manscape, you might want to have a go at your back. So, unless you want to hear all that, you’d better sprint your preppy, pencil-pushing ass off my porch.”

“Can I call you?” he asked through the closed door as I slammed it shut.

I didn’t grace the request with an answer. It was embarrassing and unbelievable that I’d spent even two minutes of time I couldn’t get back on a jackass with a mini man tool who thought he was smarter than me.

God, I missed Steve. I mean, we had our problems, but he wasn’t hairy.

I was done dating. Forever. Forty, widowed and single was starting to sound very good.

Now I just needed to deal with the visible to only me weirdos hanging out in my house. However, I had to give it to them. They were very supportive when Stan was talking smack.

After a full two and a half minutes of contemplative thought—which was thirty seconds longer than Stan’s performance last night—I decided to ignore my uninvited houseguests. I was completely out of coffee and the lack of caffeine made me slightly dangerous. I’d just go on with my day and block out the fact I was hanging on to my sanity by a thread.

* * *

“Turn it up, baby. Bob Barker mumbles and I won’t get the damn price right if I can’t hear the old coot,” Gram shouted from her bed as I slapped my hands over my ears and winced.

“Pot, kettle, black, old lady,” I muttered with a grin as I handed my beloved grandmother her hearing aids. “Try these. Bob’s on fire today.”

“Hate ’em,” she griped as she adjusted her bed so she was sitting more upright. “With those little nuggets in my ears, I can hear every damn sound in this here prison I’m in. Happy Birthday, my Daisy girl!”

“Thank you.” I kissed her wrinkled cheek and breathed in her sent—Ivory soap and dime store perfume. It was the best smell in the world. “You like the bed?”

“Love it. You’re my best girl,” she said with a wink as she smoothed the wild dark hair out of my face. “The love of my life.”

The bed had cost me almost three full paychecks and the nursing home had pitched a fit when I’d moved it in, but I’d prevailed. Gram called her new home a prison, but I was onto her. I knew she secretly loved it. She played poker several nights a week while lying in her new bed and from what I’d heard from the nurses, she was juggling three paramours at the moment.

The visual of my ninety-year-old grandmother with a man-friend was alarming. I pushed it to the section of my brain labeled don’t go there ever. To reprogram the disturbing images, I started folding Gram’s housecoats.

“The show is rigged and I think Bob’s had him a little nip and tuck. However, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eatin’ crackers,” she informed me and everyone within a five-mile radius.

“I just ate a banana, Gram. Can’t listen to you talking about getting horizontal with Bob Barker,” I said as I nonchalantly glanced around the room and peeked under the bed. Thankfully it was clear—no ghosts and no unattached appendages.

They’d been following me constantly and I wasn’t sure what they wanted. Terrified at first, I’d gotten used to them… kind of. I had no choice really. It was either accept that I’d become a dead-people magnet or buy a straightjacket and commit myself. Hell, I still wasn’t sure they were really there. The only thing I was certain of was that I was losing my marbles.

“Daisy, I can’t do it now cause all my programs are coming on, but I have some stuff you need to know before I become one with the earthworms,” Gram said as she put her hearing aids in and then pulled them right back out.

“You’re not dying anytime soon. If you leave me, I’m traveling straight to Hell and yanking your sorry deaf ass back up here.”

“Hell ain’t so bad. I got a condo with air conditioning reserved.” She cackled with glee until Bob came back on the tube and began describing the final showcase.

I’d had enough of the big wheel and guessing the price of microwaves. The Game Show Network was on 24/7 in Gram’s room. If I had to guess, I’d have to say the episode we were watching was from the 1970s. I had to get to work anyway.

“Gram, I’ll stop by tonight. Make sure you eat today.”

I kissed her forehead. She waved me away as not to miss a second of Bob.

At least she was happy.

I wished I could say the same for myself.

Chapter Two

“Happy Birthday, old lady,” Missy said with a grin, handing me an extra-large iced coffee.

My bestie was beautiful, inside and out; tiny with wild curls and perfect mocha-colored skin. Her fashion sense was Boho-chic slash artsy-fartsy slash I’ll wear whatever’s clean, evidenced by the gypsy skirt, combat boots and concert t-shirt she was wearing. Somehow Missy made it work and look fabulous. Her normally dark curly hair was enhanced with purple and pink braids this week.

“Chocolate syrup?” I asked, gratefully taking the cup from her and ignoring the insult. She was forty-two. She’d earned her old lady status several years ago.

“Two squirts for the birthday girl,” she replied, winking.

“Thank you, and I think I’ve failed at life,” I announced as I walked through the piles of red, yellow and orange fallen leaves. The crunch beneath my sensible shoes was wildly satisfying. Being a few minutes late for work was risky, but indulging in caffeine with my best friend was necessary.

The park had seen better days but was still lovely in a small-town way. It was full of old gnarled trees that Missy and I had climbed as children. Rows of purple blossoming mums lined the perimeter and a few hardy marigolds still clung to life, even though an early cold snap had withered everything else. The local ladies club—The Gladiolas—maintained the area. Normally the ladies did more gossiping than gardening, but a few of the old gals clearly had green thumbs.

“You’re forty, dude. You have to fail until you’re at least forty-one and a half to accomplish definitive failure,” said my dearest, if not most supportive friend while sipping her coffee. “It might also help to stop drinking an entire bottle of wine and banging an accountant.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered with a shudder of disgust. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Until tonight at your birthday party,” Missy pointed out.

“Doubtful,” I said with a laugh. “Definitely no merlot. If I have a glass, I’m sticking to chardonnay.”

“Good plan,” she said with a smile and then turned serious. “Daisy, I’m proud of you for getting out there. I just think you can do a teeny-tiny bit better than boring Stan.”

“Hence, why I’m not drinking tonight.”

“Ahhhh, very good plan.”

“Thank you,” I said with a curtsy.

“Welcome.”

Glancing across the park at the old country church, I immediately averted my eyes.

They were over there. A line of dead people with sad eyes and garbled sounds falling from their lips, with their papery hands and dressed in Sunday clothes. Getting the hell out of town would be smart, but stupid was my new middle name.

“What are my good qualities?” I asked Missy, wanting to talk about anything to avoid blurting out that we were being observed by a pack of poltergeist.

“Is that a trick question?” she shot back with a smirk.

“Depends on your answer.”

“Your boobs,” she replied with a giggle as she drained her umpteenth coffee of the morning. “You’re going to be late for work.”

“You are too.”

“I own the bookstore, dude. I can’t be late. I’m the boss.”

“I’m serious about the qualities thing. My girls are nice according to Boring Stan of the Hairy Back, but I have to have at least one other good quality.”

“His back is hairy?” Missy cringed and choked on the last sip of her drink.

“Like a hair shirt.”

We contemplated that foul piece of information in silence. Scooping up a few colorful leaves, I stared at them. The texture reminded me of the handless woman’s papery skin. I carefully tucked them into the pocket of my coat and made a promise to myself to check a man’s back before I banged him from now on—not that I was going to bang anyone soon.

Missy bumped my shoulder and smiled. “You’re good, Daisy. You’re one of the truly good ones.”

My return smile didn’t reach my eyes. I took her hand in mine and led her to a crumbling old concrete bench. Her hand was smaller and far warmer. With a quick squeeze, I let go and sat down. Lies really weren’t kind. Even the ugly truth was sometimes less painful than hearing what others thought was the right thing to say.

Most of the past year, no one knew what to say to me. After Steve died in a car accident, people treated me like spun glass. But not Missy, which was why I loved her.

“Fine. I’ll take it. I’m a good girl with a nice set of knockers.”

“I didn’t say you were a good girl. I said you were good. Big difference. However, the knockers compliment stands.”

“Semantics. You know, I don’t think that guy from the bank committed suicide.” I lay back on the bench and shielded my eyes from the early-morning sun. “They’re all saying he was tired and he wanted out. I don’t believe that.”

Missy’s groan was audible as she pushed my legs over and seated herself next to me. “I think you think too much. He died and we’ll never know.” She blew out a long, slow breath and picked at the rim of the empty paper coffee cup. “Why is it even important?”

“I suppose it’s not,” I admitted. “I just want to know.”

“Well my dear, that’s not possible unless you have a direct line to the afterlife, whatever the hell that might be.”

Missy stood, crumpled the cup in her hands and tossed it in the trash. “I have to get to the shop. It looks kind of bad when my employees are waiting out on the curb,” she said, walking away. “And you have to quit going to funerals of people you don’t know. It’s getting seriously depressing.”

“There were only three people there. I felt bad for him,” I protested as I sat up and watched her walk away.

“Uh huh,” Missy replied without looking back.

I kept my eyes on my best friend until she disappeared around the corner and then reclined back down on the bench. Missy was correct. I needed to stop going to funerals of strangers. It was a morbid habit formed early in life. Gram used to do it. Since my husband died, I found myself doing it far too frequently. I’d always thought Gram went to show respect and pray for souls, but as an adult, I realized she was simply nosey. If I had to explain my own behavior, I’d be at a loss. I didn’t pray for souls and I wasn’t nosey.

Maybe I had a death wish.

“I’m a hot mess,” I whispered as the wind blew through the trees and a mass of orange and red leaves floated to the ground in swirling funnels. Vibrant little tornados danced through the park and I watched, captivated.

Peeking at the church steps, I sighed. My secret wish that the wind would blow the ghosts away hadn’t come true.

Sadly, Missy was incorrect with her other observation. I did indeed have a direct line to the afterlife as of a few hellacious weeks ago. It was messing with my sanity, my chi and my social skills. How in the hell did I end up the lucky gal that all the dead folks liked to hang out with?

I glanced back over at the church. There were ten of them in different stages of decomposition, waving hopefully at me. My smile to the dearly departed was forced, but I was nothing if not polite. Sometimes being Southern sucked. I gave a half-hearted wave back to the lifeless gang, stood up and scurried off in the opposite direction. I didn’t have time to hang out with the corpses this morning. If I arrived too late, I could lose my job—and my mortgage didn’t pay itself. Evidently, I’d already lost my mind. Losing my employment would be horrible.

With one last furtive glance back, I wondered exactly how many dead people were in town and wanted to be my friend. The situation was getting out of control.

Furthermore, I was sure a few of the dead who were unaware of the rules would show up for my birthday dinner tonight—a big no-no. I’d probably made a mistake saying I would host my own party, but it was just my closest girlfriends. My old farmhouse was big and comfortable. Well, except that it was loaded with dead folks.

It was really unpleasant to eat with corpses at the table. The ones who were privy to the protocol that dinner was my personal time weren’t real good at sharing the rules with the recently departed. Plus, if I found any more random body parts around the house, I was going to evict all of them. Pretending I didn’t see them was going to be my new modus operandi.

Understanding them was a serious problem. Apparently, the dead had their own way of communicating. It was a mystery to me.

I’d spent a few hours in the linguistics section at the library to see if I could find anything that remotely resembled what I was hearing and came out more confused than when I went in. It was guttural in tone and sounded more like garbled consonants than words separated by spaces. There was a frantic intent, and I knew there was also laughter. The old dude floating over Stan’s shoulder this morning was proof positive of that.

“I’m a whack job,” I mumbled.

I picked up my pace on the off chance they were following me down the street. Normal behavior would be impossible if I had to share my cubicle with decaying strangers.

My mind couldn’t leave the puzzle of my current nightmare alone. Had I cracked for real? Was I really seeing dead people or was I inventing them in my head? Had the movie The Sixth Sense Part Two started filming in my sleepy little town and someone neglected to inform me that I was starring in it?

Again, the best way to handle an unhandleable situation was to ignore it…and that’s exactly what I was going to do.

* * *

“I want to make myself perfectly clear here,” Clarissa said, annunciating to the point of ridiculous. “He’s forty-five, single and hotter than sin. He’s mine. If I catch any of you making a move, I will make your life a living hell.”

“Like you don’t do that already,” June muttered under her breath with an eye roll.

“I’m sorry,” the redheaded, overly made-up she-devil snapped at poor June. “Did you have something pertinent to add?”

“No,” June replied as the heat crawled up her neck and landed squarely on her adorable face.

I’d missed the first five minutes of the dressing down by our psychotic team leader, but it clearly had to do with a new lawyer who had joined the firm—it usually did. Every so often we got a live one, and Clarissa’s biological time clock was ticking so loudly we all needed earplugs. She’d hit on everything with male genitalia for the last several years. I was constantly surprised that the firm hadn’t been hit with a sexual harassment lawsuit by one of its own. Two of the partners feigned being gay for a few months just to escape her advances.

I glanced around the small break room and bit back my grin. It wouldn’t do for Clarissa to think I was laughing at her. The sheer amount of work she would pile on me was reason enough to pretend I was taking her seriously. I adored the gals I worked with except for our narcissistic leader. Being a paralegal could be as boring as watching paint dry, but my coworkers made the forty-plus hours a week tolerable.

Truth was, I was the only single gal in the room besides Clarissa and I would never date a lawyer—too shady. Plus, after last night, I was off men for the foreseeable future.

June, the sweet mutterer, was fifty-seven and happily married with four awesome kids. Heather, somewhere in her later thirties, was a vocal lesbian and always in a relationship. Jennifer was sixty-five and had sworn off men after her fifth divorce.

That left me, and I was sure the lecture was for my benefit. However, the viper had nothing to worry about. I was tied up dealing with an army of dead people at the moment. Dating anyone was off my to-do list for the near future or ever. Next time I got horny I was going on a date with my battery-operated boyfriend aka BOB. I’d had my fill or lack thereof with professionals, courtesy of Stan the Two-Minute Man.

Daisy,” Clarissa snapped. “I need you to run some depositions to the courthouse and stop by the Piggly Wiggly to get coffee and filters. Then you can take the rest of the week off.”

“Wait. What?” I asked, shocked. It was only Monday.

Gasps filled the small room, mine included. The firm was in the middle of an enormous amount of cases—all mind-bendingly boring. We’d all had to stay late for the past several weeks. There was no way I would leave my posse unprotected from Clarissa’s wrath and with an absurd amount of work to do.

“You heard me,” she said calmly as she admired her French manicure critically.

When the hell did she have time to get a manicure?

“Clarissa, there’s a lot of work to be done and I need to be here,” I reasoned as neutrally as I could, given the fact that just looking at her made me want to throat punch her.

“Oh, you’ll be working,” she shot back with saccharine sweetness. “Just not here.”

My stomach dropped, and I closed my eyes as I considered how to handle the situation. If I didn’t come to work, it would throw up red flags to the partners and I could lose my much-needed employment despite being ordered to do so. If I called the crazy woman out on her absurd directive, I could lose my job anyway.

Whoa. Was I getting fired right now? On my freaking birthday because Clarissa had aspirations of banging a gross lawyer and wanted all single gals out of the picture?

“Why?” Heather demanded, narrowing her eyes at Clarissa.

Heather was the only one who wasn’t afraid of Clarissa besides me, but Heather had family money to back her up while I needed my job. Actually, Heather wasn’t afraid of anyone, including all the lawyers in the firm or anyone in town. She was a genius and only days away from taking the bar herself. The irony was that she hated lawyers and only planned to practice so she could further her agenda—rights for women. Gay women to be more specific.

Gay marriage had been legalized, but our wealthy, old-money, homophobic little town hadn’t gotten the memo. Apparently, religion trumped the law here. Heather could go anywhere with her brains and drive, but she grew up here, and this place tended to keep its own no matter how much its own wanted to leave.

“Because I said so,” Clarissa replied quickly over her shoulder as she made for the door.

Even Clarissa didn’t like to tangle with Heather. We all watched in silence as she hightailed it out. I was relieved when Heather didn’t push it. As despised as Clarissa was, her job was ironclad. Her father owned the firm. Clarence Smith was as compassionate and kind as Clarissa Smith was mean and horny, but she was his daughter and there was no winning for anyone pitted against her.

“It’s fine,” I said as I put my hand on Heather’s shoulder to stop her from going after the nasty witch. “I can’t afford to lose my job. I’ll just stop in every morning and take a bunch of work home.”

“It’s all because of the new guy,” June said with a snort of disgust. “She’s afraid he’ll see you and go all gaga.”

“I think June’s right,” Jennifer agreed.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said with a shudder, remembering the Stan debacle. “I’m not in the market for a man and lawyers don’t do it for me.”

“It would make my year if women did it for you,” Heather announced with an exaggerated wink.

I laughed and pressed the bridge of my nose. “While I find that wildly flattering, and I really do, I just like penises better than vaginas.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Heather replied with a friendly shrug. “If you ever switch teams, I’m your gal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said as I grabbed the folder intended for the courthouse and picked up my purse. “Do you guys really think she doesn’t want me here because of the new lawyer?”

It was mind-boggling. I was forty and a widow for the love of everything absurd.

“Who knows what goes on in her pea brain,” Jennifer said. “Clarissa is batshit crazy. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. That new boy is supposed to be quite pretty and Old Redhead Ass Spray Tan doesn’t like competition.”

I groaned as I checked my wallet for money. I knew I could turn in a receipt for the coffee and filters, I just wasn’t sure I could cover the cost. Maybe getting fired wouldn’t be so bad. It would force me to get a job with better pay. Or better yet, leave town to find employment in a place where I didn’t see dead people. I’d just take Gram with me.

“If I was known as a man-hungry piranha, I would understand her ridiculous overreaction,” I said absently as I searched the bottom of my purse for a couple of nonexistent dollars. “However, I’m not.”

“Honey, all you gotta do is stand there and the boys fall all over themselves,” Jennifer told me as she handed me a twenty. “When you get reimbursed, pay me back.”

“Thank you,” I told her gratefully. “And men most certainly do not fall all over me.”

“Another reason to become a lesbian,” Heather chimed in with raised eyebrows and a silly grin.

Jennifer grunted and smacked Heather playfully on the arm. “Watch out or I’m gonna become a lesbian. After as many divorces as I’ve had, cohabitating with a woman is starting to sound good.”

“You keep me updated on that.” Heather chuckled as she topped off her coffee and picked up the pile of paperwork scattered all over the table. “I’ll take your old ass with me to the girl bars.”

The thought of Jennifer trolling for women with Heather would keep me smiling for the rest of the day. Heather was long, lean and athletic. Jennifer was a tiny, round couch potato. They would make a motley pair.

“She doesn’t have to worry about me going after a shifty new lawyer—hot or not,” I told the girls. “I do not shit where I eat.”

“Honey, with all that dark curly hair, amber eyes, long legs and those knockers, it doesn’t matter where you shit,” Jennifer informed me as the others nodded their agreement.

“Genetics,” I said dismissively. My looks were hereditary. It was a shell. What counted was what was inside. Inside, I was a disaster. “And that was a really gross analogy.”

My looks were compliments of my long-dead sweet mother—inherited along with her terrible taste in men. With the exception of Steve, I wasn’t the best judge of nice guys. After my mom died, I’d been raised by my wonderfully foul-mouthed Gram, who didn’t have much better luck with the opposite sex than her daughter or her granddaughter.

“If you wanna be invisible to the male species, you’re gonna have to gain fifty pounds and get a haircut like our friend Heather here,” Jennifer announced with an enormous grin.

“I’m going to ignore that,” Heather said. She scrubbed her hands through her very attractive pixie cut and gave Jennifer the middle finger. “I happen to like my hair and you can shove it up your ass.”

“Ladies, that’s enough,” June, the resident peacemaker, chastised with a giggle. “We need to get back to work. But honestly, Daisy, when was the last time you had a date?”

Her question was asked kindly. These women adored me as much as I adored them, but my personal life was mine—embarrassingly awful and mine. They had worried about me for months after Steve died. It had taken me almost a year to decide that my husband would want me to be a happy person and not mope around for the rest of my life.

It was actually a dream… he’d visited me in a dream. Steve had yelled at me for about an hour. It was awesome. He told me to get a haircut with some fun highlights and stop eating donuts for dinner. My best friend in the world forbade me from wearing sweatpants, t-shirts and flip-flops to the grocery and was appalled at the state of my manicure. I took him up on his bossy advice, but dating was not on the table anymore.

After Hairy CPA Stan of the Small Man-junk, I was done. Plus, I now had my deceased houseguests to deal with. Dead people and dating didn’t go well together.

“I went on a date of sorts last night,” I said. “It sucked and I’m taking a break.”

“Good luck with that,” Jennifer commented evenly as she put six sugars in her coffee. “Every time I make a statement like that, I end up with another husband sucking me dry.”

“Holy crap. Why do you have broken blood vessels around your eyes?” Heather asked with concern as she gently touched Jennifer’s face.

“Botox,” Jennifer replied with an eye roll and a laugh. “Got my alimony check from that bastard Scott and spent it on my face. When the divorce settlement from Bob comes in, I’m thinking about getting the fat sucked out of my ass and thighs.”

Jennifer certainly knew how to render a room silent. Heather just shook her head and sighed. Jennifer was on a self-improvement kick that didn’t include exercise or eating right. All she needed was money—compliments of her exes—and a plastic surgeon.

“Shit hasn’t kicked in yet,” Jennifer went on as she added another overflowing teaspoon of sugar to her coffee. “Got it done five days ago. Don’t think it worked. I’m still as wrinkly as Albert Einstein’s ass after a three-hour bath.”

“Dear God,” June said as she watched Jennifer create her caffeinated sugar rush. “You’re going to get diabetes. You need to use the fake kind.”

“Too many chemicals,” Jennifer told her. She added one more heaping teaspoon of sugar just to watch June blanch. “You can get cancer from that crap.”

“You’re disgusting,” Heather informed Jennifer as she looked on in horrified amazement.

“Thank you,” Jennifer replied with a smirk and a small curtsy. “But back to Daisy…”

Damn. I was hoping to get away without any more character assessments or advice.

“You just need to put yourself back out there and maybe date a guy with tattoos,” Jennifer suggested as she took a sip of her drink and gagged.

Pride made her drink the cup of caffeinated sugar. I laughed as I watched her power it down.

“I’ll take that under consideration,” I promised as I headed for the door.

Maybe taking a week away from my well-meaning coworkers would be a good thing.

Or maybe not.

I’d see them tonight at my birthday dinner. My birthday. My rules.

No discussing Daisy’s love life.

Good luck to me.

Chapter Three

It was too damn big. It was never going to fit. I bit down on my bottom lip and glared at the problem. The area was tight and the product was large. Would it be better to just shove it in or would easing it in work better? The last thing I needed was to tear it. That would make a holy mess and the repercussions could be painful.

I broke out in a sweat wanting to get the damn deed done before I got caught in the office when I was supposed to have gone home.

Damndamndamn.

Why in the world had I thought buying a ten-pound bag of coffee and a monster-sized box of filters was a good idea? In my defense, they were on sale and it would save the other gals from having to go to the Piggly Wiggly this week.

Unfortunately, I’d gotten stuck in Candy Vargo’s checkout line. She talked about her hammertoe in great detail for ten minutes before she rang me up. I was ready to take a hammer to my own head by the time I got out of there. While my small, beautiful Georgia town had its advantages, it also had its disadvantages… like Candy Vargo and her hammertoe and her bunions and her dental abscess and her earwax build up. Candy’s list was unending and unappetizing.

Whatever. I was back at work and had a new issue. There was no room to store the supersized stuff. Hell with it. Maybe I’d just leave it on the counter and call it a day. I was out of here.

“Coffee and filters delivered,” I announced to the empty breakroom. “Would have loved to have shoved them up your ass, Clarissa, but that wouldn’t be ladylike.”

I froze as the feeling of nervous mice skittering up my spine seized me. Gripping the edge of the worn Formica counter, I took a deep breath so I didn’t have a panic attack or scream. Had the dead idiots followed me back from the Piggly Wiggly? I knew the day was coming when the semi-transparent weirdos would join me at the office, but I was hoping it would be in the future—the far-off future, as in never.

But my ghosts never snuck up on me. So far, they really weren’t scary at all—just kind of hopeless and sad. Of course, I could simply turn around and figure out what made me feel like I was about to be pushing up daisies, so to speak, but where would the fun in that be? If it was an evil ghost wielding a machete with my name on it, I’d rather not know. I’d treat this the same way I treated scary situations as a child. If I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me. Of course, that never worked, but the idea was creative.

Wait. Crap. Was Clarissa standing behind me? Pretty sure I just announced that I wanted to shove coffee supplies up her ass. When would I learn to stop talking to myself out loud? Putting my foot in my mouth and pulling it out of my butt was becoming a specialty of mine.

The breakroom shrunk to the size small enough for a flea, or at least that’s what it felt like. Fine. If my time was up, I wasn’t going to be a weenie about it. I was going to turn around and smackdown on the dead person for all I was worth. Letting my self-defense classes from the Y go unused would be a real waste in a life-or-death situation.

Of course, if it was Clarissa, I’d apologize. It would kill me deader than the freaks at my house, but my income was necessary.

Pivoting around and preparing for the worst, my eyes grew wide and I forgot how to breathe. It wasn’t my deceased buddies at all and it wasn’t my vicious supervisor. It was a man, and he was probably far more dangerous than the army of dead who’d taken a liking to me.

Why? No clue. I had no plans to stay and find out.

He walked farther into the break room and stood next to the coffee maker with an empty cup in his hand. He stared at me with as much surprise as I stared at him. His eyes immediately narrowed and he watched me as I debated my next move. The man had to be the new pretty-boy lawyer. His looks had not been exaggerated—at all.

He was the ridiculous kind of gorgeous—gray-blue eyes, messy blond hair and a rock-hard, muscular body that was evident even under his expensive suit. To me, he looked more like a surfer than a lawyer, but what did I know? His mouth was just stupid—full lips and even white teeth. And his eyelashes belonged on a damn girl. People that pretty could not be trusted. Add his profession to the equation and he was a catastrophe on two legs.

Breathe. It was simply a low-life lawyer who looked like he’d just stepped off the pages of GQ magazine. He wasn’t armed as far as I could tell. Even if he was, he certainly wasn’t going to kill me in the break room of the law firm that had just hired him.

I’d never laid eyes on him in my life, but I would swear I knew him. My insides clenched as I stared. I was torn between the desire to touch his face or run like the devil was on my heels. Running would have been smarter, but hindsight is twenty-twenty while real life is extremely near-sighted. In my case, probably blind.

“And you are?” he asked in a voice that could melt chocolate.

“One of the paralegals,” I replied tightly. Turning away, I busied myself trying to figure out what to do with the coffee and filters. Leaving them on the counter now seemed like an epic fail. The nagging feeling of danger remained, but the pretty-boy lawyer wasn’t carrying a machete, so I figured I was safe. Safe being a relative word.

If I didn’t make eye contact, I could pretend he was fat, hairy, ugly and smelled bad—which, sadly, he didn’t. He smelled like heaven… all sexy, soapy man with some kind of clean, woodsy aftershave.

“And does the paralegal have a name?” he inquired casually.

I could hear the amusement in his voice and it ground on my nerves. His question wasn’t out of the ordinary for polite behavior. I simply despised my visceral reaction to him. He was absurdly beautiful, but looks could be wildly deceiving. I’d learned that the hard way multiple times. I certainly wasn’t going to test my theory again with an ambulance-chaser—especially one that my supervisor wanted to nail.

“No, she doesn’t,” I replied evenly and went about my business.

“Now that seems a bit odd to me,” he said, leaning on the counter.

He watched me haphazardly shove the coffee into a cabinet that held toner for the printer and the filters underneath the break table.

“Odd? Not at all. Clearly, you’re not from the south. I go by miss or ma’am, and I’ll even answer to ‘hey you’ as long as you say please and thank you,” I replied as I bravely made eye contact and then regretted it.

He could not be a lawyer. This guy had to be a movie actor doing research for a job, or possibly a serial killer. He was far too good-looking to have brains. People like him did not exist.

“Well, I have a name,” he said as he removed the coffee from its incorrect home and placed it next to the coffee maker. “Would you like to know it?”

“Nope,” I replied as I followed suit and quickly plopped the filters next to the coffee while my embarrassment mounted.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was far too jaded by men to let this one fluster me. Plus, he was a lawyer at the firm where I worked. I was a paralegal who wanted to stay employed. Bad behavior was going to bite me in the ass. I had dead people trailing me. If I lost my job, I’d have to spend more freaking time with them.

Shit.

With a huge internal sigh, I plastered a fake smile on my face and extended my hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Daisy and I was rude. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the breakroom. Most of the lawyers around here don’t get their own coffee.”

“Laziness is a boring trait,” he commented as he readied the pot to make more coffee and ignored my outstretched hand.

What an ass. “Yep, well, you better find a new profession, buster,” I said, and then slapped my hand over my mouth. I wanted to die—violently. “Oh hell,” I choked out. “I meant…”

His laugh went all through me, and because I was clearly losing my marbles, I desperately wanted to make him laugh again, even though he had no manners and was probably a serial killer. His eyes lit up when he laughed. The man went from plain gorgeous to otherworldly beautiful.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was an idiot to be insultingly entertaining to the rude dude who had the power to send me packing.

“I have to go,” I mumbled as I felt the heat crawl up my neck and head for my face. I forced myself to meet his gaze. “It was… umm… nice meeting you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working here. It’s a very friendly place usually. I’m the exception. Well, not always—only if people are lawyers. Whoa, whoa, whoa… that was a joke.” I tried to laugh, but it came out somewhat tinny. “A bad joke. I’m just going to leave now before I say something, you know… really stupid. So have a nice coffee and life,” I finished lamely and wondered if I could erase the last eight minutes and start over.

Sadly, life didn’t have a remote and I was stuck having to live with mortifying myself. I squinted my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. The smartest thing to do was quit my job now before I complimented his ass. However, I needed the salary so I did the second-best thing.

I ran.

I heard the Greek god call my name as I sprinted through the office toward the exit, but I didn’t look back. Today needed to be over, and I was wildly grateful to be working from home this week.

Maybe Clarissa would get her claws into… I suddenly realized I didn’t know his name. Whatever.

Hopefully Clarissa would nail him this week and he’d be damaged goods. No one wanted anything to do with Clarissa’s sloppy seconds.

* * *

Just as I expected, there were eight new ghosts sitting on my porch swing when I got home. Several looked familiar and had definitely been at the church this morning. I was curious how they knew where I lived, but figured there must be some kind of dead people hotline. Otherwise, how in the heck did they find me? I lived in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town.

“Dead people hotline?” I muttered as I closed my eyes and groaned. Not only had I gone insane, I was rationalizing my crazy.

There were several partially skeletal faces peeking out of the windows of my house. Along with the dead group on the wraparound porch, I’d become a regular morgue.

Planting my hands on my hips and surveying the situation, I tried to figure out how to handle it. Maybe I’d call a meeting. It was my house after all and they were here uninvited. The very least they could do was to follow some damn rules.

“Okay, umm… people. We’re having a meeting. You have two minutes to show yourselves and bring your dead selves outside. Whoever decides not to join us is no longer welcome to squat on my property,” I said, using my outdoor voice so the inside interlopers would be sure to hear the invitation.

Slowly but surely, semi-transparent dead people began to gather on the porch and in the front yard. Holy hell, how many were there? I lost count after forty-two—mostly because they kind of faded in and out of each other. After I realized I’d counted the laughing dude from the Stan debacle three times, I gave up. It didn’t really matter how many had taken up residence at my house. They were here and it seemed I didn’t have much of a say about it.

“Can anyone here speak English… or umm… Spanish? I speak a tiny bit of Spanish and I know a few phrases in French. I took it in high school, but that was a while ago,” I called out and almost burst into hysterical laughter.

What was I doing? These people were dead. Sharing my skill—or lack thereof—of foreign languages from when I was in high school over twenty years ago with dead people meant I was crazier than Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch on national television.

I still wasn’t sure they were real. True insanity had taken over. It didn’t really matter at this point if they were real or I was imagining them. I could see them and I had glued a freaking hand back on this morning. They were real enough.

No one uttered a word. Fine. If they couldn’t speak English, they most certainly could understand it. I hoped.

“Okay,” I said, pacing the grass and keeping a lookout for anyone who might drive up. It wouldn’t do to let the cat out of the bag that I’d lost my mind. “Today’s my birthday.”

I was interrupted by what I could only interpret as some kind of garbled grunting congratulations. Pretty sure a few tried to clap, but their hands went right through each other. The sentiment was nice even if the reality was alarming. I decided to go with my gut here.

“Umm… thank you.” My need to be polite bordered on absurd and definitely embarrassing. “None of you are actually invited to the party. So I think it would be a great idea if you went to the movies or maybe took a walk this evening—a three- to four-hour walk. You know, to the graveyard or somewhere appropriate like that.”

Silence.

The movies were probably a bad idea and the graveyard comment bordered on bad taste. I didn’t need them getting pissed off. Honestly, I was lonely in the big rambling house since Steve died. Maybe I’d conjured up imaginary dead friends to keep me company.

“I’m crazier than a fish with tits,” I muttered, repeating one of Gram’s favorite phrases.

I was pretty sure some of the ghosts laughed. At least I was entertaining to someone, even if they were dead. Living alone was hard after sharing my life with a partner for so long.

The farmhouse had been a dream of Steve’s and mine. We’d bought it ten years ago and had spent the last decade fixing it up. It sat in the middle of twenty acres surrounded by lush forest. Steve was a far better decorator than I was, but I was a pro with a hammer and a gallon of paint. The hours spent improving our dream house were some of the best memories I had of my husband.

I’d also had dreams of filling our home with our children and dogs from shelters. Sometimes dreams didn’t come true. With our issues, kids were not an option.

And then Steve died. The end.

Pushing the sad thoughts away, I eyed my attentive audience.

“I’m going for a run,” I explained. “When I get back, everyone will be gone. We clear? Oh, and if anyone left a body part lying around, you need to take that with you. While I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can see you guys, a random nose or foot lying around would freak my guests out. You feel me?

Again, no one said a word. I didn’t expect them to. If they had, I might have fainted. It would mean I’d gone from simply cracked to completely certifiable. I was fairly sure my transparent buddies understood not to leave their appendages lying around, but I’d take a walk around the house before the girls came over, just in case.

Realizing I was an idiot, I smacked my forehead. I had the rest of the day in front of me and I’d forgotten to take any work home. There was no way in hell I was going back to the office. Running into the pretty-boy lawyer was not good for my sanity.

And considering I only had a little of that left, I could take no chances.

* * *

“Absolutely not,” I huffed as I began to sprint the last mile of my run.

I noticed a few of them on mile three of my usual five miles. The dead dude who was so supportive when Stan was talking smack this morning led the pack. They floated along beside me squealing with laughter and moving their legs like they were running. They weren’t. They couldn’t. At one point during the uphill part of my run, I was jealous that I couldn’t float like they could. I needed to stop hanging out with people who should be taking a dirt nap.

“You can’t come on my runs,” I tried to explain, swiping the sweat from my face as I increased my pace. “This is my alone time to think.”

Laughing guy winked at me. I mean, I think he did. His eyes were so sunken into his head, I wasn’t sure. Not to mention, I wasn’t exactly positive he had eyelids.

“Seriously,” I complained as I noticed I was now running with at least thirty dead folks. “This isn’t working for me.”

Stopping abruptly and bending over to catch my breath, I placed my hands on my knees and stared at the ground for a long moment. What did it matter if they ran with me? Maybe the exercise was good for them.

Glancing up, I grinned when I noticed laughing dude was in the same position as me.

“Do you have a name?” I asked in a whisper.

He looked at me and moved his mouth frantically. Sadly, nothing he said made any sense.

Sitting down on the ground in the middle of the forest, I laughed when my posse of spirits joined me.

“Would a Ouija board work?” I asked, wondering how I was going to get one of those. There was no way I would buy one in town. People would think I was trying to communicate with Steve. I didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for me. I’d just recently stopped feeling sorry for myself.

I had chosen to live life, not hide behind my grief. The dream I’d had where my dead husband read me the riot act had helped tremendously. I knew it was most likely my subconscious speaking, but I preferred to pretend it was Steve.

Laughing dude simply watched me. No one could clue me in about the Ouija board. I’d just order it online and have it delivered. It might not work, but what could it hurt? I hoped it wouldn’t hurt. If my squatters could communicate, all hell could possibly break loose.

Whatever.

At least it was proactive.

Chapter Four

I didn’t like ham salad sandwiches. I hated them. After going to the petting zoo at the state fair a few years back and getting attached to the baby piglets, I’d sworn off pork. It was alarming to Steve, since he considered bacon a food group. However, I never gave him guff for eating Wilber and he didn’t give me crap for not. Pork was a subject where we agreed to disagree. I missed our disagreements. I missed him.

Nope. Not going there today.

No time to wallow.

Today was my birthday. I was making food for my party. Food that I wasn’t going to eat, but food nonetheless.

Basically, I’d become a vegetarian over the past few weeks. Eating meat while sitting with decomposing specters at the dinner table was impossible and gross. The upside was that I was saving money at the grocery store. Meat was expensive. Ham wasn’t allowed in the house now—tonight was the exception because Jennifer and June loved my ham salad.

Actually, all my girlfriends loved my ham salad sandwiches. I’d been ordered to make them for the party. Each gal was bringing a dish. It would be laid-back and simple, just the way I liked it. Using Gram’s secret recipe—which meant adding Miracle Whip, sliced dill pickles and a teaspoon of sugar to the chopped ham—I put the salad together without really looking at it. I felt less guilty that way.

“Hi there,” I said, glancing up to find laughing dead dude staring longingly at the ham salad.

Most of the ghosts had disappeared like I’d requested. Laughing dude and a few others remained. He sat at the kitchen table and watched me with interest. In an hour, I’d insist he and the stragglers leave too, but strangely, I enjoyed laughing dead dude’s company. I was probably close to cracking completely. Right now, I didn’t care. Laughing dude was growing on me whether he was real or not.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, knitting my brows in concern.

Could dead people be hungry? Could they eat?

Laughing dude shook his partially deteriorated head no, but pointed at the salad.

“Umm… it’s ham,” I said as he grew alarmingly more animated. “You like ham?”

I mean, I could make him a sandwich and place it in front of him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like someone cared. I knew the feeling. There was a shitload of ham salad. It didn’t matter if I wasted a little bit. I was Southern. I didn’t know how to make small batches of anything. It was a mortal sin in Georgia to run out of food at a party. I had no plans to commit any kind of sin this evening—hence my no-drinking plan.

“Sssssssssssss,” laughing dude said, pointing at the ham.

I quickly made him a sandwich as he continued to hiss. He didn’t scare me. What I perceived as his hunger made me want to cry.

Why hadn’t he moved on? Why hadn’t any of the dead people who were hanging out moved on? Wait. Was this what happened when you died? You just hung out and haunted random houses? You found a freak like me who could see you and moved in?

How completely depressing.

“Here you go,” I said, putting the plate in front of him. Grabbing a cloth napkin and pouring him a glass of lemonade, I sat down and waited to see what would happen.

If he ate it, I was in trouble. My grocery bill would skyrocket if dead people could eat. There was no way I would starve them. It was bad enough that their body parts were falling off. Not feeding them would be inhumane—not that they were technically human anymore. If dead people could eat, I was screwed.

“Sssssssssss,” laughing dude said, pointed at the sandwich. “Sssssssss.”

“It’s ham,” I told him. “Ham salad. Same stuff that’s in the bowl.”

“Ssssssss,” he said, making a motion to remove the top piece of bread.

Of course, he couldn’t do it. He tried. His hand went right through the sandwich each time. The ghosts were a mystery to me in so many ways. Half the time they seemed corporeal and the other half translucent. Handless woman’s hand felt real to me, yet laughing dude couldn’t use his to remove a piece of bread.

Wait. Maybe he was gluten intolerant and needed me to take the bread off. Would the bread make him sick? Could dead people even freaking get sick? I could offer him a ham salad lettuce wrap instead. Or even better, I could skip my party and check myself into the psych ward at the hospital.

Or should I simply remove the top piece of bread so he would quit hissing and freaking out?

I chose the easiest path and removed the bread. I could swear laughing dude sighed with relief. However, he didn’t stop hissing. Now pointing frantically at the ham salad, his hissing grew louder. The game was getting weird.

Standing up and grabbing a spoon, I prepared to remove the ham salad from the bottom piece of bread—and then I froze. Laughing dude glanced up at me with a hopeful expression on his skeletal face.

Sitting down with a thud, I gripped the edge of the table and felt my entire body tingle.

“You’re trying to tell me something important,” I whispered.

Laughing dude nodded. Pointing at the ham salad, he continued to hiss. Maybe I didn’t need the Ouija board after all.

“Sssssssssssssssss.”

“Charades,” I suggested, feeling like an idiot and excited at the same time. “Do you know charades?”

He nodded.

Charades wouldn’t work. His motions were stilted and odd. Honestly, I was worried with all the frantic pointing at the ham that his entire arm might detach from his body. I didn’t have much superglue left after the hand surgery from earlier—certainly not enough to glue an arm back on.

“It’s the ham salad. Right?” I asked him.

Again, he nodded.

“You like ham salad?” I asked.

Laughing dude shook his head no and scrunched what was left of his nose.

“Neither do I,” I told him. “But it’s important?”

He nodded and hissed.

Breathing in slowly through my nose and blowing it out through my mouth, I closed my eyes and waited for some kind of divine intervention to help me figure out what the heck he wanted me to know.

What would laughing dude want me to know about him? What would be important to dead person?

His name. A person was no one without a name… simply a faceless entity.

“Your name is Ham?” I asked, confused. I suppose it could be a nickname. Unusual, but we were in the South. I’d heard far worse.

“Ssssssssss,” he hissed slowly, still pointing at the ham.

He was less frantic now. I was close.

“S. Ham?” I tried again. I figured the hissing meant S. Maybe.

Laughing dude shook his head no, but his smile grew so wide part of his jaw dropped off and hit the floor.

“I’m going to have to invest in some superglue,” I muttered as I picked up his jaw and handed it to him. “Keep this with you and don’t lose it. I’ll get some glue in the morning and fix you back…”

I stopped and slapped my hand to my forehead. I wasn’t great at games, but I was pretty sure I knew what he was trying to tell me.

“Sam,” I said. “Your name is Sam?”

He floated up to the ceiling and then shot across the room like a bullet, making sounds of joy—garbled and weird joy, but definitely joy.

He was no longer laughing dude who had my back when Stan was talking smack. He was Sam. Sam who just wanted to be known to someone.

“Sam,” I said as he flitted around the kitchen, floating in and out of furniture and cabinets with excitement. “I see you, Sam. You’re not invisible to me.”

Sam stopped and floated down in front of me. He had to be in his late eighties when he died. I vaguely remembered attending a funeral in town of someone named Sam about six months ago. He’d died of a heart attack and left behind a heartbroken, cute little-old-lady wife.

Turning away from Sam, I leaned on the refrigerator and pressed my cheek against the cold stainless steel. Abnormal didn’t even begin to describe what my life had become. I’d be hard-pressed to find a word that fit other than something wildly profane. Had I attended Sam’s funeral? Was that why he’d come to me?

It couldn’t be. I had at least fifty ghosts in residence as far as I could tell. I had not gone to that many funerals of people I didn’t know… at least I didn’t think I had.

Stop. I needed to stop. This thinking was all kinds of warped.

I hadn’t gone to Sam’s funeral. That was utterly ridiculous. I’d finally accepted that the ghosts were here… kind of. I couldn’t start being a dead person detective. I had a job and a life. They both kind of sucked right now, but they were mine. I wasn’t going to let insanity take that from me.

However, Sam’s sweet joy was the most beautiful thing I’d witnessed in a while. So what if he wasn’t really here? Maybe my subconscious was trying to teach me something.

What?

No freaking clue.

“Sam,” I said, turning around and tilting my head to the side. “We can be friends, but you can’t come to my party. Cool?”

Sam smiled and tilted his head, mirroring me. Without his jaw, it was seriously startling, but it was the smile that counted, not the fact that it looked like a nightmare come to life.

I took his smile as a yes.

“I’m going to shower and get ready,” I explained as I put the ham salad in the fridge and tossed his uneaten sandwich in the trash. “You can come back later tonight—around midnight.”

Sam faded away and I sighed. Part of me hoped to never see any of them again and another part of me would be devastated if Sam didn’t come back.

I was definitely coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.

* * *

“Well, the Botox kicked in. I’m lookin’ foxy botoxy,” Jennifer announced as she put her famous monster-sized bowl of macaroni salad on the kitchen table and plopped down in a chair. “Can’t move my dang face to save my life. I like it—feel about twenty years younger. Just gotta get the fat sucked out of my ass and I’ll be good to go.”

“Oh my God,” Heather said as she stared at Jennifer in shock. “How much botulism did you have shot into your face?”

“I always throw dented cans of soup away,” June commented as she put four pecan pies with birthday candles in them on the table. We would not be short on food. “You can die from botulism. Back in the ’70s, hundreds of people died from canned soup. I think it was chicken noodle.”

“I’m not dead,” Jennifer pointed out. “Can’t move a damned muscle in my head, but my face looks more like a baby’s butt than Einstein’s ass now. And to answer your question, Heather, I asked for a double.”

“A double what?” I asked, trying not to show my horror or, God forbid, laugh. She looked frozen.

“Double shot of Botox,” Jennifer replied with a cackle.

Nothing moved even a fraction of an inch on her face. The only evidence that she was happy was the sound she made. It was going to take some getting used to. Since Jennifer was sarcastic most of the time, no one would know what the hell she was truly thinking.

“You’re an idiot,” Heather said with a laugh. “How long will it last?”

“Well,” Jennifer said with what I think was an attempt at a smile. “They say it can last anywhere from three to five months. I figured since I went for twice the amount of poison, I’d keep looking like a toddler’s backside for about a year.”

“Congrats,” I said, trying not to laugh. I failed.

“Thanks, Daisy,” Jennifer replied, trying to wink.

Her eye only shut halfway.

“You should do it like the French gals,” June said, rearranging everything on the table so it made sense. “Just a little bit here and a little bit there over time.”

“Nah,” Jennifer said, popping one of Heather’s delicious pot-stickers into her mouth. “Damn these are hot.” Spitting it into her hand whole, she went on as if her lack of couth was normal behavior. Well, for Jennifer, it was. “I don’t have time to pay attention to that kind of shit. My tank was at empty and I filled her up with extra super-duper unleaded Botox.”

“You sure did,” Heather said with an eye roll. “Where’s Missy?”

“She’ll be here any minute,” I said, putting the tray of ham salad sandwiches on the table along with plates, napkins and utensils.

I glanced around my kitchen and smiled. As soon as Missy got here, all the women I adored would be in my home. Well, except Gram. Her doctors didn’t think it was smart to take her out of the nursing home right now. With the flu going around, they were more comfortable with her staying put.

Gram was slowing down fast—a fact I didn’t want to acknowledge. Losing her was not acceptable. It worried me how much she slept, but when we were together, she was all there. Her body might be failing her but her mind was still sharp. And she still had the hots for Bob Barker.

The beeping of a horn pulled me from my sad thoughts.

“Missy’s here,” Jennifer said, grabbing June’s hand and pulling her toward the front of the house. “She’s gonna need help with the present!”

“I’m coming,” June said with a giggle as Jennifer dragged her along. “And you can scare her with your new face.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jennifer shot back with a guffaw.

Heather sat down at the kitchen table and started to nibble on a ham salad sandwich. For a brief moment, I wondered where Sam and the others had gone. Quickly pushing the thought away, I focused on life… not death.

“I wasn’t going to bring this up tonight,” Heather said carefully. “And tell me to shut up if you want to discuss it at another time or never.”

“What?” I asked, sitting down next to her and pilfering a few sugary pecans from the top of the pies.

“Has the life insurance claim been settled yet?” she asked, leveling me with a concerned stare.

I should have figured she would ask. The fact that I was low on cash to buy coffee and filters was a clue. No one else really knew the sad, sordid details except Heather. She was smarter than hell and I didn’t know who else to go to.

“The investigation is over,” I said, feeling the need to cry. “They’ve determined it wasn’t suicide, and I should be seeing the life insurance money in the next month or two.”

“Those bastards should be strung up by their testicles,” Heather grumbled as she took my hand in hers and squeezed. “I’m sorry you had to fight for the money. Insurance companies are true evil.”

Sighing, I squeezed her hand back. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” I whispered as my eyes filled. “Steve would have never killed himself. Ever.”

“Agree,” Heather said. “It’s bureaucracy, and he had a large life insurance policy that they didn’t want to have to pay out.”

I nodded because words wouldn’t come.

“They tend to do that with car accidents,” Heather said, shaking her head. “I’m just glad it’s over. However, if you don’t see that money next month, you will tell me. I’ll be able to practice law soon and nothing would make me happier than taking that insurance company apart piece by piece.”

She would do it. Heather was not only my friend. She and Steve had gotten along great and been close. Her gift in helping me deal with the aftermath of the accident and the insurance company debacle was one I could never repay. She was golden to me.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Back at you, birthday girl,” she said with a sad smile. “Now, wipe the tears. Steve would be very happy right now knowing that you beat those bastards.”

“We,” I corrected her. “We. You and me. We beat those bastards.”

“We did,” Heather agreed with a grin. “I plan to beat a lot of bastards in the near future.”

“And you will,” Jennifer announced as she, June and Missy entered the kitchen looking wildly guilty. “Most of the town is terrified of you. God knows I am.”

Heather laughed and flipped Jennifer off.

“Dude, once you pass the bar, you’re going to own this sleepy little place,” Missy said with a thumbs up.

The large bag they held between them began to move.

Shit. Had Sam gotten stuck in the bag? Had they accidentally captured a ghost? Could they even see the bag was moving or was it just me?

Feeling panicked, I did nothing. If they didn’t know the bag was moving there was no way I was going to tell them. My crazy was my own secret.

“SURPRISE!” all my friends yelled as they pulled out the cutest fuzzy red puppy I’d ever seen from the bag.

My sigh of relief would have been hilarious if I wasn’t about to break.

“It’s for you!” Jennifer said with no expression on her face to match her excited tone. “It’s a dog!”

“I can see that,” I said with a raised brow as the little thing wobbled right over and laid its head on my foot.

“We figured you might be a little lonely out here,” Missy said, sitting down at my feet and petting the puppy.

The fuzz ball’s tail wagged a mile a minute and my heartbeat increased with joy… and fear.

Would a puppy notice dead folks? Would it freak him or her out?

“She’s also for security,” June said, as the little furry thing flopped onto her back for a belly rub. “Well, soon,” she added with a giggle.

“Do you like her?” Heather asked, squatting down to pet the happy dog. “We can take her back to the shelter if we overstepped.”

Did I like her? Yes. I was pretty sure I already loved her and I’d barely even held her yet. Could I take care of her? I wasn’t sure. But when Heather said the word shelter, my decision was made. I now owned a dog.

“Yep,” I said, scooping the wiggly puppy into my arms.

“Name?” Jennifer asked, grabbing a ham salad sandwich and going to town.

“Umm… Donna,” I said with a grin. “Donna the Destroyer.”

“Ohhh,” Missy said with a groan. “With a name like that, she’s going to eat every sofa in your house.”

Hugging her close, I breathed in her sweet puppy smell. “I don’t care,” I told my friends with a delighted laugh as Donna the Destroyer licked my nose. “I don’t care one single bit.”

And I didn’t. Donna the Destroyer was real. I was sure of it. Maybe the ghosts would disappear if I wasn’t so needy for companionship.

And maybe they wouldn’t.

Chapter Five

“Napoleon Bonaparte’s penis was auctioned off in 1977,” Jennifer announced, swigging straight from the bottle of chardonnay.

“Bullshit,” Heather said from her curled-up position on the love seat.

We were all slightly buzzed, some more than others—meaning Jennifer. It was just right.

The food had been delicious and consumed in great quantities. My ham sandwiches were the hit of the evening. There were enough leftovers for a small army. Our Southern ancestors would be proud.

“I shit you not,” Jennifer insisted. “Some dumbass urologist from New Jersey bought it for three thousand dollars and kept it for thirty years.”

“Why?” Missy asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she snuggled with Donna the Destroyer on the couch.

Donna was adjusting just fine. She’d peed on the rug twice but did her poopy business outside. It was turning out to be a blessing that I was working from home this week, now that I had a new fur-baby. Staying away from the new lawyer was an excellent plan as well. Embarrassing myself more than I already had wasn’t on my agenda of fun things to do.

“Well now, I don’t know why anyone would buy the chopped-off penis of a dictator,” Jennifer said, trying to wince but getting no result. “Time magazine said it looked like a ‘maltreated strip of buckskin shoelace’. It’s also been compared to a shriveled eel and beef jerky.”

“Why do you know this stuff?” I asked with a laugh. I would never be able to eat eel sushi again without thinking of Napoleon’s package. “It’s so gross.”

“No clue,” Jennifer replied, uncorking yet another bottle of wine. “But I can also share that the average speed of ejaculation is twenty-eight miles an hour and the largest penis is thirteen and a half inches long.”

“That’s why I like vaginas,” Heather commented.

“I’m really thinking you might be onto something there,” Jennifer said with a loud burp.

June raised her hand and waited politely.

“Umm… June, you don’t have to raise your hand,” I said with a grin. “It’s a party, not school.”

“Well, crap,” June said with a giggle. “You’re right. I have a joke.”

“Go for it, June,” Missy said.

“Well, not really a joke,” June clarified. “Just silly stuff.”

“Any penis facts?” Jennifer inquired.

“No, absolutely not,” June said, tossing a pillow at Jennifer’s head. “Okay, here goes… Did you know the name of John Lennon’s first girlfriend was Thelma Pickles?”

“For real?” I asked with a laugh. “That’s awful. Do more.” I settled into the big overstuffed armchair and wrapped the afghan Gram had made around me. It was lovely having people in my home… living people.

“Well, the average adult spends more time on the toilet than exercising,” June informed us.

“That’s true,” Jennifer agreed with a nod. “I’m on the crapper all the time.”

“You should stop talking,” Heather advised Jennifer.

“Roger that,” Jennifer said, pouring herself a healthy glass of wine.

“I’ve got one,” Missy said, sitting up and putting a sleepy Donna on a blanket on the floor. “If you’re waiting to be served in a restaurant, shouldn’t you be called the waiter?”

That one floored us. It was brilliant or we were really toasted.

Missy soaked in the impressed reactions with delight and kept going. “Why is there an S in the freaking word lisp?” she demanded.

She received applause for that one.

“And for my last observation of the evening,” Missy said with a wide grin. “I think sweater is a really disgusting name for a piece of clothing. I say we get rid of the damned A and call them sweeters.”

Heather sat up and gaped at Missy. “How have I never thought of any of this? Your mind is exceptional.”

“Thank you, dude,” Missy said as she stood up and took a bow. “I try hard to please.”

I couldn’t help but notice how Heather looked at Missy. They’d had a semi-relationship for a while. Missy wasn’t sure she was comfortable being with a woman and had ended it. Heather would never admit it, but she was heartbroken. Thankfully, they’d stayed friends. I would have never been able to pick one over the other. Missy’s staunchly religious upbringing had done a number on her. As much as I thought they were perfect for each other, it wasn’t my say. Hell, my own private life was far messier than theirs.

“Time to call it a night,” Heather said, standing up and stretching. “I’m beat.”

And that’s when Sam and a few others arrived home… so to speak. I wouldn’t have noticed since I was halfway asleep in my chair, but my new addition noticed—and she had something to say about it.

“What the heck is Donna barking at?” Jennifer asked, getting ready to head out.

“Maybe it’s a ghost,” June said with a drunken little giggle.

My head jerked to her to see if she was serious. June didn’t see my violent reaction, but Heather did. She eyed me with concern. Shit. She was going to think I thought Steve was here as a ghost or something ridiculous like that.

“She’s just practicing her watchdog skills,” I said quickly, scooping Donna into my arms as she whined and barked at my spectral squatters. “And I think she knows it’s bedtime. You guys have to work tomorrow.”

“Damn it, what time is it?” Missy asked with a yawn.

“Midnight,” Heather said, still watching me. “I’m not buzzed. I’ll drop everyone off and you can get your cars tomorrow.”

It was midnight. I had told Sam to come back at midnight. I couldn’t even be mad at the dead posse.

“Good plan,” Jennifer said, carefully tucking the open bottle of chardonnay into her purse. “Can you pick us up for work in the morning?”

“Yep, my botoxicated buddy,” Heather said. “I’ll be the taxi tonight and then again in the morning. You going to be okay, Daisy?”

“Fine,” I said, busying myself cleaning up the mess. “I’m great. Just going to straighten up a bit and take Donna out for a pee-pee. I’m good.”

Heather nodded but gave me one last uneasy glance. Wait. Could she see the ghosts? Were the damn ghosts really here? My question was answered when Heather walked right through Sam to get her platter from the kitchen. No one would walk through a dead person on purpose. I know I certainly wouldn’t.

“Ohh,” June said, helping me gather the wine glasses and plates to take to the kitchen. “Wait until you see Gideon.”

“Who’s Gideon?” I asked, keeping a tight hold on Donna while I balanced a tray of half-eaten pie in one hand. It wouldn’t do to have Donna stand in front of Sam and bark at him. He might feel bad. Oh my God. Looney bin, here I come…

“The hottie lawyer Clarissa wants to bang,” Jennifer filled me in. “Man’s a damned work of art. Heather, even you have to admit Gideon is hot.”

“He’s hot,” Heather yelled from the kitchen.

“See,” Jennifer said, nudging me. “Even the lesbian says he’s hot.”

Not wanting to admit to my mortifying meeting with Gideon, I shrugged. “Well, Clarissa must be happy.”

“Funny thing,” June said, reentering the family room and wiping down the coffee table. “He seems to dislike her as much as we do.”

That had to be going over well. Not.

“Yep, she’s acting like a simpering fool around Mr. Fine-ass,” Jennifer said, folding the afghan and setting the pillows back on the couches. “It’s better than watching Golden Girls reruns to see her get crapped on.”

“It really is,” June said with a giggle. “She doesn’t know what to do. It’s too bad you won’t be there to see it.”

“You quit?” Missy asked, surprised, as she popped her head out of the kitchen while drying some of the platters that Heather must have washed.

“I wish,” I said. “But no. Clarissa gave me the week off to work at home.”

“Why in the heck would she do that?” Missy asked, perplexed.

Missy knew all about Clarissa and didn’t like her any more than we did. Multiple times, she’d closed her shop as Clarissa was walking in the door. Suffice it to say there was no love lost between my bestie and my boss.

“She did it so Gideon won’t see Daisy. She doesn’t want competition,” Jennifer said and then paused. “I was waggling my brows. Did it work?”

“Umm, no,” I told her. “I don’t think much on your face is going to move for a while.”

“Right,” Jennifer said. “I’m just going to narrate my reactions for the next year.”

“Kill me now,” Heather yelled from the kitchen.

Sam thought the exchange was funny and laughed. The other dead people joined him. It was incredibly hard to not look at the specters hanging out in the same room with my oxygen-breathing friends, but I was doing a pretty good job. Thankfully, Donna the Destroyer had stopped barking at them.

“I’m not anyone’s competition,” I said, putting Donna down, now that she wasn’t so focused on my dead guests. “You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to date a lawyer.”

“Shit,” Heather said, rejoining us in the family room. “Does that mean I have no chance at all once I pass the bar?”

Shaking my head, I laughed and hugged my friend tight. “If I ever change teams, you’re my gal. I promise.”

“Well, Happy Birthday, Daisy,” Missy said, giving me a kiss on the cheek and ruffling Heather’s hair. “Forty is going to be a great year for you. I can feel it.”

I prayed I didn’t wince. Forty had not been good so far other than being with my friends and getting a puppy. It was odd that Missy would even say that. My best friend had kind of a sixth sense about things. Her fabulous kitschy bookstore was loaded with bestsellers along with books on magic and all sorts of other new-agey stuff that I constantly rolled my eyes about.

Wait. What the hell was I rolling my eyes about? I was seeing dead people.

Whatever. No one—even a person in-tune with seeing things—could be right always. Missy had missed the mark this time but I wasn’t about to correct her. My friends had only recently eased up on their worry about me losing Steve. I didn’t need them worrying about anything else. I was too much of a drain on them as it was.

“It’ll be great,” I lied with a smile. “I love all of you nutbags. Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” June said, giving me a warm mom-hug. “Are you coming in tomorrow morning to pick up some work?”

Damn. “You know,” I said, making a plan as the words fell from my lips. Avoiding Gideon seemed like the smartest thing to do for my mental health. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I was going with my gut. “Having Donna now, I was wondering if someone could meet me at the coffee shop and bring me a big load. That way I could take Donna into town with me.”

“Great idea,” Heather said. “I’ll do it.”

“Meet up at the bookstore,” Missy suggested. “I’ll make coffee.”

“Perfect,” I said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll meet you there at nine.”

“Be there or be square,” June said with a giggle as she and Jennifer danced out of the house.

“Is June just the cutest thing ever or what?” Missy asked with a wistful smile. “I would have killed for a mom like her.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” Heather added, following June and Jennifer out.

“See you tomorrow,” Missy said, giving Donna one last snuggle.

“Yep. Tomorrow.”

Closing the door, I pressed my forehead to the wood and sighed. The night had been fantastic until it got weird. Turning, I waved to the poltergeists seated on my couch. Donna was at Sam’s feet, looking up at him and wagging her tail like a maniac.

Having a dog was going to be interesting. Having a dog that could see dead people like I could was going to be mind-blowing.

I didn’t feel quite as crazy as I did just hours ago. I mean, I was still nuts, but maybe I wasn’t certifiably nuts.

One could always hope.

* * *

“Sam, I don’t know what you want,” I said for the fifth time as he spastically gestured.

It was now three in the morning. Dead folks had wandered in and out of the kitchen for the last few hours watching Sam try to communicate with me. It wasn’t working. The more he gesticulated, the worse I felt. I knew he needed my help, but I had no clue why.

The handless lady was far easier. I found a hand. Handless lady showed up. I glued the hand back on. It stayed… who knew? Done.

This new twist? Not clear.

“God, I’m sorry, Sam,” I said, letting my head fall to the kitchen table with a thud. I was exhausted, but Sam was so upset I kept trying. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

Donna barked and peed on my foot. Great. Could the night get any better?

Hopping across the kitchen with my pee foot in the air so I didn’t track urine all over, I grabbed some paper towels and cleaner. My contacts were giving me a headache. Popping them out, I found my glasses on the breakfast bar.

Sam went nuts.

“Gaussaus,” he grunted.

“You’re gaseous?” I asked, really not needing to know the bathroom habits of the dead. I quickly cleaned up the pee mess and sat back down.

“Naawwwooo,” he groaned.

“Okay. You don’t have gas?”

Sam shook his head no and pointed to my eyes. “Gaussaus.”

“My glasses?” I asked.

“Yausssss,” he said, getting excited. “Lassssh gaussaus.”

“Lash glasses?” I guessed.

Donna growled.

“Naawwwooo,” Sam said. “Lassssh gaussaus.”

“Last glasses?” I tried again.

Donna growled again. What the hell? Was she letting me know I was wrong? Could she understand Sam? Dogs were smart, but they didn’t speak English at three months old… or ever. She’d just peed on my foot. There was no way she understood a dead person.

“Naawwwooo.” Sam repeated the same odd phrase. “Lassssh gaussaus.”

“Lost glasses?” I asked, just wanting to go to bed.

Donna the Destroyer barked and wagged her tail. She also peed a little more on my foot. Awesome.

“Yausssss,” Sam bellowed, causing the lights in the old farmhouse to flicker.

Holy Hell on a Sunday. My dog understands dead people.

I’d had enough for one night.

“Okay, Sam. We’ve established you lost your glasses,” I said, re-wiping the floor and hoping my new puppy was peed out for the night, “We’ll get back to this tomorrow. Cool? I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Sam didn’t look wildly pleased with the turn of events, but he nodded his head politely and faded away. I sat there for a long moment and tried to make sense of my life. It wasn’t possible. Plus, it was now three-thirty in the morning.

I’d make sense of my life tomorrow—or later today as it were.

Or maybe not.

The possibilities were endless.

“Come on, Donna. We’re going to bed.”

I knew it wasn’t the smartest move to take a furball into my bed that had peed on me twice in the last ten minutes alone, but it felt right. I’d probably live to regret it, but that’s what washing machines and showers were for.

Chapter Six

“What are all of you guys doing here?” I asked, walking into Missy’s bookstore at nine AM sharp with Donna in tow. I’d stopped by the pet store and bought my puppy a hot pink collar and leash along with a ridiculous amount of chew toys on my credit card.

With the promise of the life insurance money coming in, it felt kind of safe to spend a little. I wouldn’t spend it on myself, but my furry baby needed a few items. I was hoping Donna the Destroyer didn’t live up to the name I’d bestowed on her. I liked my couches. “Clarissa will have an aneurysm if no one’s in the office.”

Jennifer grinned—or she tried to. “The Wicked Witch isn’t in today, so we’re playing hooky and taking a short coffee break.”

Clarissa never missed work. I suspected her goal in life was to terrorize us and she couldn’t do that if she wasn’t there. Maybe she’d nailed Gideon and they were making a late morning of it. The fact that the thought of them together bothered me was highly annoying. I didn’t want the man. He was bad news and then some. And I wouldn’t know what to do with him if I did have him.

“I just love romance novels,” June gushed with a sigh as she perused the romance aisle of Missy’s shop.

“Romance novels are full of unrealistic sexual expectations,” Heather said with a raised brow. “I don’t know anyone who can orgasm fifteen times in a night—male or female.”

“Oh, I know that,” June said with a delightful giggle. “I have my own Prince Charming that I’m keeping who happens to be wonderful in the sack. But these books are so much fun.”

June was the only one of us who had achieved a real and loving happily-ever-after. Her husband Charlie was as sweet as she was. He was a lab technician at the local hospital. Slightly overweight with a contagious laugh and twinkling blue eyes, Charlie worshipped the ground June walked on. Her kids were great as well—all of them kind and well-adjusted. Each of us wanted her for a mom, including Jennifer, who was about a decade older than June.

“Read a line and I’ll rework it,” Heather said, rubbing her hands together with glee.

Heather loved a challenge. I was quite sure she could level a romance novel just like she could take down an empire.

“Oh my God,” Missy muttered with a laugh as she made coffee for everyone. “If a customer comes in, you have to shut your traps. I need to sell those books.”

“Deal,” Heather promised. “June, give me a line—a sexy line.”

Paging through the book she’d picked up, June giggled and blushed. “Okay, here’s one. She had breasts like a tempestuous goddess and I lusted to ravish her.”

“That’s kind of grammatically warped. Does it even make sense?” I asked, pulling a rubber bone out of my purse for Donna so she didn’t chew up a book.

“Nope, not a bit of sense, but I’d do him,” Jennifer commented.

“He doesn’t exist,” Heather said with an eye roll. “Here’s the more accurate version. She had knockers like a middle-aged librarian and I hankered to grope her.”

“I’d do that guy too,” Jennifer said with a cackle. “At my age, I’ll take whatever groping I can get.”

“I’m having déjà poo,” Missy said.

“Don’t you mean déjà vu?” I asked with a grin as I kept a close eye on Donna. We didn’t need an accident in Missy’s shop.

“Nope. I meant déjà poo,” Missy confirmed. “The distinct feeling I’ve heard this crap before. About six months ago, June and Heather had a go at the children’s book section. Heather made Dr. Seuss sound like a freaking pervert.”

“I’m that good,” Heather announced with pride.

“Or that bad,” Missy added with a laugh.

“That too,” Heather acknowledged with a bow. “Give me another, June.”

“Here’s one,” June said, making herself comfortable on a cozy chair in the reading nook. “Her silken thighs were mesmerizing and I longed to worship her womanhood.”

“Oh my God,” I said, shaking my head. “Her womanhood? Worship her womanhood? Really?”

“Hang on,” Heather said. “I’m going to fix that one up. Her cellulite-ridden thighs were boner-inducing because a change in the wind was boner-inducing to a randy idiot like myself. And I pined to bang her for as long as my manhood could please her, which will be about ten seconds before I blow my wad.”

I choked on my coffee. Heather was all kinds of awful, and hilarious to boot.

“How about this?” Jennifer asked. “She had a butt like a juicy mango and I hungered to raw dog it with her.”

“You win for most disgusting,” Heather told Jennifer with a laugh.

“I know! Right?” Jennifer sang and pumped her little fists in the air.

“You guys could write one hell of a horrifying romance novel,” Missy said with a groan, passing out scones. “Remind me not to carry this masterpiece in the shop if you ever completely lose your minds and actually write it.”

“Will do,” Heather replied. “We’d have to use fake names. I could get run out of town for something like this. Daisy, you do one.”

“I suck at romantic stuff,” I protested.

“The whole point is to make it as unromantic as possible,” June pointed out.

My real life was as unromantic as it could get. However, if my embarrassment could make my best friends laugh, I was in. “Fine. But it’s kind of real.”

“Oh my God,” Missy muttered with a laugh. “Is it about the accountant?”

“Yep,” I said, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. I wasn’t as good as Heather. I couldn’t riff without a little planning. “Hang on.”

“Take your time,” Jennifer said. “We have all day since the witch isn’t there.”

“Female point of view. Fairytale genre,” I said, explaining myself.

“Got it,” Heather said with a grin. “You go gurl!”

Looking down at the paper, I went for it. “Once upon a time there was a gal who drank an entire bottle of wine and banged a dude with less personality than a box of hair.”

“Sounds like my ex,” Jennifer volunteered.

“Which one?” Missy asked.

“All of them,” Jennifer replied with a laugh.

“Hush, let her finish,” Heather said.

I went on, gaining confidence due to the grins and the laughter. “After two and a half minutes of contemplative thought, which was thirty seconds longer than his manly performance, she decided that men simply weren’t worth it. Her booty call’s man-junk was so itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny, she wasn’t sure they’d even had sex at all. Not to mention if he was truly into the art of manscaping, he really should have had a go at his back. From now on, she was going to stick to BOB—all he needed was batteries and he wasn’t hairy. And if she ever banged a dude again, she would be sure to check his back first. The end.”

“Brilliant,” Jennifer bellowed as she bent forward in laughter.

“Oh my goodness,” June said, fanning herself and giggling. “He was that hairy?”

“He was,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “And he showed up the next morning to tell me he was smarter than me.”

“Get out of town,” Jennifer shouted. “That deserves a knee to the balls.”

Heather was cackling. Missy shook her head and chuckled.

I felt awesome and free. Maybe forty would be a good year after all. My mortifying life could be turned into a stand-up act. June’s high-pitched giggle made me laugh harder. She was blood red and fanning herself like it was August. Even Donna the Destroyer thought I was hilarious. She sprinted around the shop barking and licking everyone’s shoes. I decided to go with the fact that she hadn’t peed on anyone as a compliment.

Taking a deep and ridiculous bow, I realized I hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time. Maybe I’d been taking everything too seriously. Of course, I was losing my mind and hanging out with dead people. Maybe I could work that into my act.

All of a sudden the laughter turned to silence—a horrible, eerie silence.

Son of a bitch. Had Stan walked into the shop? I didn’t like him or his pompous preppy ass at all, but I wouldn’t purposely call him out in front of anyone but my nearest and dearest. The saving grace was that I didn’t use his name. Thank God for small favors. When would I freaking learn to keep my mouth shut?

“We were just going back to work,” June said in a shaky voice.

“Yep,” Jennifer agreed, hightailing it out of the shop. “Just getting a quick coffee.”

Heather wasn’t in as much of a hurry, and I was still too terrified to turn around and see the fury—or heaven forbid, hurt—on Stan’s face.

“It’s all good,” Heather said smoothly, patting my back.

“Is it Stan?” I whispered.

“Umm… no,” she said. “Not Stan.”

“Thank God,” I muttered as I turned around—and wanted to melt into the floor.

It wasn’t Stan. It wasn’t Clarissa either, which would have been my next guess from the reactions of June and Jennifer. No. It was far worse. And the most awful part was that I wasn’t sure when he’d walked in or how much he’d heard.

“Hello, Daisy,” he said, looking like he’d jumped off the pages of one of the stupid romance novels we’d been making fun of. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself properly yesterday. My name is Gideon… and I’m not hairy.”

Shit. Well, there was the answer to my question. He’d heard the whole thing. How much more could I humiliate myself in front of the same man? Apparently, a lot.

“What are you doing here, Gideon?” Heather asked coolly as she leaned on the counter and eyed him suspiciously. “Shouldn’t you be lawyering right now?”

Holy cow, I couldn’t believe she’d used his first name. I didn’t know his last name, but I assumed Heather did. Her lack of fear was going to get her canned. I knew she was protective of me, but she wasn’t going down for me.

Gideon smiled. It was positively blinding—even Missy was charmed, and she was a tough nut to crack. And Donna the Destroyer? She was a traitor. She ran right up to the dangerous man and danced at his feet like she’d eaten a vat of sugar.

“Heather brought me some paperwork,” I said quickly in a voice that sounded suspiciously breathy even to my own ears. I held it up for proof with a trembling hand and stuffed it into my purse. “She’s going back to the office now. And I’m… umm… leaving.”

“Heather, I’ll see you back at the office,” Gideon said pleasantly, but clearly dismissing her. By the tone of his voice, it was obvious he wasn’t usually disobeyed.

Heather didn’t disappoint him. She narrowed her eyes and then nodded curtly. “Yep. See you back at the office.”

Giving me a look that I couldn’t decipher, Heather slowly left the shop.

“Daisy, may I have a word with you?” Gideon asked.

The way he said my name made my insides clench and my knees weaken. What was it about this guy? Sure, he was pretty to look at, but he was so clearly dangerous I could almost taste it. Did turning forty mean a person became attracted to good-looking serial killers?

“Yes. Of course,” I said, scooping Donna into my arms and putting a nice safe distance between me and someone who was technically one of my bosses. “Go ahead.”

“Privately,” he said, looking over at Missy with a smile that would make most women faint.

“I can leave,” Missy volunteered, glancing over at me apologetically. “Or not. Up to you, Daisy.”

“How about this?” Gideon suggested, crossing the room and taking the puppy from my shaking hands. “Why don’t we take your dog for a walk? We can go to the park—very public,” he added with a wink.

Well crap. Could he read my mind? Did he know I thought he might be a hot serial killer? I never should have gotten out of bed this morning. But with a puppy and a houseful of floating specters, I didn’t have much of a choice.

“Sure,” I said, trying to take my dog back.

He was having none of it. Gideon turned and walked out the door with my puppy in his arms. He was an arrogant jerk to think I would just follow him, but he did have my dog.

“Bang him, dude,” Missy whispered, giving me a thumbs up. “He said he wasn’t hairy.”

“He’s terrifying,” I whispered back as I watched him put Donna down and pet her through the front window of the shop.

“So what?” Missy shot back with a grin. “He looks like he knows what to do with it and he’s clearly into you.”

“He is not,” I insisted. Was he? Shit.

“Is,” she contradicted me. “Bang him.”

“I can’t,” I said, feeling frantic as heat crawled up my neck and my stomach began to churn. “Besides getting drunk and doing Stan the Two-Minute Man, I haven’t done it in years.”

I gasped as I realized what I’d just confessed. How could I dishonor Steve’s memory like that? I was horrible, and it was me… not him.

“What did you say?” Missy asked, shocked.

“Nothing,” I said as I made my way to the door. “Just… please forget I said that. I didn’t mean it. Please.”

Missy nodded and observed me with sadness in her eyes. I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t need her to know how truly broken I was. I was trying to forget it myself. God, I was an idiot.

“I love you, Daisy,” Missy said as I exited her little shop. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“I love you too,” I said without looking back. “I really do.”

I’d already talked far too much. Duct taping my mouth sounded like a fine idea. I would say as little as possible during my chat with Gideon.

As little as possible.

Right…

Chapter Seven

Uncomfortable didn’t begin to describe how I felt. I was still horrified over what I’d just revealed to Missy. Not to mention, I was way out of my league sitting in the park with Gideon. The air felt charged with energy and I wished I was wearing more clothing—armor would have been helpful. The need to protect myself was bizarre. Every time Gideon glanced over, I felt raw and exposed, like I was naked… not that he was undressing me with his eyes or anything sexually inappropriate like that. The man was just seriously intense.

“Lovely morning,” Gideon said, watching me like a hawk as I kept my eyes glued to my puppy. I could feel his stare like a two-ton weight on my shoulders.

“Yep,” I agreed. Oh my God, was that all I could come up with? Yes. Yes, it was. And as far as I was concerned, it was a win. I hadn’t embarrassed myself… yet.

I was too old to feel like I was the high school nerd sitting next to the popular quarterback. I turned forty yesterday. Acting your age was a requirement when you hit forty, or something like that. I was pretty sure I made that up, but if I didn’t keep my mind occupied, I would say something mortifying. I was sure of it.

This was ridiculous. However, I didn’t seem to have much of a choice. The pretty-boy lawyer was technically my superior and it was a workday, even though I was supposed to be doing my job from home.

“Since we’re going to be working together, I think we should get to know each other, Daisy,” Gideon said mildly as we watched Donna chase and attack the autumn leaves.

“Umm… why?” I asked, glancing over at him and then looking away. My name on his lips made me feel funny inside, but his statement was odd.

The morning sun made his hair shine and his eyes sparkle. He was simply wrong in every sense of the word. No one should look as good as he did.

“Because it makes sense and will make everything easier when the stakes are high and dangerous.”

Was he crazy? Possibly. Someone as pretty as he was had to have something wrong with him. It would be unfair if he’d been blessed with both looks and brains. It made this situation a little easier to handle, realizing he wasn’t perfect.

“You take your job pretty seriously,” I commented, trying not to roll my eyes.

The stakes were never high at our firm, considering we specialized in real estate and estate planning. And they were never dangerous. I thought about pointing that out, but if he thought real estate and wills were exciting and life-threatening, who was I to burst his bubble?

“Don’t you?” he asked.

“Umm… sure. But you’re a lawyer and I’m a paralegal. We don’t exactly work together,” I explained, trying to be nice. If he wasn’t right in the head, it wouldn’t be polite to make him feel bad about it. The Southern manners thing was ingrained.

Gideon’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment. He pressed his lips together and glanced up at the cloudless sky.

“We do work together,” he said slowly, turning his head to stare at me. “We work closely together.”

Okay. He was either hitting on me in a seriously creepy way or there was something wrong with him. His gaze was so direct it felt like he was seeing inside me. It wasn’t a real pleasant feeling.

“Did you have this same conversation with the other gals at the office?” I asked, ready to grab Donna and run like hell if necessary.

“No,” he said, squinting at me in confusion. “Why would I do that?”

“Well,” I said, trying to stay diplomatic so he didn’t crack on me. I was beginning to feel a little sorry for him. “Because all of us work with you in a roundabout way—me, Heather, June, Jennifer and Clarissa.”

“I do not work with Clarissa,” he snapped and then pulled himself back together quickly.

I could have sworn his eyes had turned red for a second, but the sun was bright and I had my own cray-cray issues. As loony as he was, I was still wildly tempted to touch his face. His beauty was startling. I’d never seen anyone like him.

I needed my head checked. I had more than enough insanity in my life right now. I didn’t need to add to it. Plus, I still was unsure if he was a killer or just off his rocker.

Sitting this close to Gideon made my heart race. I knew if he tried to murder me, someone would notice. Several of the old gals from The Gladiolas Women’s Club were weeding the flower beds on the far said of the park. If I screamed, they would come running. They might be ancient, but they were damned scary.

Twice, I almost tried to start a new conversation. Twice, I mentally told myself to shut up.

What did you talk about with someone who might be mentally unbalanced?

Wait. I should know since I currently resided in that unsavory category.

Instead of following my very misguided instincts to touch him, I glanced over at the church and sighed. There was a new posse of dead hanging out and they were all waving at me. Gideon had so many screws loose, he probably wouldn’t notice if I waved back, but I didn’t want them to come over. Donna would bark and freak out. Every time a new ghost had floated through the kitchen last night, she went berserk. Which reminded me—I needed to pick up some superglue on the way home. Sam’s jaw needed to be glued back on.

Closing my eyes, I smiled. Gideon might not be working with all cylinders running correctly, but I had him beat in the batshit crazy department. If he believed that real estate and wills were exciting and dangerous, I’d hate to hear what he thought was boring. Looking back over at the church, I counted six specters. My ghostly squatter count was getting higher every day.

“What are you looking at?” he demanded abruptly, making me jump and almost fall off the bench.

Narrowing my eyes, I’d had about enough weird for nine thirty in the morning. “You’re kind of rude,” I told him.

“Your point?” he asked with a raised brow, clearly annoyed with me.

“An observation,” I said, shrugging. “As strange and interesting as this has been, I really have to go. Maybe you can meet with the other gals and that will make you feel better about working at the firm. They’re all really great… except Clarissa.”

“Are you for real?” he asked, looking at me like I had two heads.

“Are you?” I shot right back. I stood up and grabbed Donna.

“If this is an act, you’re brilliant,” he said, clapping his hands condescendingly. “I suppose it could come in handy.”

“Look, I think maybe you… umm… might want to talk to someone. There are a bunch of great doctors in town and if that makes you uncomfortable, you can drive to Atlanta to see someone. It’s only an hour and a half away.”

Gideon’s laugh was as beautiful as he was, and I found myself smiling. Why? Well, probably because I was as bonkers as he was. My desire to make him laugh bordered on absurd and possibly dangerous.

“You think I need a psychiatrist?” he asked, perplexed and amused.

“It couldn’t hurt,” I offered weakly. “It’s not a weakness to get help. It’s a strength.”

Gideon stared at me for a long moment. I couldn’t have ripped my gaze away if I’d wanted to. I didn’t want to. Being the sole focus of his attention was intoxicating in a way I’d never experienced. For a brief moment, I forgot how out of his mind he was.

“You really don’t know,” he whispered in amazement. “You have no clue who or what you are. You’re just walking around completely ignorant. Unbelievable.”

Okay, I was done. Crazy was one thing. Mean was entirely another.

Breathing in slowly through my nose and blowing my breath back out on an audible puff, I glared at him. “You’re an asshole,” I said flatly. “We don’t work together and I know exactly who I am. You, my friend—and I use the term very loosely—need some help with your manners and probably a whole bunch of other things. However, you’re not my problem, thank God. So, in the future, stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. And if you try to get me fired, I will slap your ass with a harassment suit so fast your head will spin.”

Donna was squirming to get out of my arms to lick the certifiable and cruel idiot who was sitting there with his mouth hanging open in shock. It was evident by his reaction that he wasn’t used to being called an asshole.

My puppy was definitely a traitor. I adored her, but she had some shitty taste in men. That shouldn’t surprise me since she was my dog, and I wasn’t much better.

“You are a wonder,” Gideon said as a wide smile pulled at his lips.

“And you’re a lunatic,” I said as I turned and marched out of the park.

“Just so you know, Daisy,” Gideon called out with a laugh. “Mine’s not tiny, and I’m not hairy.”

I didn’t even turn around.

“Good for you,” I yelled as I headed for my car. “I’m sure someone will be appreciative of that.”

“Oh, you will,” he added.

“I can add sexual harassment to the lawsuit, buster,” I shouted, putting Donna into the car, starting it and flooring it out of town like the devil was chasing me.

Of course, my windows were open, and the last thing I heard as I drove away was his laughter. Damn me, if I didn’t love the sound. It was stupidly addictive.

From now till the end of time, I would avoid Gideon like the plague. He was bad juju and I didn’t need any more than I already had.

The man was crazy and dead wrong. I would never appreciate Gideon Whatever-his-last-name-was.

Ever.

* * *

“Oh, hell no,” I said, pulling into my driveway and shuddering. “This can’t be happening.”

Clarissa Smith sat on my front porch swing. I was going to have to sage the damn thing when she left, which would be immediately if I had any say in the matter. She might be my supervisor at work, but she wasn’t allowed at my home.

Donna growled and refused to leave the car. I didn’t blame her. I considered backing out of the driveway and speeding away, but I had a horrible feeling the viper would still be on the swing when I returned. Clarissa was a determined person.

“Daisy,” she called out. “I need to have a word with you.”

I’d heard that phrase earlier and it hadn’t turned out so well. I didn’t expect this conversation to go any better.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, getting out of the car and leaving Donna put. The windows were open and she’d be fine. I hoped she didn’t eat the interior since I’d just gotten the car paid off, but I understood why my puppy didn’t want to get out. Clarissa was heinous.

“That’s not a nice way to treat a guest,” she informed me with an arched brow and a sour expression.

“You’re not a guest,” I told her with a polite smile that was in complete juxtaposition to the words that had just come out of my mouth.

Honestly, I didn’t care if she fired me. If she didn’t, I was going to quit. I didn’t want to be in the same building with Gideon, and not seeing Clarissa every day would be an added bonus. If I was careful, I could make the insurance money last a while. I’d find a new job. Maybe Missy would hire me. Or Heather might need a paralegal when she started her own practice.

The only thing I needed money for was to take care of Gram… and now Donna. The car was paid off and the mortgage and utilities were manageable.

“Invite me into your house,” Clarissa demanded.

“Are you a vampire?” I inquired with a grin.

My amusement didn’t amuse her. I didn’t care. I was kind of done for today and I still had to reattach Sam’s jaw.

“I’m your supervisor,” she snapped.

“You’re on private property,” I stated flatly as I unlocked the door.

“You’re on the clock, Daisy,” Clarissa reminded me. “I need to talk to you about work.”

I laughed. She didn’t.

“Clarissa, I don’t believe that, but if you want to play that game, go for it. Come on inside and we can talk about work.”

“When did you grow balls?” she inquired as she breezed past me and walked into my house.

“Today,” I said.

“Interesting. Any particular reason why?” she inquired as she looked around my house with great interest.

My home was lovely and warm. I’d done all the painting and some of the other manual labor things, but Steve had been the one with the great decorating skill. All of the furniture was overstuffed and in soothing patterns and faded florals. The floors were a lightly stained, pitted cherry and the walls were repossessed barn wood we’d bought at an estate sale.

The art on the walls represented places we’d gone together. We’d picked up a piece of art on every vacation we took. My favorite was a painting from France—a little café with colorfully dressed, chic people conversing and drinking coffee. Steve and I used to sit in front of our massive stone fireplace and make up the conversations of the folks in the painting with our horrible French accents. It was fun. We laughed. I missed all those silly moments desperately.

He’d loved me with all my faults, and I’d loved him with his.

“I asked you a question,” Clarissa said.

“I heard you,” I replied, half-tempted to offer her something to drink. Being Southern was very difficult to get out of your system. As much as I wanted her to leave, I couldn’t bring myself not to offer her refreshments.

As for why I’d grown a set of balls? That was none of her business. I was pretty sure I’d always had them, but they seemed to be showing more lately.

“Would you like coffee or lemonade?” I asked, hoping my facial expression didn’t show my attitude.

“Are you going to poison it?” she asked with a laugh.

She was dead serious.

“Umm… wasn’t going to, but if that’s how you like it, sure.”

“I’m fine,” she said, gazing at my couch.

There were three dead people seated on it, watching her with fear in their eyes. I didn’t blame them. She was scary.

If I wasn’t mistaken, they were the dead people from the church this morning. They had certainly moved in fast.

“Have a seat,” I said, wondering if she would sit on top of the specters.

She didn’t, which was a little odd. After staring at my couch for another long moment, she took a seat in an empty armchair—no dead person in it.

I was losing it. Clarissa wasn’t crazy. She was just plain mean. There was no way she could see my poltergeist. The fact that I was referring to them as mine was not a good sign.

Whatever.

The goal at the moment was to get rid of the abomination in my house. I’d take dead people over Clarissa any day of the week.

“So,” she said, plastering a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. She was very pretty in a brittle way. However, her personality destroyed her beauty. “How have you been doing?”

“Are you serious?” I asked, squinting at her.

“Yes,” she snapped and then reined it in. “I just thought since we’ll be working together, we should be… a little… you know, friendlier.”

I was having a complete déjà poo. I’d heard the same crap not even an hour ago. Had everyone lost their marbles?

“Clarissa, we’ve worked together for eight years,” I said, holding back an eye roll with extreme effort. “I don’t see any reason to be friends now.”

“You don’t have to be rude,” she insisted, picking up a picture of Gram, my mom and me from when I was a child.

She stared at it for a bit and then put it back down. Her eyes narrowed, and I could swear she wanted to say something shitty. I was ready. I was used to it. However, if she so much as said one vicious thing about my mother or Gram, I would use my Y skills on her. Sooner or later I was going to get some use out of those self-defense classes. If today was the day, so be it. It would feel amazing to head-butt Clarissa.

“If you’re going to be his friend then you have to be mine as well,” she explained, examining her manicure. “Otherwise it’s not fair and I’ll be pissed. No one likes it when I’m pissed, Daisy.”

I amended my earlier thought. Clarissa was mean and crazy. Maybe there was something in the water.

“Who are you talking about?” I asked with an eye roll that felt so good I laughed.

“You know who I’m talking about,” she said, glaring at me. “Rules are rules.”

“Okay,” I said, realizing she could possibly screw my day up completely. She might be nuts, but I was off my rocker. If she wanted to play games, I was in. Off your rocker could kick nuts’ ass any day of the week. Unfortunately, my balls were getting bigger with each conversation I was forced to have today. “Fine. We can be friends with a few conditions.”

“Really?” she asked, perking up.

“Really,” I said, standing. “We can be friends if you leave right now. We can only be friends in public and never at my house. In fact, you can’t come here anymore—that is, if you want to be friends. We have literally nothing in common and if we do, I don’t want to know about it.”

“I can work with that,” she said, nodding seriously.

I almost laughed.

“I’m not done,” I told her.

“There’s more?”

“There’s always more. You will be nice to the paralegals at work. You do anything out of line and you lose friend points. I’ll determine what ‘out of line’ means on a case-by-case basis. If you lose ten friend points, we’re no longer friends. We will not be close friends. Ever. I won’t tell you my secrets and I never ever want to know yours. You feel me?” I wondered how far I could go… This was fun in a warped and unhealthy kind of way. I’d never had the upper hand with Clarissa in the entire time I’d known her. I wasn’t sure why I had it now, but I did. I refused to waste it.

I was nuts, but I wasn’t stupid.

“Will you tell him your secrets? I mean, he’s so old he wouldn’t even understand them. He’s older than dirt, just in case you weren’t aware of that,” she hissed, looking like she was going to throw a fit.

Who was she talking about? Her father? Another lawyer? Gideon? It couldn’t be Gideon. He wasn’t a day over forty-five. Most of the other lawyers in the firm were in their sixties and seventies. It had to be one of them.

Honestly, it didn’t matter who she was talking about. I simply wanted her gone.

“I would never tell him my secrets,” I promised, having no clue who I was referring to. “He’s old… and umm… gross, and I really don’t like him much.”

Clarissa clapped her hands and squealed with joy. It was alarming. However, since she’d jumped to her feet, I had a chance to push her out the front door.

“He’s really awful,” she admitted. “I nailed him a while back and then he pretended he didn’t know my name. Can you believe that?”

“That falls under the heading of secrets,” I said, trying not to gag. “You’re forbidden to tell me those. Remember?”

Picturing Clarissa with one of the geriatric lawyers was too much. I was happy my stomach was empty.

“Right,” she said as I eased her out of my family room and onto the front porch. “So sorry. But I will say as amazing as he was in the sack, he was a son-of-a-bitch the morning after. You do not want to go there.”

Now I was picturing wrinkled old man testicles. I was also sure she wasn’t talking about her father.

“Too much information, Clarissa,” I said tightly, scanning the yard for her car. I didn’t see it. “How did you get here?” I asked, praying she didn’t take a taxi and would want me to drive her back to town. I didn’t have enough sage in the house to do the family room, front porch and my car. The sage had been a gift from Missy. I’d giggled when she gave it to me. I wasn’t giggling now.

“I walked,” she said.

Glancing down at her four-inch stilettos, I doubted her story. But if that’s how she wanted to play it, I would go with it.

“Okay,” I said, ushering her down the porch steps and into the yard. “You’d better get moving. It’s about a seven mile walk back. I’d say this has been fun, but…”

“You’re my friend now, Daisy,” she insisted, sounding a little threatening. “You will not forget that.”

“Don’t think I could if I tried,” I said, walking to my car and scooping up my puppy. I didn’t trust her not to steal my baby or something awful like that.

I turned around expecting a comeback, but Clarissa was gone.

How in the hell did she do that?

I glanced down the driveway to see if I could spot her, but she was nowhere in sight. I suppose she could have gone through the woods. In her heels it would be a challenge. Unsettling and bizarre, but then again so was she. It had taken me a minute or two to grab Donna out of the car so I suppose she could have jogged …

Thankfully she was gone. There wasn’t enough room in my brain to figure out how she did it. I had a jawless dead buddy to repair. Life was weird enough without believing mean girls could poof away. A head-shrinker would be insanely helpful right now… stress on the word insane.

Clarissa was not welcome at my home. It was my safe place, and she wasn’t safe.

I just hoped she followed the rules.

Chapter Eight

“You have to stay still,” I told Sam as I pressed his jaw back onto his face… or what was left of his face.

I was still constantly surprised that my gag reflex didn’t kick in when dealing with dead stuff. Never in my life did I think I would be gluing a ghost’s jaw back onto his head.

“Lassssh gaussaus,” Sam repeated for the umpteenth time.

“Yep. Fifty more seconds,” I said, keeping pressure on his jaw as I watched the clock on the microwave. “And I know. You lost your glasses.”

“Naawwwooo,” he said, looking so sad my breath caught in my throat. “Waauufff.”

Crap. A new word.

“Donna, come in here,” I called out. She was better at understanding the dead than I was. It was a shame she couldn’t talk. It would save a lot of time.

It kind of sounded like Sam was trying to bark. Maybe he had the same idea I did about bringing Donna into the conversation. And the strange just kept getting stranger.

“Are you barking, Sam?” I asked as I let go of his jaw and prayed it stayed attached.

“Naawwwooo,” he said, shaking his head vigorously.

His jaw didn’t drop off and hit the floor. I was getting pretty good at this.

“Mmmkay.” I sat down at the kitchen table and pulled out my laptop. It was definitely time to go online and order a Ouija board. “You’re trying to tell me something new?”

“Yausssss. Waauufff lassssh gaussaus,” he grunted, nodding hard as if that would make me understand.

It didn’t.

“Wauff lost glasses,” I muttered, trying to do a puzzle with thousands of missing pieces.

Donna growled.

“I know,” I told her with a laugh. “I got the wrong answer. I’m trying here, guys.”

Sam stood and floated out to the family room. Donna got up and followed. I guessed that was my cue to join. I’d give Sam an hour or so to try to tell me what he wanted. After that, I was going to see Gram. She’d want to hear all about my birthday party. Oh my God, she was going to cackle at some of the jokes.

After that I had to do all the paperwork that I’d shoved into my purse this morning at the book shop. It was going to be a long day, but that was fine. I was home with my puppy and my dead friends. No more weird conversations with good-looking crazy people for me today. I’d had my fill this morning for the rest of the year.

With a smile and a solid resolve to try to figure out what Sam was trying to tell me, I snapped my laptop shut and followed my puppy and dead buddy out of the kitchen.

Sam was on the couch, and Donna was at his feet wagging her tail so hard her little bottom was shaking. I was so in love with her. I was starting to love my buddy Sam too. Probably not the smartest move, but he was adorable in a dead and decomposing kind of way. He had a terrific sense of humor and he seemed kind.

I’d never had a grandfather or a father that I’d known. Not that I was pretending that Sam was my grandpa… Wait. I was. I was crazy and starting to live in an alternate fantasy reality. Not good.

“Dausseeeeee,” Sam grunted and made a valiant attempt to pat the seat next to him on the couch. I was worried his arm was going to fall off since it was hanging by what looked like a paper thread, but I didn’t say anything. I’d bought a case of superglue earlier.

“Did you just say my name?” I asked with a grin as I crossed the room and sat down next to him.

Donna barked and wagged her tail. I’d gotten it right!

“Dausseeeeee, waauufff lassssh gaussaus,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Waauufff lassssh gaussaus.”

“Is there another way to understand?” I mumbled, still trying to decipher what Sam was saying.

Donna wrapped her paws around my ankle and held tight. I glanced down and giggled. She was the oddest little dog. “What are you doing?”

Donna looked up with her paws still around my ankle and barked.

“Really?” I asked, and then smacked myself in the forehead. Had I fallen so far into the rabbit hole that I thought my dog was telling me how to communicate with the dead—the dead that I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure weren’t figments of my imagination?

Deciding to ignore Donna’s advice because that meant there was no turning back from complete insanity if I listened to her, I kept going over Sam’s words in my mind.

Donna wasn’t having it. She kept barking and gripping my ankle with her little paws. Where in the heck had my friends found Donna? She wasn’t normal. I mean, I wasn’t normal, but she was a dog. She was supposed to be normal. Well, crap. Had I screwed her up because I brought her into a home with decomposing dead people and insanity?

I couldn’t even go there right now. Some things—not everything—happened for a reason. I was choosing to believe that I was supposed to be Donna’s human because I was as whacked as she was.

“You want me to grab Sam’s ankle so I can understand him?” I asked, very happy that I lived in the middle of nowhere. If someone heard me, I would die.

Donna barked and licked my shoe.

“I’m not licking Sam’s foot,” I informed all present. I could only do so much. Licking a dead person’s foot—ghost or not—was not going to be added to my repertoire of loony.

“Dausseeeeee,” Sam grunted with what sounded like a laugh. “Haaawug.”

I didn’t need to interpret through my dog on this one. Sam held his semi-transparent arms out and repeated himself.

“Haaawug,” he said, giving me a smile that might have made me think he was a flesh-eating zombie if I didn’t know him so well.

“You want me to hug you?” I asked.

Sam nodded and kept smiling.

In less time than it would take a heart to produce a single beat, the family room was full of so many ghosts, I gasped. Counting them was impossible since they faded in and out of each other, but their excitement was very clear.

The garbled noise coming from them sounded like a very off-key song that was supposed to be joyful but came out macabre instead. However, I’d spent a few weeks with the weirdos. I was beginning to understand far more than I’d ever wanted to.

“Quiet please,” I yelled to my squatters. “I need to think.”

Everyone piped down, but the eager anticipation was still in the air. Had I just figured out the key to help these sad souls? Was that why they were so enthusiastic?

Only one way to find out.

“Okay, Sam, I’m going to hug you and then somehow I’ll understand what you’re trying to tell me about the lost glasses. Right?”

“Dausseeeeee, haaawug.”

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered as I wrapped my arms around what was left of Sam.

I kind of thought my arms might go right through him, but they didn’t. He was solid in my embrace—very frail, but solid. “It’s okay, Sam,” I whispered as his fragile body shook. “I’ve got you. Talk to me.”

My first mistake was hugging my friend. My second was asking him to talk to me.

At least I adored Sam. Dying while hugging a ghost was a weird way to go out. I hoped that one of my friends would take Donna in. I’d hate it if she had to go back to the shelter.

The cold. The cold went all the way to my bones and tore through my body like sharp, frozen daggers made of ice. Trying to catch my breath, I gasped for air and screamed.

The only sound that left my lips came from so far away I could barely hear it.

My head pounded violently and every single cell in my body screamed for oxygen. I tried to pull away from Sam but we were locked together in a deadly embrace.

I thought Sam was my friend. I was wrong. Had the past few weeks been a psycho build-up to my own death? Would I end up in my house haunting whoever bought it?

“I can’t breathe,” I called out into the darkness that clouded my vision. “Heavy. Too heavy on my chest. I can’t breathe.”

Sam’s arms—or I think it was Sam’s arms—tightened around me and something gently rubbed my head.

My mind went numb and I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore. I vaguely wondered if they had fallen off. Would I be able to find another whack job like me who would glue me back together?

Forgive me whoever might be listening. Please. Forgive me.

My skin felt like ice. When did it get so cold? It was only October. If I could find Gram’s afghan I would be okay.

Oh my God. Gram will be so upset that I died. It’s not the natural order. She already lost her daughter. She couldn’t lose her granddaughter too.

Yes. Yes, she could.

“Daisy?” a male voice said softly. “Stay with me. Don’t walk into the light and never walk into the darkness. Promise me.”

“Who’s talking to me?” I asked, surprised my voice worked. Was it God? Did he really exist? He had a very nice voice—kind of like I’d imagined it should be. I supposed it could be Satan—if he was real—but I didn’t think the devil would sound as fatherly as the person speaking to me.

That is, if I wasn’t imagining it…

“It’s Sam.”

“Shit. Sam, I thought you just murdered me or that you might be God. Am I dead?”

“No, my sweet young lady. You are very much alive.”

“Can you explain to me what the hell just happened?” I asked, still unable to see anything but darkness.

Sam didn’t answer for a moment. “I can’t because I don’t know.”

“Will I be able to leave this place?” I asked, terrified that he wouldn’t know the answer to that either.

“I was told that you will be able to go back.”

“By who?” I demanded, peering into the darkness to try to see Sam.

Nothing. I could see nothing.

“I don’t know,” he told me.

“Umm… that’s not very encouraging, Sam,” I snapped. “Where are you? I can’t see a damned thing.”

“Close your eyes, Daisy,” Sam said soothingly as I felt a gentle hand cup my face lovingly. “My voice won’t last much longer. I’ll show you in a picture what I need from you.”

“Will it hurt?” I asked. I was kind of done feeling like I was dying.

Sam’s chuckle was exactly as I would have imagined it—patient, kind and warm. “No, Daisy. It will not hurt. After we’re done, open your eyes. Remember, do not walk into the light or the darkness. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I said, closing my eyes and waiting for the next round of oxygen deprivation.

Pictures raced across my vision so quickly I couldn’t make them out. It was like an old static-filled black-and-white TV screen was inside my head. Catching glimpses of a smiling man and woman, I relaxed. The pictures began to come into clearer focus.

The man had to be a younger Sam. He was quite dapper, and in most of the images that whizzed by he was laughing and smiling. The woman on his arm was lovely—petite with big brown eyes that looked at Sam with such love it made me smile.

I saw their courtship, their wedding, the birth of their children, and so many other sweet and loving memories. Sam had led a beautiful life.

And then the images slowed to what felt like real time. My stomach dropped and I knew my eyes had filled with tears. A lone old woman sat on a chair and cried. She was incredibly familiar to me. I’d seen her before… at her husband’s funeral.

I had gone to Sam’s funeral. She was the adorable heartbroken little old lady that I’d given my condolences to after a moving ceremony. Sam had been a well-loved man. My heart hurt a little that I didn’t know him when he was alive. I believe we would have been buddies, just like we were now.

As enlightening as this was, I still didn’t know where Sam’s glasses were.

The old woman had aged since I’d seen her six months ago. She wandered her home searching and searching. What was she looking for?

“Her glasses?” I gasped out.

“They’re in the cookie jar,” Sam said sadly. “My Adaline’s memory is going fast. I knew she’d put her glasses in the cookie jar, but I didn’t want to embarrass her by telling her. I would have died before I would ever hurt her.”

“Are they still in the cookie jar?” I asked.

“Yes. I meant to put them on the counter before we went to bed for her to find in the morning. I hunted down those damn glasses every night and left them right next to the teapot where I knew she’d discover them.”

“And you died that night?” I whispered.

“I did,” Sam confirmed. “She’s been looking for her glasses for six months.”

“Why can’t she get a new pair?” I asked.

“Oh, Daisy, these are very special glasses—well, it’s the chain on the glasses that’s irreplaceable. Her wedding band is on the chain,” he explained. “My Addie has arthritis and can’t wear her ring—hasn’t been able to for years. We got her a chain and put her ring on it—means everything to her. I have to put them out for her just one more time. I need you to help me, Daisy. She’ll know I’m watching after her. I would be indebted to you always.”

“You want me to break into your house and leave her glasses by the teapot?” I asked, not quite following.

“I do.”

I didn’t even have to think about it. I’d always wanted to live a life of semi-crime, but kind of like Robin Hood crime—steal from the rich to feed the poor. This wasn’t a perfect fit, but I got to be a burglar who was helping my friend. Win-win. “Yep. I’ll do it. You just have to help me get out of this weird place I’m in.”

“Open your eyes, little friend,” Sam whispered as his voice began to fade. “Do not walk into the light or the darkness. Let Donna’s bark help you find your way back to the living.”

Well, hell. I was going to have to thank my friends again for my dog. Who knew Donna the Destroyer was such a skilled freak of nature?

My puppy could speak to the dead and bring me back from the land of weird?

She was getting a lot of new chew toys if I came out of this hot mess alive.

As fast as it started, it was over. I’d followed Donna’s bark and ended up right back on my couch. I had a sneaking suspicion that I’d been on the couch physically the entire hellish time, but my mind had definitely not.

Sam was sitting next to me. The room was still full of ghosts who flew around, hovering above me with concern. Donna had hopped up and cuddled in my lap. I tried to pet her, but my arms felt like lead. My entire body was so racked with exhaustion I couldn’t move.

“I’m alive. Right?” I asked a smiling Sam.

“Yausssss. Aaalauuuveee,” he answered me.

My heart constricted for a moment that Sam’s voice had gone back to sounding like he was dead… but he was dead. There was nothing I could do about that. But there was something I could do for him that would make him happy. However, right now I was in no state to do anything. I was bone tired. I’d never known the true meaning of the phrase until now.

“Guys. I’m going to close my eyes for a little bit,” I told all of my squatters. “Don’t make a bunch of noise. I need to sleep this off. Cool?”

Everyone nodded and settled in. Apparently, they weren’t going to leave me. That was fine. It was sweet in a bizarre, loony tunes kind of way.

“Oh… and Sam?” I said as I yawned and let my eyes fall shut. “If I get arrested for this, I’m going to kick your ass and not glue it back on. You feel me?”

The last sound I heard before I fell into the deepest sleep I’d ever experienced was ghostly laughter. The idiots were laughing hysterically.

Maybe I should be a stand-up comedian… or maybe not.

Chapter Nine

“Oh shit,” I screeched as I jumped up off the couch and glanced wildly around the room in confused panic. “What time is it?”

It was pitch black outside. Donna was on the couch and the family room was filled with ghosts. What day was it? Was I late for school? Had I done my homework?

“Think, Daisy. Think,” I muttered as I began to pace the room erratically.

Donna’s bark abruptly snapped me out of my bewildered and terror-filled thoughts. I wasn’t in high school. I no longer had homework. I was a forty-year-old widow with a houseful of dead squatters. I’d hugged Sam and was pretty sure I died for a few minutes. I promised to break into his old home and find his wife’s glasses. I’d also threatened to kick his ass if I got arrested.

Then I passed out on the couch.

I still didn’t know what day it was. I could have slept for a few hours or a week. However, since the room wasn’t full of Donna poops, I was fairly sure I hadn’t been out for too long. Besides, my friends would have checked on me if they didn’t hear from me for days.

I’d hugged Sam around noon. Grabbing my phone and checking the time and date, I gasped. It was four in the morning. I’d slept for sixteen hours. What the hell?

“Donna, do you need to pee?” I asked, trying to get the important stuff out of the way before I figured out anything else. I certainly had to pee. I could only imagine how hard it must have been for a puppy to hold it for sixteen hours.

Donna barked and wagged her tail. Yanking the front door open, I spotted and stepped in a few pee puddles. I couldn’t blame her or even be annoyed. I considered peeing out in the yard with her. Sometimes it was awesome to have no neighbors.

“Pee quick,” I told her, hopping up and down. I’d decided it wasn’t the best plan to relieve myself in the yard even though it was four in the morning. It was chilly and I didn’t have toilet paper with me.

The memory of peeing in the woods as a child and inadvertently wiping with poison ivy came roaring back in full-blown itchy color. I would never make that mistake again. Gram—even though she felt awful for me—had thought it was hilarious. I didn’t. However, she gave me a thorough lesson in plant species after that. I hadn’t touched poison ivy since that horrible day and had no plans to touch it by accident tonight. I had enough problems without adding itchy lady-bits to the equation.

“Get in here, Donna,” I called out. “I have to go too.”

Donna did her business and raced back in as I sprinted upstairs to my bathroom. Peeing had never been so glorious. Sighing dramatically, I glanced up—and screamed when I noticed how many ghosts had followed me.

“Out,” I shouted. “Unacceptable. The bathroom is off-limits. Forever.”

The rules needed to be laid down a little firmer. If the dead dummies were going to live with me, I had to have some freaking privacy. My bedroom and bathroom were going to be mine and mine only.

A faint scratching at the bathroom door yanked me out of my mental list-making for the dearly departed squatters.

“What?” I snapped, ready to evict everyone.

“Waauufff lassssh gaussaus,” Sam said through the door.

Sighing, I washed my hands. Staring at my face in the mirror, I wasn’t sure I recognized the woman staring back at me. Was all of this really happening or was I imagining it? Was I really about to break into an old woman’s home at the risk of ending up in jail?

“Waauufff lassssh gaussaus,” Sam said again.

Yep. I was.

“I’m coming, Sam,” I said, opening the door and trying not to grin at all of the contrite ghosts floating in the hallway. “Guys, listen up. As of right now, my bedroom and bathroom are no-man’s land… or no-ghosts land,” I added just in case I’d not been clear enough.

Donna barked. I laughed.

“Donna, you’re allowed in no-man’s land,” I told her, and she wagged her little tail so hard she fell over.

My dog was freaking me out a little, but I decided to ignore it. I adored her and wouldn’t give her up for anything at this point.

“Bauuuyfeeend,” Sam said with what I think might have been a smirk.

His face was kind of difficult to look at, but I sucked up my gag and leveled my dead friend with an amused squint.

“What did you just say?”

“Bauuuyfeeend,” he repeated.

I was shocked that I understood. I was also alarmed that I understood.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Sam,” I told him with an eye roll. “But… umm… yes. If I had one, which I really don’t see happening anytime soon, due to the fact that I’m rooming with dead people, then yes, he would be allowed in my bedroom.”

“Waauufff lassssh gaussaus,” Sam repeated yet again.

“I know.”

What did one who was starting a life of crime at forty wear to break into a house? Black. All black and running shoes. Thank God I was a runner. If I couldn’t use my self-defense skills from the Y, at least I could fall back on my running to save my life. Closing my eyes for a second, I lambasted myself for a logical thought process for the most illogical and illegal notion I’d had to date. Whatever. Since I was going to do it, I may as well have a semi-half-assed plan in place.

Realizing I had no clue where Sam had lived when he was alive, I figured I could look it up in the phone book.

Nope. I didn’t know his last name and I couldn’t recall it from his funeral. I suppose I could look up the obituary section of the newspaper online, but daylight was coming in the next few hours and my internet was spotty out in the country. It could take an hour just to get into the newspaper’s website. It was now or never.

“You’ll have to come with me,” I told him. “I don’t know where you live… lived.”

Sam nodded and reached out for my hand.

“Umm… no,” I told him gently. I didn’t have time to sleep for another sixteen hours straight. I was fairly sure that a simple touch wouldn’t send me back to the scary, weird, half-dead place. I’d touched handless lady and Sam when I’d glued their body parts back on. It was probably just hugging that was dangerous, but right now I was playing it safe. “Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs. Cool?”

In the blink of an eye, all of the specters disappeared. It was almost enough to make me believe they were never here at all. For a brief moment, I considered going into my bedroom, locking the door and going back to sleep. Maybe when I woke up, I’d realize all of this had been a dream.

Who was I kidding? I’d already embraced my crazy in a big way. Not coming through for Sam would make me feel just awful. A promise was a promise, even if it saddled me with a criminal record.

I’d get dressed and march my crazy butt downstairs. Plus, I had pee puddles to clean up.

* * *

“Can you ride in a car?” I asked, trying to figure out the best way to go about this considering I had no clue where I was going.

I mean, Sam couldn’t actually give me vocal directions—or at least not ones I could understand. But I was hoping he could point. As long as his arms didn’t fall off, it was our best bet. I’d pocketed a few tubes of superglue just in case.

Thankfully, the moon was hidden behind a densely clouded sky and it was seriously dark outside. The sun wouldn’t rise for at least another three hours. I hoped Sam’s house wasn’t in a well-lit neighborhood. That would suck.

“I’ll bring Donna,” I told Sam, lifting the furball up and putting her in the front seat. “She can let me know what you’re saying.” Purposely banging my head on the top of the car, I groaned. “For posterity’s sake, I’d like to say that if you guys aren’t real and I end up in jail, I will be pissed.”

“Raeuwl,” Sam assured me as he floated into the car and waited for me to come to my senses or lack thereof.

“Right,” I muttered as I got in and started the car. Of course, Sam would tell me he was real.

Wait. Would Sam’s body even stay in the car once it started moving? Or would I drive away and he’d be left floating in the yard? The logistics defied reason.

Right before I advised Sam to put on his seat belt, I bit down on my bottom lip. Dead people did not need seat belts. My heart raced and I felt a little tingly. What the hell was I about to do?

Break and enter. That’s what I was about to do.

“Dang it. Glasses,” I said, reaching into the glove for my extra pair. The last thing I needed when I didn’t know where I was going was to run into a mailbox or a tree.

Slipping them on, I pushed them up on my nose. The frames were old and had stretched out, which was why they were my extra pair. Squinting out of the front windshield, I tried to remember if the lenses in this pair were correct.

“I can’t see a thing,” I said, removing the glasses and cleaning them with my shirt.

Putting them on again, I groaned. They had to be the wrong prescription even though I could swear I had them changed. Although, I didn’t know why I would believe anything that I thought was accurate since I was about to begin a life of crime because a ghost wanted me to.

“Hang on, guys,” I said, quickly putting the old glasses back into the glove box and opening the car door. “I have to go get my other glasses so I can see.”

Walking up the driveway, I stopped and glanced around.

What the heck?

As I stared at the lit front porch, everything was as crisp and clear as if I was wearing my glasses. Was I wearing my contacts? It would make sense why my glasses in the car had seemed so blurry when I put them on.

Digging into my eye, I searched for a contact lens. Nope. No contacts. Odd.

“Maybe my vision changed,” I told the cadavers sitting on the porch, who nodded like they were pleased with the news. I laughed and shook my head at my appallingly absurd justification. “Apparently, when you hit your forties, stuff like that can change.” I turned and walked back to the car. “Of course, I thought everything was supposed to go to Hell in a handbasket, but maybe this is a gift. Glasses are expensive. Or maybe a brain tumor would explain it,” I muttered with an eye roll.

Getting into the car and fastening my seat belt, I looked at the dash. Everything was as clear as clear could be. Glancing out of the windshield, it was the same. I shrugged. It was a strange occurrence, but I would take it. Contacts were a pain in the butt.

“Ready?” I asked my passengers.

Both let me know the answer was yes.

With a shudder and a laugh, I pulled out of the driveway and headed for a life of illegal activity. I just hoped I wouldn’t be calling Heather to bail me out in the morning. This would be very hard to explain.

Chapter Ten

Sam’s home was lovely. It was an older modest Craftsman with a nicely landscaped yard. Thankfully, it was the last house at the end of a tree-lined street and there were no streetlights.

“Donna, you have to stay in the car,” I whispered.

My puppy curled into a little ball on the passenger seat and made herself comfortable. She’d clearly understood me. Deciding to give up on questioning why, I simply smiled and was grateful. Donna had been amazing with helping me navigate Sam’s gibberish. If I’d known where I was going, it would have taken twenty minutes. Since I was being given directions from a dead man and a dog, it took an hour and a half. Whatever. We were here and had at least an hour before sunrise.

“I’m going to park a few houses down and we’ll walk,” I told Sam, who grunted his assent. “If we get busted on the street, I’ll pretend like we’re just out for an early morning run… or that I’m out for a run,” I corrected myself with an eye roll. “Don’t think anyone will notice you, Sam. No offense.”

Sam giggled… kind of. His frail little frame trembled with excitement. I felt insanely great with all the stress on the word insane. It was crazy what I was about to do, but it was already established that I’d lost my mind.

“Is there a key hidden anywhere?” I asked, hoping to God there was.

I began to add up all the things that could go wrong. A security system was at the top of the list. I also didn’t want to break a window that Sam’s wife would have to pay to get repaired. If she was living on a fixed income, which I assumed she was, she didn’t need the expense of replacing a window.

Sam nodded and pointed at the welcome mat on the front porch as we quietly approached the house.

“Excellent,” I whispered as I kept glancing back to make sure we… I hadn’t been spotted. “Does it work in the back door as well?”

Sam nodded and gave me an awkward thumbs up.

Quickly grabbing the key, I stayed low and made my way around the house. My heart was beating so loud I was sure it would wake up the dead.

Shaking my head, I grinned. I’d already woken up the dead—a whole hell of a lot of them.

“Sam, do you have a dog?” I asked, stopping my forward motion and regretting I hadn’t put a few dog treats into the pocket of my all-black break-in attire.

“Naawwwooo,” he grunted softly.

Heaving a sigh of relief, I bellycrawled the rest of the way to the back door. I would be filthy when I got home, but I figured this was the way to do it. Of course, I had no clue how to do it, but I planned to fake it till I made it on this one.

“Is the cookie jar in the kitchen?” I asked, slowly rising and peeking through the windowpane on the back door. Thankfully the light over the sink was on and illuminated the countertop. “Is that it on the counter?”

Sam nodded. Maybe this would be easier than I’d originally thought. Open the door. Grab the glasses. Put them on the counter by the teapot and haul ass out. What could go wrong?

So much. So much could go wrong.

“Let’s do this,” I whispered to Sam—and then froze.

My dear dead buddy was crying… or trying to. It was heartbreaking and my stomach clenched. Had I done the right thing? Was this too painful for Sam?

Shit.

“Sam,” I said, reaching out to touch his withered, semi-transparent cheek. “If you don’t want to go through with this, we can leave now.”

“Waauufff lassssh gaussaus,” he said through his anguish. “Fiiauxxx.”

Breathing in and exhaling slowly, I nodded. “I’ll fix this for you. I promise. Stay here.”

Sam nodded and blew me a kiss. It made an unappealing squishy sound and I almost gagged. However, it was the thought and the love behind the gesture that enabled me to smile at him.

My hands fumbled clumsily as I pushed the key into the lock and prayed hard that there wasn’t an alarm about to go off. I had no clue who I was praying to since I didn’t really believe, but it felt like a good thing to do. My head felt woozy and my mouth went dry. While everything around me seemed like real time, my movements felt like I was under water.

I was not cut out for a life of crime. If I wasn’t doing something good, I’d be out of here so fast Sam’s barely attached head would spin. Anxiety gripped me and my feet turned into lead weights. If Sam wasn’t smiling at me so hopefully, I would have turned and ran.

“Here goes nothing,” I whispered as I tiptoed across the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm and inviting—all done in blue and white and immaculate. It smelled like lemon cleaner and cookies. I felt immediate comfort and terror at the same time. Breaking and entering didn’t include admiring décor. I was sure of that.

The glasses were right where I’d seen them in Sam’s head earlier and, thankfully, so was the teapot. Quickly and silently, I put the glasses with the chain holding the wedding ring next to the teapot. Not hard at all. However, I almost puked when I replaced the cookie jar lid and made a loud noise. I wasn’t very good at this. I was far more skilled at gluing dead people’s appendages back on. I knew I couldn’t be good at everything, but a little stealth would have come in handy right now.

“Crap,” I hissed as I heard a movement from upstairs.

Swiftly looking around to make sure I had completed the bizarre mission, I hightailed it back out of the door and locked it with the key.

“Come on, Sam,” I said as I hit the ground and began to bellycrawl back around the house.

Sam didn’t move. His partial nose was pressed to the glass and he waited.

Damn it, what was I supposed to do now? Did I leave him? Would he be able to find his way back to my house? Was I being ridiculous? Yes. He’d found my house once. He could find it again. However, his sense of direction sucked and it could take him days to find me.

I did the only thing I could do. I did the crazy-stupid thing. Why? Because Sam meant something to me. I loved him and I was batshit nuts. I bellycrawled back to where he stood… or floated, to be more accurate.

“We have to leave,” I whispered as I peeked into the kitchen.

Sam said nothing. He placed his decomposing hand in mine and gently squeezed.

He wanted to see his wife find her glasses. I understood. However, there was a slight problem here. She couldn’t see him, but she could definitely see me.

Moving my head to the right of the door, I peeked into the bottom corner of the glass with one eye. It was still dark out. I had dark hair and was dressed all in black. Plus, she wouldn’t be wearing her glasses. It was risky, but if I was being honest, I would love to see her find her ring and glasses too. If I was going to partake in illegal activities, I should get to reap the reward of a misdemeanor well done… or something like that.

The little old woman entered the kitchen and turned on the overhead light. She was in her bathrobe and slippers. She was positively adorable. Sam sighed next to me in happiness and anticipation.

She glanced around the kitchen in confusion. I ducked down so she wouldn’t see me and then curiosity got the best of me. Slowly I rose up and peeked again.

She gasped and placed both of her hands over her heart. Her body began to shake with sobs as she carefully walked to the teapot and touched her wedding ring with such reverence that my eyes filled with tears. Sam’s body trembled beside me. I couldn’t look at him or I would truly lose it. I just held tight to his hand and watched.

Taking the glasses with the ring attached into her gnarled hands, she kissed her ring and began to laugh.

I couldn’t hear a word she said, but her intention was as clear as my new 20/20 vision. Pointing at the ceiling, she shook her finger and laughed through her tears. As her lips continued to move, I could make out the words Sam and I love you.

Glancing over at Sam, I gasped and almost cried out. My chest felt tight and my head began to throb.

Gently pulling me to the side of the house, Sam smiled and touched my cheek.

He was no longer a decaying corpse of a man. However, he was still dead. An ethereal and somewhat blinding golden glow surrounded my friend, and his body was restored to what it must have been before he’d passed. He was beautiful. Sam’s eyes twinkled and his smile would stay etched in my memories always.

“Sam?” I whispered in a panic, not understanding what was happening.

“Thank you, Daisy,” he said in the voice that was the same one I recognized from being inside his mind earlier. “I can go now.”

As he began to fade away, my tears came quickly. I knew this was the last time I would ever see Sam. He’d stayed to make sure his beloved found what she treasured the most. He was moving on. Selfishly, I didn’t want him to go. In the short time I’d had the privilege of knowing him, I’d grown to love him. This was the suckiest, most beautiful experience I’d ever had.

“Bye, Sam,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the golden glow surrounding his diminishing body.

It was warm and inviting—felt like silky liquid. I waited for Sam to completely disappear before I got back on my stomach and began to crawl. My heart was shattered, but it also felt strangely full. I’d just helped my friend move on. It was clear to me he was going somewhere lovely. The golden glow was a sure sign.

At the edge of the house, I paused and scanned the area for people or lights in houses. The coast looked clear. As soon as I got to the sidewalk, I would stand up and start jogging. I was already sweating from the stress of what I’d just done. It would simply look like I’d been on a long run… or that I’d just broken into a house.

I still felt gutted about Sam leaving, but the more I thought about it, the happier I became. I briefly wondered if Donna would be confused that Sam wasn’t with me. And then I froze—partially because a sprinkler system came on and I was now soaked from head to toe, and partially because I got hit with a horrifyingly disturbing possibility.

Oh my God. Was I supposed to break and enter for all the freaking dead people in my house? The chances of incarceration were high if I had to do this fifty to a hundred times.

There was no way I was cut out for the criminal lifestyle. The caring about people—dead or alive—was a no-brainer. However, performing illegal activities for all of them wasn’t going to work for me.

Hopping to my feet, I put the key back under the front door mat, sprinted to my car and got the heck out of dodge.

“Mission accomplished. I’m pretty sure I just lost ten pounds due to stress,” I told Donna as she hopped onto my lap and licked my face. “I’ll miss Sam, but it was perfect. It was right.”

And I would miss him. Sam was special.

If this was the beginning of a new side job that paid absolutely nothing but satisfaction of a job well done, then so be it. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure I’d just done and seen what I’d just done and seen… but most of me knew that I had.

Just like the ground rules I’d laid about the bathroom I was going to have to make some more rules for my dead guests. Hoping desperately that not everyone needed illegal help, I’d make a signup sheet of sorts. I still had a job and bills to pay. I could not let dead squatters take over my life. There was also Gram to think about.

“One a week,” I told Donna. “I will help one person a week.”

Donna barked and wagged her tail. It was a good plan, or at least I thought it was. There was still a possibility that I was coo-coo and would end up in a psych ward or worse… jail. However, something felt impossibly right.

And my vision clearing up? Fantastic. Maybe it was a reward. Maybe it was simply my body changing because I’d turned forty. If all the changes were this good, I was in.

However, the best laid plans often go awry…

Chapter Eleven

“Heather, what are you doing here?” I asked, balancing a tray of ham sandwiches in one hand and my purse and a pecan pie in the other.

Heather glanced up with an uncharacteristically jerky movement. Her body was slouched, leaning against the wall in the hallway of the nursing home. I could swear she looked guilty about something. But what I thought was guilt turned into a wide Heather smile. Shaking my head to empty it of ridiculous thoughts, I grinned right back.

“I brought Gram some of the leftover pot-stickers from the party,” she told me.

I felt like an idiot. I was hanging out with dead folks too much. My judgment was getting as cloudy as my glasses that I didn’t need anymore. Not to mention, I’d been up since four AM and I’d started the morning off committing a crime. I wasn’t exactly on top of my game today.

“Thank you,” I said with a laugh, nodding at the food in my hands. “I had the same idea. She hasn’t been eating enough lately. Wait. Why aren’t you at work?”

Maybe I hadn’t misinterpreted her guilt. Was my buddy playing hooky? Was Clarissa still not back at the office? There was no way I would bust Heather in a million years. She should know that.

“I’m taking the bar today,” she said casually. “At noon. Needed to do something nice for someone for good luck. Gram was an easy and pleasurable target. Watched a full hour of The Price is Right with her. I do believe I might have saved you from a special kind of hell.”

I laughed and let my head fall back onto my shoulders. How did I not know today was the day of the bar exam? “I owe you, my friend. And I’ll send you a ton of good thoughts and energy this afternoon.”

“I’m going to need it,” Heather said as she gave me a quick hug and began to walk down the long, sterile hallway.

“Doubtful,” I called after her. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Remains to be seen,” she said cryptically as she left.

I stood still for a moment and mulled over the odd exchange. Heather never doubted herself. Maybe she was nervous. I’d been so lost in my own mourning for the last year, I’d not paid enough attention to the needs of the people that I loved. There was one way to solve that. Tonight, I would stop by Heather’s with the leftover ham salad and drag the rest of the gals with me. I’d bring champagne, but I was pretty sure it was a two-day test. We could share the bottle this weekend. This was a huge week for one of the women I adored most and I hadn’t even known. I sucked as a friend.

Shaking my head, I sighed. No dwelling on the past. Fix the future. Period.

“God, it smells good here,” I announced to the empty hallway as I made my way toward Gram’s room.

What was that smell? It was so familiar. A clean, soapy smell mixed with some kind of fresh woodsy scent. Maybe the nursing home had changed their cleaning products. I needed to find out what the heck they’d used. I could die happy with this scent wrapped around me.

Wait.

Crap.

No.

It belonged to Gideon. It was his scent that lingered in the air.

What the hell was he doing at the nursing home? Did he visit Gram too? No. That was silly. He didn’t know Gram. Was it possible he’d transferred to the law firm here because he had an ailing parent at the same home Gram was in? I mean, I didn’t know much about him other than that he was stupidly gorgeous, not hairy, not teeny-weeny and also not quite right in the head.

Now I felt even more sorry for Gideon. Next time I saw him, I wouldn’t be quite as rude—unless he was. It was difficult and sad to have someone you loved living in a place like this with very little hope of returning home. As far as nursing homes went, it was really good. But as wonderful as the doctors, nurses and staff were, it wasn’t home in a real sense of the word. If I could take care of Gram at my house I would do it in a heartbeat. I’d offered the suggestion up so many times I knew I sounded like a broken record.

Gram had raised me at a time when her life should have been a whole lot easier. When I was five and my mom died in a freak accident at work, Gram had stepped up—not one question or doubt in her mind about taking me in and raising me as her own. She loved me something fierce and I loved her right back. Every time I’d insisted that she live with me, she’d refused. I knew she didn’t want to be a burden. She would never be a burden to me. There wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for the woman who’d made me feel safe and loved my entire life.

“Hi there,” I said to Gloria, the nurse who was Gram’s favorite. “How’s she doing today?”

“Feisty as ever,” Gloria said with a chuckle. “But she hasn’t been eating well. Guess you have that covered.” She pointed at my load and laughed. “If you have an extra ham salad sandwich, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”

“I believe I do,” I said. “Take a bunch. I brought about ten. I’ll be lucky if Gram finishes one.”

“Why thank you,” Gloria said, lightening my load by five sandwiches. “I love your ham salad.”

“Gram’s secret recipe,” I told her as I got to the door of Gram’s room and smiled. “No one makes them like she does, but mine aren’t too bad.”

“Make that sweet gal eat one,” Gloria called out as she went into the staff lounge. “She needs to keep up her strength.

I didn’t like the sound of that. Gram was going to get an earful from me today.

* * *

“I’m sorry. What the hell did you just say?” I asked, feeling nauseous, furious and seriously confused. My knees weakened and buckled. Luckily, I was standing in front of a chair that cushioned my fall. The second fortuitous thing was that I’d already put the food on the table in her room. Otherwise, ham salad and pecan pie would be splattered everywhere. “Repeat yourself, Gram. I need to make sure I heard you correctly.”

Gram let her chin fall to her chest and she sighed guiltily. “Daisy, I don’t want you to pitch a hissy. I’m mighty aware that what I’m telling you makes me sound like I don’t know whether to check my ass or scratch my watch, but you need to know… Baby, you’re a Death Counselor. You come from a long line of Death Counselors. I was sure the gift had skipped you—prayed to God every night on my knees that it would skip you. But clearly, it didn’t,” she said in a whisper. “I was certain another line would take over. I was wrong.”

“I’m not insane?” I demanded, wondering why she hadn’t ever mentioned this little family quirk before now. Not that I would have believed her, but it would have been nice to know. “I’ve been seeing dead people for over a month and now you feel like explaining?”

“Well, you didn’t exactly tell me you were hanging out with ghosts,” Gram pointed out logically.

“Wasn’t exactly something I thought I could share,” I shot back, wanting to shake her. My eyes filled with tears—tears of relief that I wasn’t losing my mind and tears of anger at Gram for not filling me in.

“Oh, Daisy girl,” Gram said, holding her thin arms out to me. “Come to Gram, baby.”

“I can’t,” I whispered, wiping my nose with my sleeve and feeling like a child. “Not yet.”

Gram nodded and pressed the off button on her TV remote. She never turned off the TV. Never. Shit had gotten serious fast. Was there another shoe about to drop? I was sure if I learned much more today, my brain would pop.

“I’m sorry,” Gram said, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Me and your mamma both thought it had passed you. I feel so dumb right now I could throw myself on the dang ground and miss.”

“Why would you think it passed me?” I asked, walking over to the door and locking it. As liberating as it felt to figure out I wasn’t batshit crazy, I didn’t need anyone walking in on this particular conversation.

Especially Gideon if he was somewhere in the building. That man had enough issues without hearing this. Plus, I needed my job. The conversation I was having didn’t bode well for gainful employment if word got out.

“Your mamma saw the dead by the time she was four,” Gram said, sounding far older than she was. Her skin paled and her voice cracked. “You could have buttered my butt and called me a biscuit, I was so surprised. I didn’t see ’em till I was ten. It usually manifests itself early.”

“I’m forty,” I said, sitting back down. I didn’t trust my legs not to give out. And I was a little sore from my early morning belly crawling. “Why is it showing up now?”

“Not sure,” Gram said, not making eye contact.

She was a horrible liar. I was too.

“I call bullshit,” I said flatly. “And why are you telling me this? How did you know I was seeing the dead?”

“The Grim Reaper stopped by,” she explained.

Closing my eyes, I tried not to laugh. Gram was losing it. The only person she’d seen today as far as I knew was Heather. Gram didn’t have many visitors. Heather was not the Grim Reaper. The Grim freaking Reaper didn’t exist.

“Right,” I said with an eye roll. “The Grim Reaper with a big ol’ scythe and a long black hooded cape came to the nursing home to tell you that your granddaughter was hanging out with decomposing squatters?” Of course, my description came from horror movies since the Grim Reaper didn’t exist. Score one for my horror movie habit.

“Squatters?” Gram asked, ignoring my sarcastic tone and most of everything I’d just said. “They’re at your house?”

Were they not supposed to be? Had I done something wrong? “They are,” I replied, watching my beloved Gram like a hawk. Her lips might say one thing, but her body language and eyes gave the truth away. I’d kicked her butt in poker my whole life. “Why?”

“How many?” she asked alarmed.

“At least fifty,” I said, starting to feel alarmed myself. “Maybe more. They’re kind of hard to count.”

“Don’t touch ’em,” she said sharply.

“Is that a joke?” I asked warily.

“Did it sound like one?”

“Umm… no. But it’s too late for that,” I told her as my stomach began to churn. “I’ve been gluing body parts back on for a couple of them.”

“What in the name of Dolly Parton’s plastic surgeon did you just say?” Gram asked with a shocked expression.

“Gluing body parts back on… with superglue,” I repeated weakly. “An old woman’s hand and Sam’s jaw. I was shocked that it worked—tendons and all.”

“Sam?” Gram shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “How in tarnation do you know their names?”

“He told me… kind of,” I said, feeling the need to cry or freak out. “He kept pointing at the ham and hissing. I eventually worked it out. Ssssssss plus ham equals Sam. My dog, Donna…”

“You have a dog?” she asked, now seriously confused.

“The girls got me a puppy for my birthday,” I told her. “She understands the dead.”

Gram narrowed her eyes and looked at me like I was as crazy as I’d felt for the last month. It was the same look she’d given me when I’d been in high school and she thought my skirts were too short. The phrase “your skirt is so short I can see your religion” was stuck in my brain for eternity. To this day I was hyper-aware of my skirt length.

“Why are you looking at me like that, old lady?” I asked, using my regular term of endearment for my Gram. However, it sounded kind of rude right now. Part of me wanted to apologize immediately. The other part didn’t care if I pissed her off. “Why is it hard to believe a dog can understand the dead when we’re discussing the fact that I’m basically running a morgue for uninvited ghosts?”

“Daisy,” Gram said, running her hands through her gray hair and sighing. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that. I was still mad. If I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all. Gram had taught me that one too.

“Your job is to help them find a way to move on, not to become friendly with ’em. That’s a very bad idea. They’re as lost as last year’s Easter eggs. Most are still here because something was left undone,” she said, holding out her frail hand to me. “Some people move on without help. Some don’t. That’s where a Death Counselor comes in.”

Gram was my everything even though I wanted to strangle her right now. Crossing the room and taking her hand in mine, I sat on the edge of her bed.

“I already helped Sam,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure if I should tell her how attached I’d gotten to him. She sounded adamant about not getting involved. However, I didn’t have it in me not to care. It was a strength and a fault of mine. “At least I didn’t get arrested.”

Gram’s brows wrinkled and her lips compressed and flattened to a straight line. “Arrested? What in tarnation did you do for this Sam fella?”

“His wife’s glasses were in the cookie jar,” I told her, feeling my tears well up again. “Her wedding ring was on the chain. Her mind is going and Sam used to search for her glasses each evening and leave them by the teapot. And then he died,” I said, letting my tears fall. It was still fresh in my mind. “He wanted to find her glasses one last time. So, I broke into his house and put the glasses by the teapot.”

Gram was speechless… and shocked.

“Daisy, that’s not usually how it works,” she croaked. “How on earth did you learn all of this?”

“Learn all of what?” I asked, feeling stressed and still upset with her and with myself at the same time.

“All of the information that this Sam fella wanted to tell you? Do you have a Ouija board?” Gram asked.

“Is that how you did it?” I asked, kind of proud of myself that I’d already thought of that.

“Yes,” Gram snapped, looking worried. “However, I never once got that much information. Ever. Most of the dead don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”

“I disagree,” I said without thinking. Although, she might be correct. I’d only really dealt with two. The handless woman didn’t count. I didn’t know anything about her. Sam… Sam was different.

“How’d you do it?” Gram asked again.

“I hugged Sam,” I whispered.

Gram looked like she was going to pass out. “What did I just tell you about touching ’em?” she shouted, pulling on her hair in agitation. “You’re acting like you’ve only got one oar in the water, Daisy.”

“Well, since you never told me what I was or who I am, how was I supposed to know not to touch them?” I yelled right back at her.

The feeling of déjà vu washed over me with sickening clarity. Gideon’s comment in the park rang in my mind. “You have no clue who or what you are. You’re just walking around completely ignorant. Unbelievable.”

Did he know? Impossible. However, I thought communicating with the dead was impossible. Not to mention, gluing appendages back on defied basically everything.

Taking a deep breath and calming myself, I realized yelling was only going to bring a nurse to the room to see what was going on. I didn’t need interruptions. I needed answers. “What happens if I touch the ghosts?” I asked. Since I’d already done it, I might as well hear the ugly results of what I’d done and what to expect.

“I don’t know,” Gram whispered, taking my chin in her hands and searching my face with worried eyes. “I have no clue. I just know my mamma said never to touch ’em. That’s what I taught your mamma and what I should have taught you.”

“Am I going to die?” I asked.

“Everyone’s gonna die, child,” she said, running her hands over my arms and checking my skin. “Dying ain’t nothing to get your knickers in a knot over. We have no control over it.”

What was she looking for? Marks maybe? Bites? Had I been right about the zombie thing?

“I meant soon. Am I going to die soon?”

“I hope not,” Gram said, not making me feel very reassured. “Just stop touching ’em.”

The logic wasn’t sound. If this was truly my gift now, I needed to handle it my way. The backup of dead people at my house was becoming a problem. Something told me a Ouija board wasn’t going to cut it.

“Gram, I’ve already touched them,” I pointed out, letting my anger at the woman I adored go. “I’m fine. I actually feel better than I have in years. I don’t have to wear glasses anymore.”

“You can’t see three feet in front of you without glasses,” Gram said, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Well, I can now. When you hit midlife, stuff changes,” I told her, trying to convince myself as well. “Eyesight changes all the time.”

“For the worse, Daisy,” Gram muttered, still sounding troubled.

“Or for the better in my case,” I said.

“Possibly,” she replied. “You still need to get ’em out of your house.”

“Not sure how I’m going to do that. New ones show up daily. Where did you… umm… counsel the dead?”

“At the church,” Gram said. “That’s why I went to all those dang depressing funerals. If someone was sticking around, I’d get ’em at the church and be done with it.”

“Did you ever break and enter?” I asked, curious if the job consisted of illegal activity.

She shook her head and laughed. “Can’t say as I ever did, baby. Never ran around hell’s half acre for the dead. You don’t need to either. Mostly, I just passed on messages to loved ones.”

“How?”

“Sometimes a note, postmarked before the person died. Occasionally a gift sent… again, postmarked before the deceased left this realm. On the rare occasion, I delivered the message myself. Most folks aren’t real receptive to messages from the beyond, but there are some who welcome it. I’ve got all the stuff you need to forge a postmark in the bottom drawer of the dresser over there. You’re gonna take that with you today.”

“So, you never got arrested?”

“Nope. Never,” she said, shaking her head. “And I don’t want to hear about you livin’ on the edge like that. Real hard to use ‘a dead person asked me to do it’ as an excuse in court.”

Gram had an excellent point. However, I couldn’t imagine my time with Sam going any other way than it had. Deciding to keep that information to myself, I pressed Gram for more.

“Wait, did you say there are other lines of Death Counselors? Like other families?”

“I said that I was certain another line would take over,” she corrected me. “I’m guessin’ now I was wrong. Clearly, I can’t find my butt with both hands in my back pockets.”

“So, there are others like us?” I honestly couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with a straight face. But after the last month with the dead squatters, yesterday’s near-death experience inside Sam’s mind and the misdemeanor I’d committed this morning, I was taking it all pretty seriously.

“I don’t rightly know,” she admitted. “I suppose I hoped there were.”

“Okay,” I said, racking my brain for more questions. I had a million and couldn’t think of one. Well, I could think of one… “When did you stop being a Death Counselor?”

Gram stared at the ceiling of her room for a long moment, then sighed. “A month ago. Been doin’ it from the nursing home. We have a little chapel here. Not a bad place to run the operation since so many croak at this place,” she said with a shrug. “And then one day, I stopped seeing the ghosts. I figured someone else had taken the job. I was relieved.” She laughed but it wasn’t joyful. “I shouldn’t have been. If I’d known they would come to you, I would have done something to stop it from happening.”

I cocked my head to the side and looked at her. The timing of her stopping and the ghosts stalking me was about right. “What in the world could you have done?”

“No clue,” she admitted. “Probably nothing. But I sure as heck would have told you about it. I’m just so dang sorry, Daisy girl.”

We both sat in silence for a few minutes. I was sorry too—sorry for her and sorry for me. All of this was so bizarre, it was difficult to wrap my head around it. If I hadn’t been living with dead people for the last month, I wouldn’t believe a word she’d just said and I’d think Gram had lost her mind.

“Did my mamma counsel the same way you did?” I asked. I knew it was hard for Gram to talk about my mom. I’d recognized her pain even when I’d been five. I hated even bringing it up, but I needed as much information as I could get as quickly as possible.

Gram sat silently for a few minutes and stared off into the distance. I wasn’t even sure if she’d heard my question. The fact that she seemed to be drifting away terrified me.

“Your mamma was not a good Death Counselor,” she said quietly, still staring at something I couldn’t see. “She got too involved.”

“She touched the dead too?” I asked.

Gram shook her head and brought her focus back to me. “No. Not as far as I know.”

“Can you define too involved?”

“I don’t rightly know,” she admitted. “I just felt it in my gut.”

“Okay,” I said, standing up and pacing her small room. “I’m not insane. The ghosts are real. I’m supposed to help them move on into the golden light that Sam went into.”

Gram cleared her throat and eyed me curiously. “You saw him go?”

“I did. Is that a no-no too?” I asked, feeling a headache coming on.

Gram shrugged and shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “Never saw that once in my time as the Death Counselor. But Daisy…”

“Yes?”

“Not all people go into the light.”

I digested that information and sat back down. Sam had warned me not to go into the light or into the darkness. I wasn’t sure what I believed about the afterlife. As a small child after my mother’s death, I decided I believed in nothing. There was no sense whatsoever in my mom’s death. It wasn’t fair for a little girl to lose her mother. No loving God would have done that. I’d struggled with it for decades. Steve’s death brought it all roaring back.

The irony that I was helping people move on didn’t escape me at all. I had no real clue where they were going. I could only assume that the light was good and the darkness was not.

“So, I’m helping some people go to hell—if Hell even exists?” I questioned.

“You’re not helping people go to Heaven or Hell,” Gram explained. “The life they led has already determined that. You’re simply giving them peace before they move on.”

“Why?” I demanded, thinking all of this was ridiculously bizarre. “Why us?”

Gram shrugged but said nothing. She obviously didn’t know the answer. Not good. I didn’t think midlife crisis was supposed to hit until my fifties, but I’d have to say I definitely qualified right now.

“I’m going to go now, Gram,” I told her as I gently kissed her forehead. “I have to work and take Donna outside. This conversation isn’t over.”

Gram nodded and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Don’t try to save ’em, Daisy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.

Gram began to cry. She looked so small and fragile in her big bed that my heart literally lurched in my chest. I was upsetting her. It couldn’t be helped, but I felt awful.

“Don’t cry,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms around her and rocked her like a child. “This was good—it was a good talk. I know I haven’t lost my mind now. I could think of better hobbies than the one I’m stuck with, but I can do this. You don’t need to worry about me, Gram.”

“Don’t get attached, Daisy,” she whispered. “Do not get attached.”

The warning was dire. She was saying far more. I knew it, and she knew I knew it. The choice was mine to make here. Did I want to know why? I had a feeling it would rock my world in a way that I wasn’t ready to handle. However, the dead squatters had already done that. I’d committed a misdemeanor this morning with a dead person as my accomplice. I couldn’t imagine what could knock me further off-kilter than that.

She wanted me to ask why. I was sure of it. However, Gram was giving me an out. I didn’t want an out right now. I couldn’t afford an out. My sanity was still somewhat on the line.

“Why? Why shouldn’t I get too attached?” I asked with my face buried in her hair.

“It’s how your mamma died,” she told me in a strangled whisper. “She fell in love with a dead man who was sent to hell. There was no work accident, Daisy. Your mamma took her own life.”

My mind went numb and seemed to disconnect from reality. The information was too much to absorb. I didn’t feel rage. I didn’t feel sadness. I felt nothing.

Closing my eyes, I saw a beautiful winged beast appear and drift across my tangled thoughts. His wings were raven black and his face was obscured by grotesque versions of dead people.

My eyes snapped open and I gasped. Gram held me tight as wrenching sobs overcame me. My body felt so cold and empty. No amount of heat could warm me. Tired. I was so tired. Everything around me grew distorted. I couldn’t make sense of any of it—didn’t want to.

All of a sudden, the need to peel the skin from my body and scream came over me.

My mother—the woman I’d pined for my whole life—didn’t care enough to stay with me. A dead man was more important to her.

Was I going to have to rethink my position on God now? He didn’t steal my mother from me at all. She left by her own hand. I reeled with a mixture of hatred and sorrow. Gram’s arms around me were the only thing that connected me to reality.

I changed my mind. Forty had not started off as a good year. Thirty-nine had been devastating because of Steve’s death. Now I was going to have to rethink my mother’s death.

“I’m so sorry,” Gram whispered over and over as she cried with me.

It could have been a minute. It could have been several hours. I had no clue how long we held each other and cried. It occurred to me that I never would have known the true circumstances of my mother’s death had the dead not shown up. Right now, I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Knowledge did not always set you free.

“I have to go, Gram,” I said as I stood up and tested my legs.

It was still daylight outside. I had to breathe fresh air. I needed time to process.

Gram nodded and wiped her eyes. “I love you, Daisy girl.”

“I love you, old lady,” I replied with a watery smile.

“She loved you too,” Gram said softly.

I had nothing to say. As much as I wanted to believe Gram, I couldn’t. Maybe in time… and maybe not. It was an old wound reopened. It was what it was. Just like I couldn’t bring Sam back to life, I couldn’t change how my mother had died.

With another hug and a reminder for Gram to eat, I left.

I was in a fog as I walked out of the nursing home. All I wanted to do was see the sun and breathe fresh air.

* * *

Bursting through the doors of the building, I almost fell to my knees as the crisp fall air invaded my lungs and the sun gave me a little bit of hope.

“Home. I need to go home,” I told myself as I searched my purse for my car keys and made my way through the parking lot.

Everything would be okay… or some new version of okay. It had to be.

I would make it be okay. I had Gram, a puppy, a job, amazing friends and a houseful of dead people.

I also had balls and I was forty. I was pretty sure I would lose my filter in my forties and be able to say anything I wanted and get away with it.

Wait. That was my eighties.

Whatever. Everything would be fine.

“Oh, hell no,” I muttered as I came to an abrupt halt about ten feet from my car. Closing my eyes, I did a mental inventory of what I must look like right now. I didn’t want to deal with anything or anyone else—especially not him.

As of this morning, I’d dealt with enough crap for one person for an entire lifetime. I didn’t need any more unsettling information or situations.

Although I had a very unsettling thought about the man staring at me, and it wasn’t remotely sexual. Well, part of it was, which made me want to smack myself in the head. I needed a shrink. However, I’d have to lie to the shrink, which would defeat the entire purpose. Anti-psychotic drugs were not in my future. I needed my crazy.

Gideon leaned on my car. Clad in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, he looked like a Ralph Lauren ad. It wasn’t exactly work attire, but he wasn’t at work. Longing to touch the dangerous man, I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and glared instead.

I was pretty sure he didn’t have a relative at the nursing home. Nope. I had a fine idea of who he was and why he was here. Every single instinct I’d had about him was correct. He was bad news in the literal sense of the word.

The man was as beautiful as I’d remembered and then some. The sun angled itself to give him the best lighting. It was ridiculous.

“What do you want?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Nice to see you too, Daisy,” he said with a smile that would have charmed most women’s pants off.

Not mine.

“I asked you what you wanted, Gideon,” I repeated.

“I like the sound of my name on your lips,” he said.

“Don’t get used to it,” I shot back rudely.

He was quiet for a long moment and simply stared. Crap. Had I gone too far? Hell, I didn’t care.

“You know who you are now?” he inquired casually, eyeing me with concern.

I was a hot mess—that’s who I was. My eyes had to be bloodshot from all the crying and I hadn’t bothered with any makeup this morning. I hadn’t felt that committing a misdemeanor required blush and mascara. Right now, I regretted that.

“I know who I am, and I know who you are, Grim Reaper,” I snapped, wondering if I could shove him out of my way and get into my car. He was huge and all muscle. That probably wouldn’t go well.

Touching him was also a very bad plan. As much as I wanted to throat-punch him, I was afraid if I touched him, I’d do something I’d seriously regret. Embarrassing myself in front of Gideon was not going to happen anymore.

I even considered walking around to the passenger side and crawling across the seat to avoid him. But that was so incredibly undignified, I decided against it.

I had balls now. I was going to use them.

“She told you?” he asked, surprised.

“Nope. Figured it out. I put two and two together and came up with 666. I’m very good at math,” I said.

His laugh went all through me, and I wanted to punch him in the head. What was it about him that was so addictive? He was evil. I was definitely not as sane as I thought I was.

“I’m not the devil, Daisy,” Gideon said, still chuckling.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered with an eye roll. “I need you to move out of my way. I have to go home.”

Slowly stepping away from my car, Gideon watched me with such intensity, I felt naked. I really did not like that. Getting into my car as fast as humanly possible, I put on my seat belt and started the engine.

His knock at my window startled me and made me scream. Letting my head fall to the steering wheel, I pressed the window button and rolled it down.

“What?”

“You okay?” he asked.

I could tell the asshole was smiling. I didn’t even have to look up. I could hear it in his tone. Who knew the Grim Reaper had a sense of humor? Who knew the Grim Reaper freaking existed? And who knew the Grim Reaper was the hottest man I’d ever seen? I wasn’t even sure what exactly he did. I seriously regretted thinking Gram had lost it when she’d brought him up.

“I’m great,” I muttered.

“We will talk,” he informed me. “This evening. At your house.”

“I’m busy,” I shot back, glaring at him. “You’re not my boss outside of the law firm.”

“Get unbusy,” he said, turning and walking away. “I’ll be there at ten.”

“I might be there. I might not,” I called out to his back.

“You’ll be there.”

Closing my eyes, I tamped back the urge to hurl a profanity-laden insult. When I opened my eyes, he was gone. I hadn’t heard a car door and I didn’t see anyone pull away. He’d seemed to disappear just like Clarissa had.

While I might not be completely insane, there were still all sorts of things not quite right.

Forty was going great. Not.

Chapter Twelve

“Listen up, dead people,” I yelled over the loud and bizarre chatter. “There’s a sign-up list now.”

The blank and confused stares weren’t promising. The first thing I’d done when I’d gotten home was order a Ouija board. I had no clue if I’d use it—or even how to use it—but it couldn’t hurt. Of course, it wouldn’t be here for a week or so, but I’d made it work so far without one.

“Umm… I know writing can be a challenge since coordination is iffy and some of you are missing fingers,” I went on, ignoring the snickering. At least that’s what I thought it was. It could have been gagging or possibly choking. Thankfully, they were dead and I wouldn’t have to Heimlich anyone. I knew how to do it. I’d just never had to do it. My first time wasn’t going to be on a ghost.

Donna barked and wagged her entire bottom. It was very nice to have someone in my corner. She was a dog, but she was adorable and far better than no one at all. In the past few hours, I’d finally realized I wasn’t nuts. The squatters didn’t get the memo. They were looking at me like I’d lost it.

“Fine,” I said, slapping my hands on my hips and glaring at the mass of floating specters invading my family room. “It would be really nice if you people could cut me a little slack here. I’m kind of winging it and I’m new to the job. I totally understand that this is the first and… umm… only time you’re going to die, but a bit of patience would be appreciated. You guys feel me?”

I was ninety percent sure they were nodding yes.

“Forget the list,” I said, pulling a new plan out of my butt as I spoke. “How many of you could move on if I sent a letter to someone on your behalf?” If it worked for Gram, maybe it would work for me too. It was worth a shot.

A few arms dropped to the floor. I assumed they’d been raised and then fell off. I should buy stock in superglue immediately. Picking up the appendages, I held them up in the air so the owners could claim them. I refused to glue a body part back on unless I was certain it was the right person I was reattaching it to. I wasn’t Dr. Frankenstein.

“Hang on to your arms,” I told the ghosts who came forward to retrieve them. “I’ll glue them back on after lunch. Do not leave them lying around. While my gag reflex has lessened, it’s still there. Plus, leaving your parts around is rude… and gross.”

I paused and replayed my last sentence in my head. I laughed. Ridiculous and absurd had become my new normal. Embracing it was surprisingly easy. Not sure what that said about me, but I was going with it.

“Let’s do it like this,” I suggested. “If your problem can be solved with a letter to a loved one then go over by the fireplace. If it can’t, go to the kitchen.”

The air instantly turned to a thick gray mist. The ghosts fluttered about like strange liquid confetti trying to decide which group they belonged in. They moved so fast, a strong breeze blew my hair around my head and I grabbed onto the back of the couch for purchase. It was a big decision and my oxygen-deprived squatters were taking it seriously.

The wind stopped and the air cleared. Counting them was useless, but there was a large group of dead people by the fireplace. It kind of seemed like all of them were hovering by the fireplace. Could it be this easy? Had I risked jail time for no reason this morning?

No. My time with Sam and getting to see his wife’s joy was worth every second—even the scary parts. I wouldn’t change anything about it. However, a criminal lifestyle wasn’t going to work for me. While being a paralegal wasn’t the most exciting career path, it beat doing ten to twenty at the state pen.

“Okay, great,” I told the crowd suspended midair by the fireplace. “As soon as the Ouija board gets here, I’ll get right on it, unless someone is in a big hurry.”

No one made a sound and no one floated forward. That was a relief. However, every single dead squatter in the room pointed toward the kitchen. About five or six arms fell to the floor with a thud.

“Everyone that just lost an arm needs to pick it up and keep it with them, please,” I said, crossing the room and heading to the kitchen. “We’ll have a gluing party after lunch.”

Whoever was in the kitchen must have more urgent needs if I was to go by the actions of the ghosts. I just hoped it wasn’t a lot of dead folks. I actually had to do some of the boring paperwork from work. Losing my job because I was counseling cadavers would suck.

“Hi,” I said as I entered the kitchen.

There was only one ghost. It was a man. His age was probably somewhere around fifty. He wasn’t as rough-looking as some of the dead in the family room, but a sadness clung to him that was palpable. I also felt fear—not mine, thankfully. I wondered if spirits got worse-looking the longer they stuck around.

His eyes were sunken in his head and his skin was the papery texture I’d become accustomed to, but he still had some kind of strange vitality about him. He wasn’t missing any fingers that I could tell and everything looked pretty sturdy except his neck and head.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” I said, sitting down across from him and smiling. “I’m Daisy.”

“Joouuunnn,” he grunted.

“You can speak?” I asked, shocked and impressed.

The sound he made was similar to Sam’s. I couldn’t understand the ghosts in the family room, but this man, I could. Although to be fair, I hadn’t really sat down and had a one on one with any of my dead buddies yet.

“John?” I asked.

He nodded and averted his eyes.

He was decomposing, but not as much as Sam had or most of the others. I was grateful none of the ghosts had an odor. My gag reflex could only handle so much. His neck looked odd and his head wasn’t squarely on top of it. His suit and tie made me think he’d been some sort of professional when he was alive. It was ill-fitted, but he was dead. Nothing was quite right or normal with the deceased I’d experienced so far.

“Can you understand me?” I asked John.

“Yausssss,” he said, nodding carefully as if he was aware his head might drop off his body.

I appreciated that. I hadn’t glued a head back on yet and wasn’t really looking forward to it.

“Did you die recently?”

“Yausssss.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to think of other questions with one-word answers that could help me figure out his puzzle.

Realizing I was starving, I considered grabbing something to eat while I chatted with John. The thought of his head falling off and rolling around the kitchen floor made me wait. It might hurt his feelings if I puked. His sadness made me feel bad for him.

“Are you from around here?”

“Yausssss.”

The affirmative answer made me wonder if all the squatters were from around here. That was impossible. I had at least sixty in the house now. I would know if sixty people in my town had kicked the bucket. And Gram had said not all the dead needed help to move on. It was possible my uninvited guests were from parts all over.

“Here? In this town?” I asked.

“Yausssss.”

Interesting. Had anyone died recently? I hadn’t been to a funeral in…

Wait. I went to a funeral last freaking week. The banker who’d committed suicide that I didn’t believe was a suicide.

Was John that man? Did he really kill himself?

Well crap. There were consequences here that were potentially bad… for John.

Would John be sent to the darkness if he’d taken his own life? Suicide was a mortal sin according to religion that I still wasn’t sure I believed in. Should I even help him? Maybe staying here and just hanging out would be better than the darkness. I had TV and a nice house. There were lots of others like him… I mean, some would be moving on soon, but more were sure to show up. Maybe he could make some friends and be happy.

And maybe I was still batshit nuts.

I couldn’t play God—the very same entity that I’d denied most of my life. Did I still believe he didn’t exist? I wasn’t as sure.

“Umm… John? Are you the banker who passed a week ago?”

His head jerked up, and he grabbed it before it went flying off his body. His manners were terrific. The sound he made… not so much. A wail from the bottom of his soul came out of his mouth. Chills covered my body and I felt sick.

My guess was that I’d gotten his identity correct. Maybe he was mentally ill. It didn’t matter. John had some unfinished business. There was a chance I could help him and take away some of his pain. I recalled his wife. She was attractive and well put together—much younger, maybe in her thirties. After the service, I usually went up and wished the widow well. I was a widow myself. I knew what it meant to have people pay their respects. I remembered every single face from Steve’s funeral.

However, I didn’t speak to the widow at John’s funeral. It just didn’t feel right. There were so few people in the church, I just sat in the back and slipped out unseen. John’s funeral wasn’t a celebration of his life like Sam’s had been. It was a somber and odd experience.

Maybe he was upset about that.

Could I perform another funeral for him? Hells bells, I needed to talk to Gram. If I had to get ordained for this job, that was going to be an issue. I still had no clue what I believed in and what I didn’t. If John had been religious, it would be wrong to reenact a funeral for him.

“John, I need to ask you a few harder questions,” I told him.

He wouldn’t look at me.

“Is that okay?”

John nodded but kept his eyes down. God, his pain was so real.

“Did you commit suicide, John?”

“Naawwwooo,” he shouted and pounded the kitchen table with his fist. He hit the wood with such force, I was surprised his hand didn’t fly off. His eyes went wide and he bared his teeth like an animal. “Naawwwooo, naawwwooo, NAAWWWOOO.”

“Okay,” I said, touching his arm warily. “It’s okay. I believe you.”

John calmed and tried to tell me more. “Daaaaaggguh.”

“Dagger?” I asked, confused.

“Naawwwooo.”

“Daughter?” I tried again.

He shook his head no. I needed Donna.

“Donna, come in here please. I need some help,” I called out.

She trotted in and sat at my feet. She gazed up at John and wagged her tail. John’s excitement rose. It was horrifying and kind of scary, but possibly a good sign. I hoped.

“Daaaaaggguh,” he grunted, pointing at Donna and trembling like a leaf. “Daaaaaggguh.”

“Something about your dog?” I questioned, thanking my lucky stars for Donna.

“Yausssss. Daaaaaggguh,” he repeated, appearing both sad and angry.

“Got it,” I said, wondering what to do with this information. Something had clearly happened to his dog and he was upset about it. God, I hoped he hadn’t killed his dog. He didn’t seem like the type, but I reminded myself I didn’t know these people.

Glancing around the room, I looked to see if a ghost dog had shown up. Nope. No dog. I was going to lean to the side that he didn’t off his dog. I didn’t want to help anyone who would kill their pet, and I wanted to help John.

“Is your dog alive?” I asked carefully, getting ready to haul ass out of my kitchen with Donna if his answer made me doubt him.

He nodded and began to cry. Well, cry like a dead person. No tears came, but the body language was clear. The good thing was that the dog was alive.

“Where is the dog?” I asked and then winced. That was not a one-word-answer question. “Is it at your home?”

He shook his head no and then paused. Looking up at me, his lips began to move quickly. I couldn’t understand a thing.

“Slow down, John,” I insisted. “Tell me slowly. Maybe try to act out what you can’t say. Cool?”

He nodded jerkily and stilled.

“Daaaaaggguh,” he said.

“Yep. I got that part.”

John then pounded his fist on the table.

“Your dog got hit? Run over?”

Donna growled. I’d gotten it wrong.

“Try again,” I told him.

“Daaaaaggguh.” Again, he pounded his hand on the table.

Holy hell, did I understand him? “Your dog is at the pound?”

His smile was macabre, but his relief was so apparent I ignored the fact that he looked like he was hungry and wanted to take a bite out of my face.

“Great,” I said, and then I really thought about it. Was I going to have to take John to the dog pound with me to find his dog? The thought of another dog was a little overwhelming, but I wasn’t against it. I’d always wanted to have pets. However, taking John to the pound was iffy. I certainly didn’t want to break in at night. A daytime visit could be dangerous… for me. I knew I wasn’t crazy. But if I accidentally conversed with John, my small town would talk. I’d already been the talk of the town for a while after Steve’s death. I didn’t want to go there again. I had to live here.

“How about this?” I said, trying to figure out if I was being stupid. “If I hug you, you can show me your dog in your mind. I’d also appreciate you letting me know the dog’s name so I don’t screw it up more than I already will.”

John stared at me in confusion.

“Oh right,” I said with a laugh. He had no clue what I was talking about. “I’ll go to the pound and adopt your dog. Will that make you happy?”

“Yausssss,” he grunted, looking as grateful as a dead and decomposing individual could. “Mooooorah.”

“You have more than one dog at the pound?” I asked, wrinkling my nose in thought. I could handle a few. I had a lot of property and with the insurance money coming in soon, vet bills and dog food were doable. I did wonder why all his dogs were at the pound though. Were they violent?

“Naawwwooo. Mooooorah.”

“To your story? More to what you need from me?” I asked.

Donna barked and wagged her tail. I’d gotten it right. Part of me was a little sad John didn’t have more than one dog. If I went to the pound on my own and adopted a pack, that would be bad and embarrassing. If I did it for a dead person it would be fine. My logic was mind-boggling even to myself. Whatever. I didn’t have time to dissect my crazy.

“Let’s go over what we’ve got so far,” I said, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen. The chance that I would forget a detail was high. I had way too much going on. “You did not commit suicide. You have a dog at the pound. I’m going to adopt the dog, but there’s more to the story. Right?”

“Yausssss.”

“Hang on,” I said, grabbing my phone and pulling up the local obituaries. While my laptop internet took forever, my phone was quick. I just didn’t want to use up too much data.

Scrolling for a hot second, I found it. His name was John Dunn. He was survived by his wife, Sarina Dunn—no kids or other relatives. Sad. However, the obit was strange. It mentioned the cause of death was suicide. No one put that in an obituary even if it was true. Who in the heck wrote this?

“Your name is John Dunn,” I said.

He nodded and slouched in his chair.

“And your wife is Sarina?”

John grew agitated and angry. His head shook as if he had a violent tic and gibberish flew from his papery lips.

“John,” I said firmly and loudly. “Stop. Now. You’re freaking me out. I want to help you, but you have to calm down.”

Gripping the edge of the kitchen table with his semi-transparent hands, John relaxed his dead body and got hold of himself. I could tell the hold was tenuous, but it was better than the Exorcist thing that just went down.

“Maauuury,” he grumbled.

“Mary? Your wife’s name is Mary?” Maybe he wasn’t the banker, but everything else matched up. Was he confused? Did he have another wife tucked away somewhere? Ewww, I really didn’t want to get involved in junk like that.

“Naawwwooo, maauuury.”

“Murry?”

Donna growled. I was incorrect. Again. It was looking like we were getting closer to hug time. I knew it wasn’t smart, but getting to the bottom of this could take a week at the rate we were going. Gram’s warnings clanged in my head, but she wasn’t here. She didn’t see John’s pain. Something was very wrong here.

I didn’t have time to sleep for sixteen hours again. Maybe it got easier with each dead man mind-dive. I should get a t-shirt made…

“Waauufff maauuury,” he said, narrowing his lifeless eyes in the hollowed-out sockets.

“Shut the front door,” I said, squinting in disbelief. “Your wife got married. Already? What the heck is that crap?”

I glanced at the obituary again to see if it said former wife. Nope. Wife. John was dead which probably meant he wasn’t quite right in the head—not that I was either, but I needed to remember that I was dealing with the deceased.

“Sooooooonha.”

I understood that one. It was tasteless but made a little more sense. I couldn’t even think about dating and it had been a year since Steve had died. Stan of the Hairy Back didn’t count. I couldn’t imagine someone getting married right after a spouse died—even if it was a terrible marriage. That looked seriously bad. We lived in a small town in the South, for the love of everything gossipy. This Sarina was an idiot.

“Got it,” I told John. “I’m sorry about that.”

John looked down and began to rock back and forth, a keening sound coming from his mouth. It made me want to cry. His hand made jerky motions across his neck over and over. I stared mesmerized. It was like watching a train wreck. What was he doing?

The movement accelerated in speed. I couldn’t look away. I felt trapped.

At one point, John’s hand became a huge kitchen knife. It was brief, but all too sickeningly real. Yesterday I would have blown the image off as my unstable imagination. Today? No way.

“You were murdered,” I said, not even believing it myself.

John stopped moving and slowly raised his eyes to mine. “Yausssss, waauufff kaulll

“Your wife killed you?” I shouted. “Are you kidding me? And now she’s getting married?”

“Yausssss.”

What the hell was I supposed to do with this information? I was enraged for poor John, but it wasn’t like I could go down to the police station and tell the cops I’d chatted with a dead man whose wife killed him and got away with it. That wouldn’t really end all that well. I was sure of it. I needed facts and proof.

Shit. I was going to have to hug him.

“Was it for insurance money?” I asked, feeling a sick tightness in my chest.

He nodded.

“Well, then she’s going to be waiting a long time,” I hissed growing more furious with this woman. “Insurance companies don’t pay out for suicide, and I know you didn’t kill yourself,” I assured him. “However, your wife is stupid. She didn’t do her research.”

“Stooooopaud,” John grunted and then laughed.

At least I thought it was a laugh. He had an amazingly intact sense of humor considering he was murdered by his wife a week ago.

“Your wife dropped your dog at the pound,” I said, shaking my head. Sarina Dunn was a nasty piece of work.

“Yausssss.”

I sat for a moment and thought. I could definitely adopt his dog. As far as getting his wife put away for murdering him? That was a long shot.

“John, I’ll adopt your dog today,” I promised. “I’ll love the dog and take care of it always. You don’t have to worry about that. Okay?”

He nodded and smiled. “Thaauanuak yooouah.”

“Welcome. Now the bad news. Not real sure what I can do about your murderous wife,” I admitted. “You’re pretty dead, and I have no solid evidence or proof.”

John began to speak gibberish like a speed demon. I had to slap my hands over my ears, it was so loud and angry.

“Hold up, dude,” I shouted. “Stop.”

Thankfully he listened. He also looked contrite. I truly appreciated good manners.

“This is probably not smart,” I told him. “However, I’m going to hug you. I’ll be able to see inside your mind. I do not want to hang out in there too long. I should be able to understand your voice if you talk to me—at least that’s how it worked with Sam.”

John nodded and held out his arms to me.

“Hang on a sec,” I said, putting my hands up. “First show me your dog and tell me the dog’s name. Then tell me… or show me… any proof you have that your piece-of-shit wife killed you. If it’s something I can get and show to the authorities, then I will.”

That might still be hard depending on what he had to show me. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. I’d already told him I wasn’t sure I could do anything about his murder.

The dog? No problem.

“Okay, John. I’m going to hug you now. Donna, stay close. I won’t be long and I need you to pull me back. Cool?”

Donna barked and wagged her bottom. She hopped up onto the kitchen table and pressed her fuzzy red body to mine. I couldn’t believe I was letting my dog stand on the kitchen table. However, times were weird. And weird times called for unsanitary measures.

Or something like that.

Chapter Thirteen

Getting murdered was not a good time.

The trip into John’s mind wasn’t as scary as when I went into Sam’s, but I knew what to expect. Not that I would ever be comfortable, but I was fairly sure I wasn’t dying. John, on the other hand…

The cold. The cold went all the way to my bones and tore through my body like sharp, frozen daggers made of ice. Trying to catch my breath, I gasped for air but stayed calm.

My head pounded violently and every single cell in my body screamed for oxygen. I knew it was momentary, but it still sucked.

My mind went numb and I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore.

“John,” I choked out, closing my eyes like Sam had taught me when I was inside his head. “Can you hear me?”

“I can,” a soft and kind male voice answered, sounding wildly surprised. “Daisy?”

“Yep,” I replied with a small laugh as I tried to regulate my breathing. “Show me your dog.”

“Her name is Karen,” John said with great fondness.

Pictures raced across my vision so quickly I couldn’t make them out. Again, it was like an old, static-filled black-and-white TV screen was inside my head. Catching glimpses of a smiling man and a happy dog, I relaxed.

“She’s umm…” I said, not finding the right words without sounding rude.

A black lab with partially crossed eyes sprinted around a very expensive-looking living room. She was doing zoomies—major zoomies.

“A little wild,” John agreed with a chuckle. “She’s not quite right in the head, but she’s the most loving dog around.”

“Not quite right in the head will work out fine at my house,” I assured him. “Does she get along with other dogs?”

“Absolutely,” John said. “Karen loves everyone she meets.”

I watched the images zip by of Karen licking a laughing John. Karen digging a hole in the grass. Karen knocking the trash can over and eating the garbage.

“You’ll need to secure your trash,” John said with a smile in his voice.

“Will do,” I told him, already in love with the dopey dog. “I’ll take good care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you, Daisy. Honestly, that’s all I need.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing there was so much more if he chose to share it.

“Do you want proof of my murder?” he asked, his voice growing weaker with each word.

“Do you want me to have it?”

John was quiet for a bit. “Yes, I would like someone to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t kill myself.”

“I already believe you, John,” I said, feeling unsettled about what was coming. “But if you think I can help you find justice… show me.”

John began to cry. It was awful to hear. My instinct was to comfort the man, but we were not in any kind of normal reality right now. I wasn’t even sure exactly where he was… or where I was.

Without another word from John, the pictures began to flash again. This time they were not adorable and happy. There was a woman screaming and sneering at John, who held flowers and chocolates in his hand. His face went from hopeful to dejected as the woman continued to scream. The woman was his wife.

Scene after scene flashed by of John trying to please a woman who seemed to despise him. The house looked large, and I suspected John was wealthy. I wondered if that was why the woman had married John in the first place. She was a good deal younger than he was.

However, the worst was yet to come.

“John, you’re useless,” Sarina’s voice snarled. “In life and in the bedroom. If you didn’t make a good living I’d be gone. Just remember that.”

“Honey,” John said, shaking his head. “You don’t mean that.”

Her eyes narrowed and she smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “Oh, but I do.”

She left the room, and I watched John hit record on his phone. “This is probably ridiculous,” he said into the screen. “But if I need proof that she’s unstable in a court of law…”

“Drink this,” Sarina said, offering John a glass of what looked like whiskey. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch. It’s just that Cindy got a new Mercedes. I want one too.”

“Maybe after Christmas when I get my bonus,” John said, taking the glass from her hand.

DON’T DRINK THAT. I wanted to yell and tell him something bad was about to happen, but he already knew that. He was dead. It was like I was watching a bad B movie… except it was in staticky black and white and it wasn’t a movie at all.

Sarina’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her false smile stayed fixed on her filler-enhanced lips. Why in the heck had John married such an awful gold-digger? Wait. Not my problem.

John took a healthy sip—and began to cough and choke. Waving his hands, he begged for help. Sarina simply watched him and smiled.

“Hang on,” she purred. “I know how we can fix it.”

John pushed his phone into the side of the chair cushion. Amazingly, the camera still caught the action, but it was obscured from regular sight—or Sarina was simply too crazed to see it. John continued to cough and choke. It was hideous.

Sarina entered the family room with a large butcher’s knife in her hand and the expression of a deranged woman on her face. I really did not want to see the end of this God-awful movie, but I would watch it for John. It had already happened. He was dead and his wife had gotten away with it… so far.

She circled the chair and came up behind him. She laid clear plastic over and under her husband’s body. Her face and upper body were captured by the phone camera perfectly. And sadly, so was John’s.

Grabbing his hand and putting the knife in it, she smiled. “It’s so nice of you not to ruin the furniture, darling,” she said with a deranged giggle. “This will only take a moment.”

Placing her hand over his, she violently raked the butcher’s knife with sickening accuracy across John’s neck. The sound was wet and disgusting. I’d never heard anything like it in my life.

The blood came—dark and red. It was thick and fairly slow. I’d always thought a slit throat would spurt. John gasped and fought as his trachea was severed and he began his awful descent towards death. The poison from the drink dulled his senses and made it impossible for him to fight for his life. I could only hope it had also dulled the pain, but it certainly didn’t look like it.

The sound of escaping air from his windpipe made me want to retch. I’d never seen anyone die before, and I never wanted to see it again. I held my breath as John’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body convulsed. The blood ran steadily from the grotesque slit in his throat.

His thrashing went on for a couple of minutes and then it stopped. Sarina watched in rapt fascination the entire time. It was the most inhuman behavior I’d ever witnessed.

“Whoops,” she said with a hollow laugh. “I didn’t realize you were so depressed, John. Suicide is such a coward’s way out.”

The screen went to static, and I had never wanted to get out of a place so quick in my life.

Donna’s bark was loud and welcome. I followed the sound and found myself right where I was when I’d left—at the kitchen table sitting across from John.

“You think the phone is still in the chair?” I asked him, having a hard time making eye contact after witnessing his violent death.

“Yausssss.”

“And the chair is still in your house?”

“Yausssss.”

That was all I needed. It seemed a little doubtful that it was still there, but there was a chance John was correct. I’d get that damned phone if it was the last thing I did. Although, I hoped it wasn’t the last thing I ever did.

I was exhausted, but it was different this time. My body felt heavy and lethargic, but I didn’t feel dead on my feet.

“I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I’m going to do something,” I promised John as I stood and tested my limbs. “First I’m getting Karen out of the dog pokey and then I’ll…”

What was I going to do? Break and enter again? I didn’t know the layout of the house. And I would bet my favorite running shoes that Sarina didn’t work during the day—or at all. She was probably at home right now planning her wedding to the next old rich dude she was going to murder.

Don’t try to save them.

Gram’s words rang in my ears. She was right and she was wrong. I couldn’t save John. He was already dead. But I could save the next guy and make sure that no one thought John had killed himself.

Grabbing my phone and my purse, I headed out the front door. I almost grabbed my glasses but grinned when I realized I didn’t need them. Getting older was good. I liked it.

“I’ll be back later,” I yelled over my shoulder to the ghosts. “I’ll glue your parts on tonight. I promise.”

I rolled my eyes as I got back into my car. The things I was saying lately were stranger than strange.

Face it. I was stranger than strange… but I planned to wear it well.

* * *

“Hi, I’m Daisy,” I said, staring at Sarina Dunn and willing myself not to tackle her and beat her murdering ass to a pulp. I prayed that the smile on my face looked sincere and not like my teeth were gritted together because I hated her. “I understand you’ve been recently widowed.”

“I have,” Sarina said, narrowing her eyes and keeping her front door only partially open.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her, looking down at my trembling hands. I was a terrible liar. Why I thought I could pull this off was beyond me. Clearly, I didn’t think. But I was here and I was going to finish it. “I’m a widow too. My husband died last year.”

Mentally, I apologized to Steve for using his death in my scheme. However, I didn’t think he would mind in this case. His sense of justice had been enormous.

Sarina at least had the manners to look somewhat compassionate about my loss. She was Southern. Even murdering bitches in the south wouldn’t want it to get around town that they were rude. I could possibly guilt her into letting me in.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Thank you. May I come in,” I inquired politely. “It’s a bit chilly out and I forgot my coat.”

I didn’t forget my coat. It was in the car with Karen—my new dog. I could already tell she was a chewer. I had no clue if my coat would be wearable when I finished here, but I had a few others. The dog had been so excited to get busted out of the pound she almost did a freaking backflip as I walked her out to my car. She was every kind of nuts, and I was already in love with her.

Sarina only hesitated a fraction of a second. She didn’t want to invite me in, but I’d given her no choice.

“Of course,” she said with a smile that was only on her lips. Her eyes were still narrowed.

“Thank you so much,” I said, breezing right past her and walking into the house.

I spotted the chair immediately. Walking right over to it, I sat down.

“You have a lovely home,” I told her.

It was lovely. John had clearly been rich—very rich.

“Thank you,” Sarina said, glancing at her diamond-encrusted watch. “I have an appointment shortly. May I ask why you’re here?”

“Oh,” I said with a laugh and then a cough. “I’m so sorry. I have seasonal allergies. Do you have some water?”

I continued to cough and pound my chest as she watched me warily. I didn’t blame her. I was acting seriously weird.

“Not a problem,” she said. “Wait here, please.”

As soon as she left the room, I shoved my hand into the side of the chair and searched for the phone. Bingo. My hand shook like a leaf as I shoved one of the last objects John had touched when he was alive into my purse. I got what I came for. Now I needed to get the hell out.

“Here you go,” she said, handing me a glass of water that I wouldn’t drink if my life depended on it. The heinous woman was known for poisoning drinks. “I think I must have missed the reason for your visit.”

“Yes. Sorry,” I said, slapping my forehead. “I’m in a widows support group and wondered if you might want to participate. It can be very life-affirming to be with other women who have lived through the experience. Of course, most of the gals are in their seventies and eighties, but they’re a hoot. We meet five days a week and we rotate homes. We usually do potluck and then take the leftovers to the homeless shelter afterward. It’s our way of honoring the lives of our husbands. So, does that sound like something that might interest you?”

She was looking at me like I had a few screws loose, which I did. However, I had to make the club sound awful so she wouldn’t say yes. It would be a little awkward since the group didn’t exist.

“No,” she said, walking to her front door and opening it. “As lovely as the invitation is, I’m not ready for that yet. Jim just passed last week.”

“John,” I corrected her.

“Right,” she said, having the grace to blush a deep red. “I’m so upset about the whole thing, I’m getting confused.”

“Of course you are,” I said, making sure our bodies didn’t touch as I made my way out of her house. “My condolences to you, and I hope life will treat you kindly.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she asked, still red in the face.

“Sometimes the death of a loved one keeps coming back in odd ways,” I told her as I walked down the stone steps and headed back to my car. “Dreams. Nightmares. Just take good care of yourself.”

“I plan to,” she said.

“Yes. I’m sure you do.”

And I plan to make sure you pay.

The thought was satisfying. My heart raced in my chest and I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. It felt good—damn good. I had no clue who I was going to give the evidence to without having to disclose how I got it and how I knew about it. If it was discovered that I’d stolen the phone from the house, the evidence would probably be thrown out in a court of law.

I’d figure it out later. Right now, I was tired. I needed a nap and to get my new dog home. John would be thrilled to see her.

Getting into my car and finding my coat in pieces and the passenger seat with a big hole in it, I sighed and then laughed. “I’m going to call you Karen the Chair Eater.”

Karen barked and licked my face. She circled six times and then finally settled herself on the passenger seat along with the pieces of my coat and the stuffing from the chair.

“You ready to go to your new home?” I asked her.

She glanced over and burped in my face. Shaking my head, I groaned. Karen the Chair Eater promised to be a handful. But she was mine, and I was keeping her.

Chapter Fourteen

“Did you get Botox?” Jennifer asked, eyeing me curiously.

“No, I didn’t get Botox,” I said with an eye roll as I pushed the queso dip to the other side of the table so I wouldn’t finish off the whole bowl. Cheese was my weakness.

I knew Gideon was showing up at my house later, so I didn’t want the gals to come over.

Right now, I wasn’t sure that I was going to be there either.

Heather didn’t want to make a late night of it since she had the second part of the bar exam tomorrow, but she needed to eat. Our favorite Mexican restaurant was a perfect way to celebrate day one of the bar exam.

“Did you get your girls lifted?” Jennifer asked, still examining me like I was a science experiment.

“No, and I never will,” I informed her with a shudder. “Did you know they have to remove your nipples for that surgery and you could lose all sensation?”

“They also have to make your boobs bigger,” June said with a giggle. “After I finished breastfeeding my fourth baby, I went for a consultation. Just awful.”

“Why?” Missy asked as she shoved the queso back to my side of the table. Missy had a cheese weakness too. “What was awful?”

“Well,” June said, leaning in and lowering her voice to a whisper. “I thought they just kind of pulled them up and then cut the extra skin out from under your arm.”

“Makes sense,” Heather said with a shrug.

“I thought so too,” June said. “Apparently, I was an excellent candidate with my saggy bosom.” She giggled and ate a chip. “I started to laugh hysterically when the doctor explained what they actually did. Almost peed my pants. She asked me what I thought the procedure was going to be like, and I told her. Then it was her turn to laugh and she told me if she did it my way, my nipples would be pointing straight up at the ceiling!”

“Oh my God,” Heather said with a laugh. “I get it.”

“Right?” June said, still giggling. “I thanked the doctor for her time and left. My husband likes my girls just fine, and I do too.”

“Was it a doctor in town?” Jennifer asked since she knew all of the plastic surgeons around here and the surrounding towns on a first-name basis.

“Oh my, no,” June said. “I went to Atlanta. I didn’t need anyone gossiping about my saggy bosom.”

“You have a lovely bosom,” Heather said, patting June’s hand.

“She a lesbian,” Jennifer said. “That’s a true compliment there.”

Heather laughed and rolled her eyes. She threw a chip at Jennifer and nailed her right in the middle of her over-Botoxed forehead.

“So how was the first day of the exam?” I asked, sipping on my frozen margarita.

I was shocked that I wasn’t exhausted. Having a drink should have been off the table for me, considering what I’d done this afternoon, but I felt bizarrely terrific. I’d even gone for a run after I’d gotten home from getting John’s phone. Usually, I ran five miles, but today I ran with such ease and speed, I upped my mileage to ten.

Turning forty was not as bad as it was reported to be. Maybe Missy had been correct. I hadn’t felt this good in… well, ever.

John had been beside himself to see Karen. Even though she couldn’t see him, it was as if she’d felt his presence. I was kind of relieved that I only had one dog that could see the dead. I’d put gaff tape over the lid of the trash can and asked Donna to keep an eye on Karen while I was gone. Both dogs had taken to each other immediately. John had been right. Everybody loved Karen and Karen loved everybody. I was probably going to have to get an electric fence for Karen. I didn’t worry about Donna running away, but our new addition was a loose cannon.

It also occurred to me that I had a dog named Donna and a dog named Karen. While I was a fan of Donna Karan, I really didn’t want people thinking I’d named my dogs for a fashion designer. I’d decided to remedy that by always saying Karen’s name first if I was calling both of them.

“The exam went as I expected and I aced it,” Heather said with a grin, raising her glass.

“Humble much?” Jennifer asked with a laugh as she too raised her glass.

“Only on Fridays,” Heather said with a wink.

“You’re gonna own this town, baby,” Missy announced. “Watch out for Heather. She can put you away for life.”

I froze and thought about John’s phone locked in my bedroom safe along with my passport and other important legal documents. Should I give it to Heather instead of the authorities? Maybe she’d let me get by without having to explain myself completely. It might be worth a try.

“You okay?” Missy asked, kicking my foot under the table. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

If she only knew. “Fine. I’m fine,” I said, kicking her back. “Just a little tired.”

I could feel Heather’s eyes on me. She was still obviously worried about me and the possibility that I thought Steve’s ghost was hanging out. Sucking up my tired, I put a smile on my face to allay her fear—a real smile.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing Heather’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m really proud of you.”

She smiled and squeezed back. “Thank you. I’m kind of proud of myself,” she said with a chuckle. “So, what’s it like working from home this week?”

“Very nice,” I said, giving up on avoiding the queso and digging in. I ran ten miles today. I could eat a little cheese… or a lot. “I could get used to it. Donna is the best dog in the world. Oh my God,” I said with a laugh. “I adopted another one today.”

“Are you nuts?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I told her. “When I go back to work, Donna will be alone and I wanted her to have a friend.” The lie came effortlessly, but it wasn’t all a lie. I did consider Donna when I promised John I would adopt Karen. “Two isn’t any harder than one.”

“That’s what my ex said when I found out he was cheating with the gal at the post office,” Jennifer announced to the entire restaurant. “That Kitty Benton is a hussy. Of course, my ex couldn’t get hard without Viagra, so not real sure he made a solid point.”

“That was the worst pun ever,” Heather said with a groan.

“I’m good like that,” Jennifer shot back with a cackle. “I’m just full of them!”

“And on that note, I’ve got to get some sleep,” Heather said, standing up and motioning for the bill.

“Nope,” I said. “I’ve got this. You are not paying for your own celebration.”

“We’ve all got this,” June said, pulling out a credit card. “We can all split it evenly and pay for Heather.”

“Umm… I drank a little more than the rest of you lightweights,” Jennifer pointed out accurately. “I should pay more.”

“All comes out in the wash,” Missy said, giving Jennifer a quick hug. “No worries.”

We paid and walked out together. I was blessed to have these women in my life. I’d noticed a few covert glances between Heather and Missy. It was obvious they still had feelings for each other. I would never get involved, but I wished with all my heart that they could work it out. Love was something that didn’t always come along. If it was there, they needed to grab it and hang on.

“Heather,” I called out as we all headed to our cars. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Always,” she said. “Oh, how was Gram?”

My friend had no clue how loaded her question was. “She was good.”

“Awesome. What can I help you with?”

“If someone possibly knew something about something and wanted something done about it, how would they go about doing that?” I asked and then winced. The sentence made no sense whatsoever.

Heather cocked her head to the side and squinted at me. “Want to rephrase?”

“Yes. Definitely,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “Let’s say I knew something possibly illegal had happened, and I had proof. I couldn’t say how I knew how to get the proof or what I might have done to get it. What exactly would I do with that proof?”

Heather was quiet for a long moment as she stared at me. I squirmed under her steady gaze. She either thought I was crazy or I was into something bizarrely bad. Both options were true depending on how you looked at it.

“You would give it to me,” she said.

I waited for her to question me more. She didn’t.

“Umm… okay,” I said hesitantly. “Can I come over tomorrow night after you’re done taking the bar?”

Heather nodded. I couldn’t believe she didn’t press for more, but Heather was that kind of friend. God, I was lucky.

“Yep. And Daisy?”

“Yes?”

There was another long pause as I watched Heather search for what she wanted to say.

“Nothing. Just be careful,” she said, giving me a hug.

“I will. I have two dogs now. Not really great guard dogs, but better than nothing,” I told her, trying to lighten the heaviness of the conversation.

“Not what I meant, but okay,” she replied with a smile as she got in her car.

“Heather,” I said as I pulled my keys out of my purse. “Which one of you found Donna for me?”

Heather laughed and shook her head. “Which one of us do you think picked Donna?”

“I’d guess you,” I said as a strange and unfamiliar tingle ran through my body.

“Then you would have guessed correctly,” she said as she eased her car out of the spot and backed up. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Daisy.”

“Yep. Tomorrow,” I said as I watched her drive away.

My mind raced with all kinds of unbelievable scenarios. I needed to stop. My imagination was going to get me into trouble. My reality was unreal enough as it was. I didn’t need to be attributing weird to things that were normal.

It was time to go home. I checked my watch and sighed. It was only eight o’clock. I knew Gideon would show up at ten. Maybe I could catch a quick nap before the ass came over.

Or maybe I would put on some makeup and change out of my jeans… Or maybe not.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a booty call. It was nothing. He could talk for a half hour and then I would kick him out.

If Gideon was indeed the Grim Reaper, I had some questions for him. Did I want the answers? Probably not. However, I was fairly sure he didn’t care what I wanted.

Yay me. Today had been the longest day of my life so far and it wasn’t over yet. Hopefully the worst wasn’t yet to come.

* * *

“The couch actually belongs to me,” I said with a laugh, shoving both Donna and Karen over. “My butt is bigger than two inches wide.”

Donna barked and Karen made a silly whiney sound as her tail wagged spastically. If sitting on the couch was going to be an issue, I couldn’t wait to see what would happen when the three of us went to bed.

“Okay dead friends, you have a choice,” I announced, grabbing the TV remote and hitting the guide button. “Dancing with the Stars or The Bachelorette. I like Dancing with the Stars better, but I plan to take a quick nap so the choice is yours. If you want to watch B celebrities doing the cha-cha, go by the fireplace. If you want to watch an idiot choose a fake husband, go by the front door.”

The TV habits of my dead squatters were serious business. I’d accidentally left the news on earlier and they went nuts—flew around like a tornado and squealed so loudly I thought I might have lost partial hearing in my right ear. I would not make that mistake again anytime soon. I’d get my news from NPR in my car from now on. Losing my aural skills wasn’t an option.

Just as I expected, they wanted The Bachelorette. They had no taste.

As I curled up under the afghan and started to fall asleep, a thought occurred to me. John hadn’t moved on yet. My guess was that he couldn’t until something had been done about his murder. John might be living with me for a long time. I hoped not, but the reality of getting Sarina put behind bars for life wasn’t a good bet. Even if I gave the proof to Heather, I wasn’t sure what she could do with it.

“Hey, John?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes open. “If we nail your wife, where would you like your money to go? Did you have anything in your will that goes beyond your wife getting your estate? You know, if you guys had died at the same time.”

“Naawwwooo,” he said.

“Well, if you had a choice, where would you want your estate to go?”

“Yooouah,” he said with a nod of satisfaction.

“Umm… nope,” I said, sitting up with a laugh. “And that’s not what I meant at all. I can’t and won’t take any money from you. I’m just putting it out there that if we can get a conviction on that piece of shit, where would you like your money to go?”

“Yooouah,” he repeated more firmly.

“Again. Nope,” I said with a tired grin. “Although that’s very nice, I can’t accept.”

Donna barked and Karen burped. I shook my head—and then it hit me. “How about the Humane Society?” I asked. “You love dogs. We could do it in honor of Karen.”

“Yausssss,” John said, pointing at Karen and smiling. “Yausssss.”

I wondered if his will had been done at our firm and if I could doctor it. Of course, the question I should be asking myself was how much time would I serve for getting caught doing that? The chances of Sarina getting what she deserved were sadly slim. However, just in case John disappeared, I wanted to know his wishes. I couldn’t necessarily make them happen. But if I didn’t know what he wanted I really couldn’t make it happen.

“I’m going to sleep for forty-five minutes,” I announced to the dead and my dogs. “I set my alarm. Do not let me sleep through it. Cool?”

Everyone seemed to be on the same page. Even though I had no intention of dressing up for Gideon, it would be nice to freshen up a little and slap on some war paint.

Because I was pretty sure I was going to war.

May the best crazy person win.

Chapter Fifteen

“Oh my God,” I screeched, cupping my stinging cheek with my hand. “Did you just smack me in the face?”

Gideon was crouched over me on my couch. His big hands gripped my shoulders in a painful hold. The idiot was shaking me like a rag doll. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Wake up, Daisy. NOW.”

“I am awake, asshole,” I shouted.

Rearing back and fisting my hand while remembering to keep my thumb on the outside, I threw a right hook that landed squarely in the center of his face. His nose made a terrible crunching noise and his eyes grew wide with surprised shock.

Oh. My. God. Those classes at the Y really did teach me something. I hadn’t been sure because I’d never used my skills for real until now. Adrenaline pumped through my body and my heart raced. I was at an emotional cross between being wildly proud of myself and being completely mortified.

“Did you just break my nose?” he asked, confused yet smiling.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasped out, slapping my hand over my mouth and cringing. “I didn’t mean to actually break anything. It’s just that I’m not real keen on getting smacked in the face and then being shaken so hard my brain rattles.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Gideon said, easing his huge frame off of me and touching his nose gingerly. “I thought you were dead.”

I felt the loss of his body heat acutely. I didn’t like that he’d moved away. What was wrong with me? He’d just smacked me in the face and shook me like I was a human-sized gin and tonic. I’d broken his nose for God’s sake, and I was upset that he wasn’t on top of me anymore?

I’m an idiot.

“If you kept shaking me, I might have gone there,” I said, getting up off the couch and avoiding him studiously. “Let me get you some ice for your nose. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Are you?” he inquired with a raised brow and a lopsided grin that made me tingle all over.

“Actually, no,” I told him with a laugh. “If you ever try to wake me up like that again—not that you’ll ever have the opportunity—I’ll do far worse.”

“Good to know,” Gideon replied. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I find you in a coma.”

I rolled my eyes and practically ran to the kitchen. I’d just punched the Grim Reaper in the face and lived. How had my existence come to this?

Quickly putting ice into an ice bag, I paused and then groaned. Could Gideon see my dead friends? Could he randomly send them to the darkness to punish me for rearranging his face?

“Shit, this could be bad,” I muttered, trying to figure out what to do.

He didn’t seem too angry about me breaking his nose—there wasn’t even any blood. Maybe it was just a little bit broken. Could a nose get sprained? Crap. I couldn’t even look it up. My phone was in the family room.

I had no clue I was strong enough to break anything. Violence had never been my go-to before five minutes ago. I was normally very mild-tempered and nice. However, I wasn’t sure what the rules were in this new game that I was being forced to play and couldn’t take any chances with my ghosts

“You,” I whispered urgently to a dead guy who was hovering over my head. “Get everyone into the kitchen now. Be casual about it just in case the man out there can see you. Can you do that?”

He nodded and zipped out of the room. I had to warn my people. They needed to leave. Now. If Gideon was as evil as the Grim Reaper was supposed to be, bad things could happen to my squatters.

I waited for three minutes. Not one freaking ghost joined me in the kitchen—not even John. Had Gideon already banished my dead guests to the darkness? If he had, I would break his jaw with my next punch—or at least sprain it. None of my decomposing buddies had had their problems solved yet. He had no right to horn in on my territory. Was his visit to my house planned with evil intent? It had to have been.

My squatters liked me… or I thought they did. I mean, they seemed happy here. I glued them back together and let them watch crappy reality TV.

Not to mention, I’d gone mind-diving twice already and almost died. I’d even committed a freaking misdemeanor. What else did they want from me?

“Did you fall into the freezer?” Gideon called out.

“Be right there,” I yelled back, giving my ghosts one more minute until I went out there and let the Grim Reaper know that I was the boss in my house.

Sixty seconds went by. My stomach was in knots. I didn’t exactly want to be living with dead people, but I didn’t want anyone to hurt them either. They were dead, for the love of everything unholy. They’d already been through enough.

Throwing my shoulders back and getting ready to bargain with the devil—or rather, the Grim Reaper—I marched back into the family room. Gideon wasn’t going to know what hit him. My lady balls were enormous and I was about to use them.

“What the hell?” I shouted, dropping the ice bag and glaring in disbelief at the scene in front of me.

My deceased squatters were complete traitors. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Did the idiots have any clue who they were fawning over?

The dead women were utterly ridiculous and embarrassingly lewd—fighting and shoving each other out of the way to get close to the asshole with the broken nose. They fluttered about, giggling and vying for his attention. The giggling sounded like a cross between choking and puking, but I recognized the macabre noise clearly. The men were no better. All of them were speaking gibberish a mile a minute, trying to impress the man who could send them into the darkness.

And my dogs? Both had flopped to their backs at his feet and were receiving belly rubs.

I could strip naked and run around the room and not one specter would notice. I wouldn’t do that because I was fairly sure Gideon would notice, and I was not going to give him the wrong idea. Ever.

“Nice of you to join us, Daisy,” Gideon said, appearing slightly stressed out. “Can you tell your people to stand down?”

“You can see them?” I asked, wanting to make sure he wasn’t talking about the dogs.

“Yes. I’ve never seen quite so many together at the same time, but yes, I definitely see them,” he replied with a chuckle.

Well, he didn’t seem mad. Hopefully that meant he wasn’t going to send them to hell.

“You won’t hurt them?” I asked warily as I picked up the ice pack and shooed a few female ghosts away who tried to take it from me. Not that they could. Their hands went right through it. However, it was the action that counted, not the result. I was going to give him the damned ice pack. I was the one who broke his nose. It was the least I could do.

“What exactly do you think I do?” Gideon asked, raising a brow and leveling me with an intense stare.

“Umm… carry a scythe and wear a cheesy black-hooded robe,” I said, realizing how ridiculous I sounded as the words left my lips.

“Please, go on,” he said, amused.

I slowly lifted my middle finger to him. He grinned. The Grim Reaper had a sense of humor. Who knew?

“Okay, I will. You randomly ring people’s doorbells and then you kill them with your scythe—which is really horrible and mean—and take them to hell. I’m not sure I believe in hell, but that’s what you do.”

Gideon bit down on his stupidly kissable bottom lip and tried not to laugh. He failed. He failed in a big way. As he let go of a delighted bellow of laughter, all of the ghosts laughed along with him… or more likely they were laughing at me. I didn’t like that one bit. However, the stupid part of me was thrilled that I’d made the idiot laugh. So much for wisdom coming with age.

“You should stop watching so much TV,” Gideon said, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Are you denying that’s what you do?” I demanded, trying to regain the upper hand, or some kind of hand.

“Yes. I categorically deny everything you just said, Daisy.”

Maybe he was correct. I did watch a lot of scary movies.

“But you are the Grim Reaper?”

“I am.”

“Okay. Fine,” I snapped, tossing the ice bag at him and nailing him right in the crotch. “OH MY GOD. I am so sorry,” I gasped out as he jackknifed forward and hissed. “I did not mean to do that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Gideon said with a wince. “No one in their right mind would rack a man who carries a scythe and wears a cheesy hooded black cape.”

“You said I was incorrect about that,” I said, feeling horrified that I’d broken his nose and then racked him with an ice pack.

“You are incorrect,” he replied. “Why don’t you stay over there and put your hands in your pockets for a few minutes?” he suggested as he placed the ice pack on his nose and put a throw pillow over his junk.

“I can do that,” I said in a mortified whisper. “Do you want another ice pack for your… umm…”

“My balls?” he inquired with a pained grin.

“Yes,” I said, feeling heat crawl up my neck and head for my cheeks.

“No. I’m too terrified to find out what other damage you can inflict,” Gideon said dryly. “Let’s just leave it at my nose and nuts right now.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said weakly, shoving my hands into my pockets and moving farther away from him. This was not going well—especially for him.

“Can you do something about the ghosts?” Gideon inquired, squinting at me and indicating the shitshow happening all around him.

It was a hot mess now. The women were trying to ease the pain in his privates. The scene looked like a weird specter porn. I scrunched my nose and bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t laugh. Just like Gideon, I failed. Miserably.

“Ladies,” I shouted, swallowing back my giggles. “Get off of my guest. NOW. Gentlemen, quit trying to chew his ear off—not literally, thank God. He can’t understand you anyway. Wait. Can you?” I asked Gideon.

“No, I can’t,” he said with an expression of amazement on his face.

At least I thought it was amazement. It might have been horror. Right now, I couldn’t tell and didn’t have time to figure it out. I still had squatters to reprimand.

“People, this behavior is far more appalling than you freaks leaving random body parts around the house and showing up in my bathroom. Well, the bathroom thing was pretty bad… but this? This is unacceptable. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Would you have behaved like this when you were alive? My guess is no. Death is not a good time to become a hussy or a car salesman. Do you feel me?”

They all looked up at me and then dropped their heads in remorse. Only six heads hit the floor. The number could have been far worse. At least thirty dead gals had been hanging all over Gideon. It was a damn good thing I’d bought so much superglue.

The Grim Reaper’s mouth was open and his expression was one I couldn’t decipher. Whatever. He didn’t have to live with these people—I did.

Gideon needed to say what he came here to say and then leave. He already had a broken nose and sore junk. I was pretty sure he wanted to get this over with as well.

“Anyone who just lost a head needs to pick it up and keep it with you. I’ll glue it back on later,” I said, eyeing my dead posse. “There’s a TV in the kitchen as all of you already know. Survivor is on now. Quite honestly, I should take your TV privileges away after the hideous behavior you displayed, but it’s a new episode and I’m aware of how much you enjoy the show.”

Gideon was still open-mouthed. Unfortunately, it was sexy. Even dazed and confused the asshole was sexy.

“I’m going to count to three and all of you had better disappear. Am I clear?”

Everyone grunted and nodded. Thankfully, everyone also looked contrite. Manners were important. Gideon was handsome, but this was absurd.

“One. Two. Three.”

They all evaporated.

“Where did they go?” Gideon asked, still slightly dumbfounded.

“The kitchen,” I told him. “To watch Survivor. They like reality shows.”

Gideon stared at me like I was insane. It was kind of rude considering I’d just saved him from being sexually assaulted by a bunch of dead women, but whatever.

I knew I wasn’t quite right in the head. If he thought so too, so be it.

“Say what you need to say and then leave,” I told him, keeping my distance. My instinct was to check his injuries—not his balls, his nose. I really did feel bad.

He said nothing. He started to several times, but nothing came out.

“Are you in pain? Should I get you some aspirin?” I asked, feeling even worse than I already did. Maybe getting racked was an ongoing terrible process that made speech difficult. I’d never seen anyone get racked before and I didn’t have brothers. My knowledge of getting racked came from the movies. It was usually kind of funny and well deserved on the big screen. Tonight? Not so much.

“I have never felt so alive in my entire existence,” Gideon muttered, sounding shocked and shaking his head.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Isn’t that a rude question?” he inquired with a grin.

“Only if you were a woman,” I replied, enjoying myself. The Grim Reaper was not only pretty to look at, he was fun. And I was clearly crazy to be having these thoughts.

“You shouldn’t ask questions that you don’t want the answer to, Daisy,” he said cryptically, removing the ice pack from his face and putting it on the coffee table.

His nose didn’t look too bad—just a little swollen. Gideon still looked like a male model. The imperfection made him even better-looking somehow. Maybe his nose was just bruised and not broken. I still felt awful, but not quite as awful.

“Fine. I won’t,” I replied. “You came here for a reason.”

“I did,” he agreed. “Just wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome.”

I laughed. “I said I was sorry. What else do you want?”

“I’ll let you know shortly,” he replied with a look that made me regret the question.

My stomach fluttered and I was pretty sure I was blushing. Again. The man was sex on two legs and I didn’t do sex. If I was truly going to have to work with him, I needed to banish the thoughts from my head. I’d embarrassed myself enough. My lack of skill in the bedroom would not be added to the list.

Back to business. “Okay. So, I was wrong about what you do. Would you like to explain it to me or am I going to have to guess?”

“I don’t send anyone to hell,” he said, taking my cue and getting to the reason he came. “People determine their own fate during their life.”

“Got it. So why do you exist?”

“I’ve asked myself that question many times,” he muttered.

“What?” I asked, not sure I’d heard him correctly.

“Nothing,” he said flatly in a cold tone. “I’m only called upon when a soul’s fate is in question.”

Well, that was certainly interesting. I wondered which one of my ghost’s fate was in question.

Oh, hell no. I was pretty sure I knew who it might be.

“Can God or Satan see the truth? The real truth?” I asked, feeling a little sick to my stomach. I wasn’t sure I believed in God or Satan, but I figured using the names sounded professional.

“Not following,” Gideon said.

I stood and began to pace. My head started to throb and my heartbeat felt like it was skipping every other beat. John didn’t commit suicide. But if the higher powers—whoever the heck they were—went by what was believed as opposed to what really happened, John could get sent to the wrong place. I wasn’t going to let that happen. He’d already been murdered. He wasn’t going to pay for a suicide that he didn’t commit.

Maybe I could show John’s phone to Gideon and clear it up before a tragic mistake occurred. It was possible that the reason I stole the phone was for this very moment. Sarina would get away with murder, but John wouldn’t suffer in death.

Heaving out a huge sigh, I went for it. “You can’t have John. He didn’t kill himself. If you want proof, I have it.”

Gideon stared at me perplexed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?” I asked, feeling my heartbeat settle back to a rate that wasn’t going to give me a stroke. I was only forty, but my hobby was definitely raising my blood pressure.

“No. I don’t.”

“You’re not here to take John?” I wasn’t quite sure I believed him. He seemed to be nicer than I would expect the Grim Reaper to be, but he was still the Grim Reaper.

“I’m not here to take anyone anywhere,” he said.

“Why are you here then?”

“I’m here to see you. To get to know you,” he replied. “There is no soul in question right now.”

I was a little confused, but maybe this was normal protocol. I really needed to talk to Gram. I hadn’t asked any of the right questions.

“You’re just here to say hi and then you’re leaving?”

“Something like that,” he said with a laugh.

“And you’re positive you’re not here for John?” I needed to make sure we were clear on that point.

“Not here for John,” he promised.

I nodded in satisfaction and sat down on a chair that was still a healthy distance away. “Good. What else do I need to know?”

“I’ve come up with a penance that can show your remorse for brutally attacking me,” he said, looking so serious it was funny.

“You started it,” I pointed out with a giggle.

“I thought you were dead.”

“And smacking and shaking a dead person is a good plan of action?” I questioned.

“Fine point, well made,” Gideon said, grinning. “However, it would be good for our working relationship if I knew you were truly sorry.”

“And how would I go about showing you I was truly sorry?” I asked as the atmosphere went from friendly to loaded with sexual innuendo.

“A kiss,” he replied.

Not going to happen. A kiss with Gideon was more dangerous than dead man mind-diving. I was certain of it.

Wait. A. Minute.

Did he pull this crap with all the Death Counselors? Had he hit on Gram and my mom too?

That was so gross, I almost couldn’t comprehend it.

Was he even the same Grim Reaper who had worked with Gram and my mom? Was there a family line of Grim Reapers just like there was a line of Death Counselors?

The sour look on my face must have clued him into my thought process.

“I’m not that unappealing,” he said dryly. “Since it can’t be that, would you like to tell me what’s going on in that fascinating mind of yours?”

“Are you the only one?”

“The only one of what?”

“Grim Reaper,” I said. “Are you the only Grim Reaper? Has it always been just you?”

He nodded, and then let his head fall back on his shoulders as he laughed. “I see where you’re going with this. The answer is no. I’ve never had a relationship with a Death Counselor.”

“Never?” I pressed.

“Never ever never,” he said, watching me so intently I grew uncomfortable. “I don’t exactly do relationships,” he admitted with a shrug. “Got over that many centur— Years ago.”

“Centuries?” I choked out. “Did you stop yourself from saying centuries?”

His sigh sounded put upon and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t sure why the thought of him being older than dirt alarmed me. I was living with dead people. Anything was possible.

“I did. And there you have it,” he said. “Happy?”

“Not particularly,” I said truthfully. “Kind of freaked out. So, you don’t age?”

“I can choose my age,” he replied casually. “Would you prefer me younger? Older?”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I made a rude noise. “I don’t prefer you at all.”

“Liar,” he shot back.

“What kind of game are you playing?” I snapped, feeling like I wanted to cry. “I’m a forty-year-old widow. You should go hit on someone in their twenties. You could have anyone. Trust me on that.”

“What if I don’t want anyone? What if I want you?” he countered.

“Then you’re crazier than I am,” I informed him. “I’m damaged goods and I’m broken. Not to mention I live with dead squatters. I’m not good girlfriend material… or booty call material,” I clarified since he was clear about not being a relationship kind of guy or whatever he was.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m middle-aged,” I shot back sarcastically. What he was doing was mean. I wasn’t in his league and playing with me was vicious.

“Age is simply a number. I’m not exactly a spring chicken. You… challenge me,” he said, seeming truly surprised about the statement.

“Fine. I’ll stop.”

“Don’t think you’re capable of it, Daisy. It’s who you are,” he replied smoothly, looking like he wanted to eat me alive—and not like a zombie, thank God.

“Well, I’ll do my best to stop being fascinating,” I said, standing up and going to the front door. “This is not going to happen. You feel me, Gideon?”

“Would love to,” he said with a laugh.

I rolled my eyes and laughed too. “Not what I meant.”

“I know,” he said as he approached me and the now open door. “A man can dream, Daisy.”

He stood in front of me and stilled. His scent made me dizzy. My instinct was to lean into him and take comfort. Insanity should be my new name. With extreme effort, I stood as motionless as he did—not moving a muscle.

I was staring at his chest. He was incredibly tall and I wasn’t short. At five foot ten, I was on the tall side for a woman. Gideon was easily six foot three. I debated if I wanted to raise my eyes to his. We were in dangerous territory here. However, if I did have to interact with him on any kind of regular basis, I was going to have to man-up… or woman-up in my case.

Playing at a disadvantage with the Grim Reaper probably wasn’t in my best interest. I wondered if he had a colleague who did the opposite of what he did. Was another stupidly beautiful man going to show up in my sleepy Georgia town and send people into the light when the fate of a soul was in question? I considered asking, but right now I’d learned all I could handle without losing it.

I was forty. I had balls. I’d turned to a life of crime—albeit for the good of dead people I cared about. Not even an hour ago, I broke the Grim Reaper’s nose. I wasn’t a superhero, but I was damn close right now.

What was a kiss?

A kiss was proof that I was in control. Gideon couldn’t own me. I owned me. And I was about to show him.

“Fine,” I said, raising my eyes to his. “One kiss. And that is all you will ever get. Deal?”

“Whatever you say, Daisy,” he replied as his sinful mouth became a lopsided grin that took my breath away.

I was very aware that Gideon had just given me a non-answer. I’d done the same thing to Gram all through my teenage years… and still did it occasionally. I was onto the Grim Reaper’s methods and I would beat him at his own game if I had to.

As he lowered his lips to mine, I forgot how to breathe. My arms wrapped around him. I told myself it was so I didn’t drop to the floor like an ungraceful sack of potatoes. I was a liar. I’d wanted to touch the man since the first time I’d seen him.

“You ready?” he whispered so seductively I was pretty sure I lost a few brain cells.

If this was the windup, I couldn’t even imagine what the kiss was going to feel like.

“Give it your best shot, Reaper,” I said. My voice sounded uneven and breathy. It mirrored my riotous insides.

“With pleasure,” he said as his lips touched mine—and a shot of something unfamiliar flowed through my body.

I moaned and wanted to smack myself for letting this happen. The kiss was more intimately intense than any sex I’d had in my entire forty years. What the hell was I thinking?

I’d expected his mouth to crush mine and take what he wanted. I couldn’t have been more wrong. As his lips gently parted mine, I felt a breathlessness in a new and unfamiliar way. It felt as if the entire world around us evaporated and we floated on some kind of cloud.

The kiss was like nothing I’d ever felt before. And suddenly I understood what all of those silly romance novels were talking about when they described kissing as melting. Every inch of me seemed to dissolve into him.

Gideon stole my breath as his tongue searched my mouth with a ravenous desire. I stole his right back. It terrified me that every other kiss I’d had in my life up until this one had been wrong. Right now, I had no clue where I began and he ended. We were one, and filled with an urgent need I’d never experienced with any other man.

“Stop,” I whispered against his mouth. My breathing came in short gasps. I was half ready to drag the man to my bedroom and find out what would happen.

Gideon’s breathing matched mine. He pressed his forehead to mine and loosely caged me against the door with his arms. I could get away easily if I wanted to. However, the idiot part of me didn’t want to.

“That was unreal,” he whispered with his eyes closed as he got a grip on his breathing.

Slipping out from under his arms, I crossed the family room and placed myself behind a large armchair. I didn’t trust him or myself right now.

“You need to go,” I told him, staring at my hands holding on to the chair with a death grip.

Gideon said nothing for a long moment. But his parting words were a doozy.

“Just the beginning, Daisy,” he said softly. “This is just the beginning.”

Without another word, he left, closing the front door quietly behind him.

My knees buckled and I dropped to the floor. Donna and Karen came over and pressed their furry bodies against mine. His words were a warning and a promise. They were also terrifying.

Guilt consumed me and my eyes filled with tears. I’d never felt this way even once when I’d kissed my husband. What the hell was wrong with me?

I couldn’t figure it out. I had no answers… just sadness and guilt. Steve had deserved better than me. Yes, he’d been my best friend and I’d loved him. But I’d never felt this way about him.

I’d never once forgotten my name or felt like I was literally part of him when our lips touched.

I had cheated him out of something wonderful, and now he was dead. I could still taste Gideon on my lips and the tears came faster. They quickly turned into racking sobs. My dogs and the dead surrounded me and tried to comfort me. There was no comfort to be had.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” I whispered brokenly as I pulled the afghan off the back of the chair and made myself comfortable on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

I had no clue how long I cried, but eventually I was so bone-tired that sleep stole my grief. As my eyes closed, my lips formed a small smile. My dogs and my deceased squatters had settled all around me and were falling asleep. It was bizarre and bizarrely right.

Midlife was more than a series of crises. It was a freaking destination, and the ride was seriously bumpy.

Chapter Sixteen

Any hopes that last night was a dream were dashed when I looked at my black and blue hand. The knuckles were slightly swollen this morning and hurt like hell. I could only hope Gideon’s nose and nuts were faring better. The class at the Y didn’t teach me that punching someone in the face could result in personal injury.

What had happened last night would not happen again. Not the punching or the kissing. It was far too dangerous to my emotional health. Since my regular sanity was tenuous, I didn’t need to push myself into a complete nervous breakdown.

I wasn’t deluded enough to believe I was cheating on my dead husband by kissing Gideon. That would be pathetic. It was just the guilt of feeling such strong emotions that threw me off my game. It was too much to handle with everything in my life changing so fast. I’d lived long enough to know how to protect myself.

“Who’s at my house?” I muttered as I heard the sound of a truck driving up. None of my friends drove a truck and they were at work anyway. Heather had an SUV, but she was at the bar exam. And her muffler didn’t sound at all like what had just driven up. Heather took excellent care of her car. I had no clue what Gideon drove, but if I had to guess, I’d say he was a fast sports car kind of Grim Reaper.

Peeking out, I saw it was Tim, the postman. Tim took his job as a mail deliverer very seriously. Opening the door so the dogs didn’t freak out when he knocked, I waved.

“Hi, Tim,” I said with a tired smile as I stretched my sore limbs. Sleeping on the floor had not been the wisest move. “You have a package for me?”

I couldn’t remember ordering anything except the Ouija board, and that was just yesterday. Maybe someone had sent something.

“Sure do, Daisy,” Tim said, sounding official and nerdy. “Need you to sign right here, please.”

He held the package protectively against his chest like I was going to steal it from him. I refrained from rolling my eyes and signed on the dotted line. He checked my signature twice before he begrudgingly handed me the package. I was surprised he didn’t ask for my freaking driver’s license. Tim was a little too official for me this morning. I was curious about the delivery, but if he was that attached to it, he could keep the damn thing. Not to mention I’d known him for at least twenty years.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the package as he eyed it like he was going to snatch it back.

He usually didn’t get this possessive about packages until around Christmas. Half the people in town were sure he x-rayed all the packages that came in and he kept what he liked. I didn’t believe Tim would actually steal other people’s stuff, but his behavior today was definitely odder than usual.

“Welcome,” Tim said, giving me a salute and marching back to his truck.

“Weird comes in droves,” I muttered as I closed the front door and locked it just in case Tim had a change of heart about the delivery. He was harmless, but I wasn’t in the mood for a strange debate about mail.

The south had its own kind of nutty and wore it loud and proud.

Coffee. I needed coffee.

Tossing the package on the kitchen table, I made my special drink. I added two squirts of chocolate syrup this morning. I needed it. Even though I’d slept for eight hours, it was crappy sleep.

The squatters didn’t seem any worse for the wear. They floated around the kitchen with rabid excitement. I wasn’t sure if it was left over from Gideon’s visit last night or if there was a Big Brother marathon on TV. Honestly, I didn’t care.

I simply needed caffeine and to do some of the boring paperwork that was piled up next to the mysterious package. I’d procrastinated long enough. It wasn’t fair to my friends to be left with their work plus mine. I did need to get some more work to do, but running into Gideon wasn’t the best idea right now.

“What the heck is going on?” I asked my dead roommates, sitting down at the table and grabbing the pile from the office.

The ghosts were going nuts—chattering and pointing at the package. The first thing I’d done when I woke up was to glue everyone back together. Heads took a tremendous amount of superglue. I was going to have to buy some more very soon.

“Guys,” I shouted over the fray. “I have to work. You need to go watch TV in the family room.”

No one was listening to me. You’d think after all the surgery I’d done a few hours ago they’d cut me a freaking break. No such luck.

“Fine,” I grumbled with an eye roll. “I’ll open the package and then I have to work. And that means you have to leave me alone. Clear?”

Everyone nodded and trembled with anticipation. I half wondered if I should open the package outside. After Tim’s reaction and now the reaction of the dead, I was worried about the contents.

Donna barked and wagged her tail. Karen was snooping around the garbage.

“Donna, is it safe to open this?” I asked as I stood up and put the trash can under the sink.

Donna barked and kept wagging her bottom. Karen looked mortally offended that I’d taken her potential snack away. Having dogs was like what I imagined having kids would be like—not that I was going to ever have children. Pushing the sad thought away, I decided to believe Donna and I opened the package.

“How is this possible?” I muttered as I stared at it. I’d only ordered the Ouija board yesterday. How did it arrive today? I hadn’t paid for expedited shipping. I never did that.

The deceased squatters were beside themselves. They flew around so fast that a sharp wind blew my paperwork all over the kitchen. Not good.

“Enough,” I shouted over the melee as I picked up the scattered papers and tried to put them back into some semblance of order. To my relief, the pages were numbered. “This is not working for me. I get that you’re excited, but I’ll send it back if you freaks don’t calm down.”

The room went still and the ghosts hovered and trembled. I could tell they were worried now and I felt bad.

“Guys, I’m not sending it back,” I promised as I sat back in the chair and let my head fall to my hands. “However, I still have to have a normal life that doesn’t have anything to do with dead people. Can you understand that?”

Everyone nodded. I was relieved no heads hit the floor. I was still peeling superglue off my fingertips from the earlier appendage reattachments.

“Great. After I get some work done, I’ll open the Ouija board and read the instructions. Cool?”

Again, they nodded. Again, all heads stayed where they were supposed to. One by one, they floated away.

Finally, I was alone in my kitchen. Even Donna and Karen had gone to the family room to watch TV. As I began the arduous task of dealing with the boring paperwork, I could feel the Ouija board staring at me.

“Stop it,” I insisted and went on reading the deal points for the sale of a shopping center.

I couldn’t believe I’d just chastised an inanimate object, but I also couldn’t believe I’d kissed the Grim Reaper and that I was living with dead people.

“I said, stop it,” I hissed at the Ouija board that was doing nothing except sitting quietly on the kitchen table. I stared at it for three minutes and then groaned. “Fine. I give up.”

Tearing open the box, I grabbed the instruction booklet and sighed. It was unfortunately long. As I began to read the pages of directions, Donna trotted back into the kitchen and growled.

“I don’t need to read the directions?” I asked, surprised. “I’ve never used one of these before.”

My puppy barked and wagged her bottom. I stared at her for a very long moment. She simply continued to wag her furry bottom so hard I laughed.

“I really need to find out what kind of dog you are,” I muttered. “Or maybe I don’t.”

It didn’t matter to me if Donna wasn’t a dog at all, which was beginning to seem like a distinct possibility even though she looked like a dog. I loved her. Completely.

“Okay,” I said, tossing the directions on the table. “What am I supposed to do?”

If she answered me in a complete sentence, I would pass out. She didn’t. It looked like I was going have to go at this trial-and-error style—just like everything else in my life lately.

A ghost floated into the kitchen and seated herself at the table. She had kind eyes and wild curly hair. She was in a lighter state of decomposition than the group that had lost their heads. I guessed her age to be somewhere in her eighties, maybe early nineties. She had a delightful air about her and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed her sooner.

It was possible they came to me when they were supposed to. I hadn’t started the sign-up list yet, but it might just happen organically. I had a big backup here. Hopefully they were aware of that and would play nice. I prayed using a Ouija board wasn’t going to be as painful or tiring as dead man mind-diving. I wasn’t exactly twenty anymore.

“Hi,” I said.

She smiled. It wasn’t pretty, but it was nice. She placed her hands on the Ouija board and glanced up at me expectantly as if she was waiting for me to do the same. I really regretted not asking Gram about her Ouija board use. It occurred to me that I could drive over and ask her real quick. I hadn’t remembered to take the stuff to forge postmarks either. It could be a two-fer. God, Tim would crack in half like Rumpelstiltskin if he knew I had plans to commit mail fraud. The thought actually made me laugh, and the gal sitting across from me giggled too.

“You don’t even know what I’m laughing at,” I told her with a grin.

She shrugged and continued to giggle. She really was adorable in a dead kind of way. I was sure she would go toward the light. No one this sweet was destined for darkness.

Glancing over at the clock, I sighed. It was ten-thirty. Gram would nap until noon. I couldn’t even call her right now. Fine. I’d figure it out myself.

“You want me to touch the board?” I asked my new friend.

She nodded her head and continued to giggle. I couldn’t help but smile as I placed my hands on the board.

“Suzy Jones,” she said inside my head as my eyes widened and she shuddered with happiness.

It wasn’t like a dead man mind-dive. It was very different. Suzie’s voice was distant and slightly off. However, I understood her. This wouldn’t do for a long, in-depth conversation, but it would work well enough for me to send a note to someone.

“Okay, Suzy Jones, do you have an address that you want me to send something to?” I asked.

She quickly reeled it off. Keeping one hand on the Ouija board, I wrote down the address with the other. She was from New Hope, New Jersey. Her address confirmed the squatters weren’t all from around here.

I also realized that the penmanship I just used wasn’t my own. Was it Suzy’s?

“Is this your handwriting?” I asked and showed her the page.

She nodded. Well, that certainly solved a multitude of potential problems. I wasn’t sure if the people who received the cards and letters would believe it was from their dead loved one if it was in the wrong script. The weird voodoo just kept rolling in. It would take some work, but I could forge their writing style as well. My list of crimes was increasing by the minute.

“Got it,” I told her. “What am I sending and what should I say?”

“Birthday card. Granddaughter,” she said. “Bought one. Forgot to mail. Died,” she explained.

“Umm… okay,” I said. “Is it cool if I don’t break into your house and try to find the one you already bought? You lived pretty far away from here.”

“Yes. Loves Power Rangers. Power Ranger card please.”

“Your granddaughter loves Power Rangers?” I asked with a smile. “She sounds like a neat little girl.”

“Yes. Neat. Five,” Suzy said. “I love you, Maddie. You are my special girl always. Love, Mimi.”

Making complete sentences had taken a toll on Suzy. She became more transparent with each word. Thankfully, I just needed one more piece of information.

“When did you die, Suzie?” I asked. “I need to know when to postmark the card so it makes sense and doesn’t scare your granddaughter.”

“Two weeks,” she said so softly, I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly.

“Two weeks ago?” I asked, still making notes.

She nodded and smiled.

“Okay, I’ll postmark it for three weeks ago and send it in the morning. I have to go get more superglue. I can buy a Power Rangers card then.”

I also had to stop by Grams and figure out the finer points of mail fraud. I hoped to hell and back that there weren’t differences for each state or country. That could get wildly complicated. However, I was great with spreadsheets and compiling information. It’s what I did for a living.

Suzy smiled and reached across the table to me. I took her frail dead hand in my own and smiled back at her.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Suzy. I promise I’ll take care of this for you.”

All of a sudden, I witnessed Suzy morph from a decomposing cadaver into the cutest little old woman I’d ever seen. The very same ethereal and somewhat blinding golden glow that had surrounded Sam, now wrapped Suzy in its silky loving arms.

“Thank you, Daisy. I can go now.”

“Have a good trip,” I whispered as Suzy Jones faded away with a serene smile on her wrinkled and lovely face.

I sat at the table for a long moment and absorbed what had just happened. I checked my notes and made sure everything that Suzy had wanted was legible and clear. I didn’t want to mess anything up for her. I’d given her my promise and I kept my promises.

It was curious that Gram never saw anyone go into the light. Maybe she didn’t stick around long enough. It was truly beautiful. Looking down at the paperwork from the office, I shook my head and sighed. I’d have to get it done later. I had a big backup of dead squatters in my house at the moment and now that I knew how to help them, I felt compelled to do so.

With an eye roll aimed at myself, I got a fresh piece of paper out and got comfortable in my chair.

“Next,” I yelled as a very excited ghost floated into my kitchen.

It was going to be a long day. It was a good thing I had a lot of coffee on hand.

A very good thing.

Chapter Seventeen

“If anyone else wants a ticket to the afterlife, grunt now or hold your peace till tomorrow,” I called out, glancing at my watch and blinking my eyes to make sure I was seeing the time correctly.

Had I really sat in the same chair for five and a half hours straight and talked to dead people? It was four o’clock. I hadn’t eaten lunch and I hadn’t even gotten up to pee.

A stack of fifty sheets of paper sat neatly in front of me. I’d made sure to use a new sheet for each of my dead friends. I was being anal, but the stakes were high. It had been the most fascinating day I’d had in a long time—maybe ever.

Propping my elbows on the table and resting my chin in my hands, I thought about James and Randy and Sondra and Kyle and the many others. There were so many wonderful people living in my house, and I hadn’t even known. To me, they’d become the nuisances who were leaving their body parts lying around and needed their heads glued back on.

But they were more than that.

The dead were all people with stories and histories. It surprised me how long many of them had been dead. I suppose it shouldn’t have. They’d been hanging around for a month before I even admitted they weren’t a figment of my imagination.

James Walton—seventy-four, a doctor in life who had three grown kids, a wonderful wife and adored meteor showers—had died ten months ago. He was able to tell me in a stilted way that he’d had a hard time finding me—or rather, Gram, since she was running the show ten months ago. No one had been able to clue me in as to why my little sleepy Georgia town was the place for the dead to gather. I’d have to remember to ask Gram.

“Crap. Gram,” I said, picking up the phone and dialing her number. I couldn’t wait to tell her about today. Considering she was the only one I could talk to about it, I needed her take. I’d skip the part about mind-diving into John’s head. Worrying her was unnecessary.

After five rings, her nurse picked up.

“Hey, it’s Daisy,” I said, wondering why Gram hadn’t answered her phone.

“Oh, hi, sweetie,” Gloria said warmly.

“Can Gram talk?”

“She sleeping, honey. Just nodded off after watching Bob Barker do his thing for the past three hours,” she said with a chuckle. “She kicked my ass good in the big showcase.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling calmer. Gloria was always straight with me. “Should I come over tonight or wait until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she told me. “She’s gonna sleep for a while now. She’s doing good. Ate all her lunch today.”

I was disappointed, but the news was terrific about her eating. “If you’re still there when she wakes up, tell her I love her, please.”

Gloria laughed. “She told me to tell you the same thing when you called. Relax, sugar. Gram’s in good hands.”

“Thank you, Gloria.”

“Welcome, honey. Bye now.”

Hanging up, I realized I wasn’t hungry or tired at all. Although, I did have to pee. What I wanted to do was run. I felt so energized. Maybe helping people, even dead people, was good for me. I felt younger than I had in a long time. The past year had been difficult. Missing Steve and trying to reenter the world of the living without crying at the drop of a hat had taken a huge toll.

The only thing that made missing Steve more tolerable was time. Time marched at its own slow pace no matter how badly I had wanted it to go faster. The pain never completely went away, but it was a duller ache now than it was in the beginning.

“Okay, I’m closing up shop for the day,” I called out to the remaining guests.

They were no longer freaks to me. They were my guests. I would always affectionately refer to them as squatters, but I would treat them with the kindness and respect they deserved.

I was wildly relieved that every single person I’d helped today had gone onto the light. Unsure how I would feel if I knew someone was going to the darkness, I was happy it didn’t happen. I was sure it would eventually, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

At one point, John had come in just to chat. It was nice. The conversation was far more stilted than when I was inside his mind, but he reassured me that if it was possible, he wanted his estate to go to the Humane Society—but only after we’d had an argument of sorts. He truly wanted to give me all his money so I could basically be a stay-at-home mom to Donna, Karen and the squatters.

While the sentiment was lovely, I convinced him that it wouldn’t work for me. It had taken me months to leave the house after Steve died. I couldn’t go back to the life of a hermit. He understood and let it go. I was going to miss him when he left even though I didn’t know when his time would come.

“We’re down to ten squatters,” I told Donna and Karen, who were doing the I have to pee dance in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, guys,” I told them, opening the back door so they could go out.

It was gorgeous outside. The late-day sun shone bright on the red and orange leaves and a chilly breeze blew. A few puffy clouds danced across the sky and cast shadows on the soon-to-be-naked trees. It sounded like the maples and oaks in my yard were whispering secrets in the wind. I paused and listened. Honestly, I would have freaked out if I’d understood a single word. It was more than enough to accept that dead people hung around. If trees could talk, I was in trouble.

“I’m peeing and going for a long run,” I announced to my dogs and the ten remaining ghosts.

Donna and Karen had done their business and came back in to watch The Voice with the squatters in the family room.

“Home sweet home,” I said with a laugh as I took the stairs two at a time to pee and get changed.

My life was bizarre, but it was mine. Parts of it were completely out of control, but I didn’t want to think about those parts—or Gideon. I would focus on what I could handle, and I could handle life much better after a run. Maybe I’d go for fifteen miles today.

* * *

“Are you done with the exam?” I asked into the phone as I stretched my hamstrings and pulled on a fleece hoodie.

“I’m done,” Heather said with a huge sigh of relief. “Do you want to come over now? I could use a friend to hang out with.”

“Absolutely,” I replied, and then had a great idea. “I’m going to run to your house, so it might take a bit.”

Heather was silent on the other end of the call for a few seconds.

“Daisy, I live about twelve miles away from you. Is your car not working? I can come to you.”

“Car’s fine,” I reassured her. “I need some air and to move my legs. I worked the entire day. I’m almost cross-eyed.”

“Great. You can pick up another pile in the morning. With both you and me out, the backup is terrible, according to Jennifer,” Heather said and then laughed. “Of course, Jennifer always thinks the backup is bad, but she’s probably correct this time.”

Heather thought I meant I was working on stuff from the office. That was perfect, and I realized I was going to have to be more careful in the future about what I said. I was also going to get slammed with a shitload of paperwork. That was fine. It was my paying job, and I had to do it. I’d work over the weekend if I had to get caught up.

“I’ll be there soon,” I told her as I sprinted back up to my bedroom and retrieved John’s phone from the safe.

I still didn’t know how I was going to tell Heather about John’s murder. I wasn’t even sure I was going to tell her anything at all. Helping John might be impossible, but I had to do something. He couldn’t stay with me forever. It wasn’t fair to him. He’d been through too much to have to live out his afterlife in my house watching reality TV. I knew he was happy being with Karen, but it wasn’t enough.

“If your legs give out, call me and I’ll pick you up,” Heather said with a chuckle as she hung up.

I knew she thought I was nutty to run to her house. She might be right. Tucking both my phone and John’s into the zip pocket of my hoodie, I locked up and started my run.

* * *

“Are you okay?” I asked a frazzled-looking Heather as she opened her door and scanned the street warily.

“Get in here,” she said, grabbing my arm and yanking me into her house.

Her condo was in a nice section of town—actually not too far from John’s ritzy neighborhood. God, she might have actually known John. I hadn’t considered that possibility. It could potentially be a problem or an asset. Running my hand over the back of her black leather couch, I started making a pro and con list in my head. The con side filled up fast. The pro side? Not so much.

The color of the couch matched my bruised knuckles. The couch was pretty, but it would look terrible in my house. Heather preferred sleek, modern furniture, but it wasn’t cold at all. Her entire living space was welcoming and warm. Heather usually was too, but not right now.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked, going to the kitchen and snagging a bottle of water from her fridge. “You were fine on the phone an hour ago.”

“Why aren’t you sweating?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and staring at me.

“I’m not?” I asked, looking down at myself. She was right. I’d just run twelve miles and hadn’t broken a sweat. “Well, it’s pretty chilly out.”

I was surprised she didn’t comment on how fast I’d gotten here. The twelve miles today were an unbelievable personal best for me. I couldn’t believe I’d run twelve consecutive five-minute miles. A freaking marathon could be in my future. Forty was definitely the new thirty. Bragging was ugly behavior so I kept my mouth shut about my silly new superpower.

“I guess so,” Heather said, dropping the subject and peeking out of her front window while keeping most of her body hidden from the outside view.

“You’re acting weird,” I pointed out, standing behind her and glancing out at the street. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“The question is who. Who are we looking for?” Heather corrected me.

“Okay. I’ll bite. Who?”

Heather pressed a button on the wall and all the shades in the room closed.

“Oh my God,” I said, impressed. “That is so cool.”

Heather gave me a distracted smile, then locked and chained the front door.

“Umm… did you commit a crime or something?” I asked, beginning to adopt her panic.

“You would think so,” she said cryptically as she flopped down on a leather chair and pressed her slim fingers to her temples.

“Do you have a stalker?” I asked, pulling out my phone to call the cops.

“No. I was looking for Clarissa,” she hissed. “The bitchy cow was just here, and I want to make sure she’s gone.”

That was not nice news.

“She showed up at my house the other day too,” I said, bending over to stretch out my legs post-run. “She wants to be friends.”

“Are you serious?” Heather asked with a horrified expression on her face. “Did you tell her to shove it up her ass?”

I laughed. “Nope. I can’t lose my job. But I did lay down some ground rules. She can’t come over to my house ever again. She has to be nice to the paralegals—stuff like that.”

“And she went for it?” Heather asked, still shocked.

“She said she would,” I told her with a shrug. “She hasn’t shown back up at my house yet. Oh my God, she over-shared that she’d banged one of the lawyers—some older-than-dirt guy. Told me not to bang him.” I rolled my eyes and laughed.

“Did she give you a name?”

“Nope. Told me I knew who he was,” I explained, taking my hoodie off and tying it around my waist. “She’s a nasty piece of work and totally nuts. I’d become a nun before I’d bang an eighty-year-old lawyer.”

“I’d use more profane language to describe her, but yep,” Heather agreed.

“Is she trying to blackmail you into being her friend too?” I asked with a pained grimace.

“No. Thank God,” Heather muttered. “She came to give me a piece of her tiny little mind while she still could.”

“Okay. Not following,” I said, lying down on the couch and petting her big fat cat, Frank. “Explain.”

“I’ve been offered a job as a lawyer at the firm,” she said, running her hands through her hair and making it stand on end.

“That’s great!” My brilliant buddy would breathe some new life into the fuddy-duddy firm.

Heather raised a brow and snorted. “Maybe. Clarence Smith made me an offer that would be stupid to refuse.”

“So, what’s the problem?” I asked.

“I guess there isn’t one,” she said, shrugging.

“I still don’t get why Clarissa came here.”

“Since she won’t be my boss much longer, she needed to rub a few things in,” Heather said with a disgusted look on her pretty face. “Soon, I’ll technically be her boss.”

“That is such poetic justice, I might cry,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. “You should be happy. This is the best news ever. We need to celebrate.”

“I’m not taking the job.”

“What? Why?” I asked, sitting up. The office without Heather would feel wrong. I mean, I knew she’d be a lawyer, but thought she’d still be there.

“The thought of doing real estate and wills for the rest of my life makes me want to claw my eyes out.”

I nodded and groaned. “I feel you. I get it, and I think you’re smart. What are you going to do?”

Heather finally smiled—a real smile. “I’m opening my own firm.”

“That’s freaking fantastic,” I said, raising up my hand for a high five.

“And all of you are coming to work with me,” she informed me, and then finished off with the cherry on top of the sundae. “Everyone is getting partial ownership options, benefits and a raise.”

I was pretty sure I screamed with joy. No, I was positive I screamed. And then I was absolutely sure I tackled Heather and hugged her until she shrieked for me to chill out. Of all the changes happening in my life, this one was welcome and incredible.

“So, I take it you’ll come with me?” Heather asked, shoving me off of her and laughing.

“Yes,” I told her. “I would think my athletically juvenile reaction would have been sufficient, but if you need actual words—then yes. Have you talked to Jennifer and June yet?”

She nodded and grinned. “I have. Just before I called you earlier. I knew you were coming over so I wanted to see your face and tell you in person. I didn’t expect to be attacked.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” I told her with a sigh of happiness.

“No worries. It makes me feel great that all of you trust me.”

“The gals said yes?” I asked, feeling tingly and excited. No more Clarissa and no running into Gideon. That part left me unsettled, but it was for the best.

“Damn straight. June cried so hard I had to get Charlie on the phone to understand what she was trying to say. But yes, June is in. Jennifer told me in great detail what she planned to do to her face and back fat with all the extra money she’ll be making,” Heather said with an eye roll. “So yes. Ms. Botoxicated will be joining us as well.”

“Can you afford this?” I asked with concern.

Heather raised a brow and gave me a half-smirk. “Yes, Daisy, I can. I have a trust fund and a very healthy stock portfolio. It won’t be difficult to get us set up. And I could always take on a partner if I wanted to.”

I stared at my dear friend for a long moment. “Why were you working as a paralegal?”

Heather didn’t need to work. I mean, I knew she had family money. Of course, I had no clue how much she had access to. I’d also never met anyone in her family. Heather didn’t talk about them much.

“Because work is honest,” she said. “Laziness is a boring trait.”

I’d heard the same line from Gideon the first day I met him. I almost told Heather, but I was afraid if I brought his name up, I’d blush. Heather didn’t miss a beat, and I wasn’t prepared to tell her I’d kissed him. It was a non-issue. Although, I’d love to see her reaction if I told her he was the Grim Reaper. I never would. She’d never believe me anyway.

Plus, I couldn’t use up her willingness to believe the unbelievable about Gideon. I needed to save all of that for John’s case.

“What kind of law will you be practicing?” I asked, wondering how Clarence Smith would feel about Heather poaching all of his paralegals.

“Criminal prosecution,” Heather said, watching for my reaction. “I’m in the mood to send bad guys to jail.”

I almost screamed again, but I held myself in check. It was all working out too easily. The other shoe was about to drop—probably when I told her the story about John with a bunch of holes in it.

“Wow,” was all I could come up with.

“And I was hoping you were about to give me my first case,” Heather said casually. “Would you like to explain what you started last night?”

“Umm… are you ready to hear just part of the story?” I asked, closing my eyes and waiting for her to laugh.

She didn’t. “I’m ready to hear whatever you can tell me.”

“Promise you’ll still be my friend in an hour?”

“Daisy, I’ll be your friend forever. Nothing can change that. I promise,” Heather told me.

God, I hoped she didn’t change her mind. Her friendship meant the world to me.

Chapter Eighteen

The video on John’s phone was over and we sat in silence. I hadn’t watched it. I’d already seen it in John’s mind. I couldn’t watch my dead friend die a second time. I’d gone to Heather’s kitchen and ran the water so I couldn’t hear it. When it was done, I came back in and sat next to her. Heather was crying.

“You can’t tell me where you got this?” she asked quietly.

I sighed and decided to tell her as much as I could so she would know if she could do anything about it.

“I stole it from his house,” I admitted, staring at the bruise on the back of my hand. “I pretended I was part of a widow’s support group and found it while John’s piece-of-shit wife got me a glass of water.”

“That’s pretty brilliant,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “I was scared out of my mind.”

“Why did you do it?”

I answered without thinking. “I had to. It was the only way.”

Shit. I should have made notes and read from a piece of paper. Winging it wasn’t working—at all.

Heather stared at me and waited for more. There wasn’t much more I could tell her without her thinking I needed to be institutionalized. I was backed into a corner with no realistic way out. I just hoped she could do something with the video and the small amount of information I could provide.

“Did you know John Dunn when he was alive?” she asked.

I glanced up in surprise. “No, I didn’t. How do you know his last name?”

My friend sighed and wiped a tear away. “He was my banker. He was a really nice man.”

“I know,” I told her.

“Wait. I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

Damn it, Heather didn’t miss a beat. She was going to be a kick-ass lawyer and I was going to be a kick-ass patient at the mental institution.

“Umm… I don’t. I just heard he was.”

Heather inhaled slowly and exhaled just as slow. “Did you go to his funeral?”

Heather knew about my morbid habit just like Missy did. I didn’t know exactly what she thought of it since she was nice enough to never tell me. I hoped she didn’t feel the need to discuss it now.

“I did,” I answered. “It was bizarre. Only three people were there.”

“That’s because his wife didn’t put the announcement in the paper until after the funeral,” Heather said with a grunt if disgust. “I’ve run across her as well. I was never able to wrap my mind around why John married her. She’s nothing but a gold-digging bitch.”

“She dropped his dog off at the pound after he died,” I said before slapping my hand over my mouth so hard it stung.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I knew I was a horrible liar, but it was like I drank a freaking truth serum so my crazy would leak out. I needed to superglue my mouth shut. I wished like hell I had a tube in my pocket.

Heather glanced over at me with an odd expression on her face. I couldn’t tell if she was going to laugh or yell or tell me to get out of her house. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to say another word. If John’s afterlife wasn’t on the line, I would have made an excuse and left. I sucked at this.

“Is that the other dog you adopted? John’s dog?” Heather asked, curious.

No judgment in her voice. No change in tone that implied I was insane.

I nodded and didn’t make eye contact. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see pity, disbelief or any other sort of concerned look in her eyes. God, she wasn’t going to want to hire me after this. I wasn’t sure I would hire me after this either. I sounded like a whack job.

“I understand all of this sounds crazy,” I said quickly. “But it’s all true. I don’t think you should say I stole the phone. It won’t be admissible in court. And I can’t be a witness because I didn’t know John Dunn. I never saw him alive.”

“But you saw him dead?” she asked.

“Umm…” Did she know? There was no way. “Only on the video,” I mumbled.

“Right,” Heather said. “Are you psychic?”

Oh my God. It was an out… of sorts.

“Is that how you know this? Can you speak to those on the other side?” Heather pressed.

“Kind of,” I said as my hands shook.

I wanted to puke. It was close enough to the truth without being the truth and Heather could believe me now.

“Have you spoken with Steve?” she asked softly.

My breath caught in my throat, and I realized I could tell the whole truth on this one. “In a dream. Once. It was awesome.”

“That makes me happy,” she said, putting her hand on my back and rubbing it.

“You believe me?”

“Let’s just say I don’t not believe you and leave it at that,” she replied.

“Okay. I have another question.”

“Is it illegal?” Heather asked with a wince.

“Completely,” I told her.

She laughed. At least she didn’t hate me… yet.

“Did John Dunn have his will drawn up with our firm?” I asked.

Heather nodded and stood up. She walked over to her desk and picked up a file. “He did.”

“Is that his file?” I asked, feeling my stomach churn.

“It is.”

“Umm… is it the only one?” I questioned, feeling light headed.

“No. There are copies.”

“Shit,” I muttered. My plan wouldn’t work.

“But I happen to have all of them here,” Heather said with a devious little grin.

“Why?” I asked, squinting at her.

“He was my friend, and I didn’t believe it was a suicide. I wanted to see what the bitch thought she was getting. Which, by the way, is totally unethical—and illegal.”

Did I dare? Yes. I did.

“How would you feel about a little more illegal activity… if you weren’t directly involved?” I suggested in a whisper.

If she was going to throw me out and rescind the job offer it was going to be right now… or never.

“Give me a little more information, please.”

“Mmkay,” I said. “I think that in the chance his murderous wife happened to be put away for life, he would want his estate to go to the Humane Society in honor of his dog Karen. It’s just a thought.”

“Did he not make provisions for the death of himself and his gold-digger dying at the same time?”

“Umm… not sure,” I said, realizing I was on shaky ground here as far as what I might know from a vision. “But I don’t think so.”

“I see,” Heather replied, going through the will. “He didn’t. Odd—very odd. Daisy?”

“Yes?” I asked, still not looking at my friend.

“I’d like you to add John Dunn’s will and the copies to your pile of work. There are a few unacceptable omissions in it. It’s to be read next week, and I’d like the changes that John wanted made immediately.”

I’d never loved Heather more. She knew I was nuts, but she didn’t care. She believed me. Well, she thought I had visions. Lots of people had visions. I did have visions, but not the kind she thought I had.

“Yes, boss. I would be delighted to,” I told her, meaning every word.

“I like being called boss,” she said with a laugh, handing me John’s files and the copies.

“Can you do anything with the video?” I asked, hoping to have something to tell John.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Heather said, wrinkling her brow in thought. “But if I can come up with a way to, you better believe I’ll take Sarina Dunn down.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving her a hug.

“Get your crap together,” she said. “You’re not running twelve miles home in the dark. I’ll drive you.”

The drive home was quiet, but not awkwardly so. Heather was in deep thought. If anyone could find justice for John, it was Heather. I’d done my part and hadn’t lost a friend. It was the best I could do. I’d explain to John what was going on, and then I would change his will to please him.

And from now on, I would speak less in public. It was going to get me into too much trouble. If I ended up in the psych ward—or, God forbid, jail—it would be really hard to talk to dead people and solve their problems. I was pretty sure Ouija boards weren’t allowed there.

One important thing down, many more to go. First on the list for tomorrow was educating myself on mail fraud. Maybe working at a criminal law firm would be smart. I could learn enough to keep myself out of jail… or maybe not.

Chapter Nineteen

The old farmhouse was strangely empty. None of my squatters were in front of the TV that seemed to be on 24/7. I paused and watched as two completely naked people yelled at each other about not holding up their end of some kind of bargain about firewood. The woman dangled something in the air that looked like a charred frog then took a huge and unladylike bite out of it while the man looked ready to smack her in the head.

Naked and Afraid was one of the ghosts’ favorites. It made me want to gag. However, I did find it ballsy that a bunch of women walked around tits to the wind and didn’t care. As nice as my girls still were, I didn’t have that kind of confidence.

It made sense why the ghosts loved reality shows—there was nothing real about them. No one died. Everything worked out in the end. Someone won a crapload of money or some kind of recording or modeling contract. People got their houses redone—fantasy at its finest. Even though there were people ridiculous enough to get naked and go on television to try to survive in the middle of the jungle for money, they weren’t really alone. There were camera crews and producers. If something really bad happened they would be taken care of.

The news was real—people died and tragedies happened every day. I didn’t even like watching the news lately and didn’t blame the dead for not liking it either.

Turning off the TV, I sighed. A brief wave of sadness washed over me as I realized how many had left.

“Daisy, get a grip,” I muttered as I took Donna and Karen out to the front yard to do their business. “You’re doing good things. Getting attached to deceased people and being upset when they move on is not smart. Plus, more will come.”

Karen did her nightly zoomies around the massive oak tree and Donna dug a hole in the flowerbed next to my withering purple mums. The moon was full and the stars looked small and faded in the night sky. Glancing up at the moon, I smiled. I used to swear as a kid that I could see the man on the moon. Gram and I would search and search. She always let me find him. Steve had played the same game with me. Right now, I couldn’t find the man on the moon. My childlike imagination had disappeared.

Donna finished with her destruction of the mums, sat at my feet and barked.

“I know,” I said, squatting down to pet her. “It’s time to go to bed. Gotta get my beauty sleep. I’m not getting any younger.”

Donna wagged her bottom. Karen sped over like she was sprinting to put out a fire, knocked me on my butt and covered my face with wet kisses. John was nowhere to be found tonight. I couldn’t tell him about my visit with Heather or that I could change his will.

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell John tomorrow,” I said aloud as I wiped the Karen slobber off my cheeks. “Karen, you have really bad breath.”

She wagged her tail with pride and did one last round of zoomies. I watched and laughed. My dogs were a perfect addition to my life. Me and my fur-girls. We would be just fine.

Sighing loudly, I thought about Gideon’s kiss and his cryptic parting words. In another life—someone else’s life—maybe he and I would work, but not in this one. I was too old to change. And I was too broken to fix.

“Come on, girls,” I called out. “We’re hitting the hay.”

* * *

A lone male ghost sat on the couch in the darkened family room. The moonlight coming through the window bathed him in an eerie glow. The lines of his body were so familiar. Even in his decomposing state, I felt like I knew him.

Had someone I knew died? Or was it that I was just getting to know what my squatters looked like?

Squinting my eyes against the darkness, I wondered if I had it in me to sit down and chat for a few minutes. The Ouija board was on the kitchen table. I could grab it and bring it into the family room.

I also needed to find a safe place to hide it. I didn’t need my friends seeing it. Heather would probably understand, but the rest would get worried.

“Hi,” I said to the ghost on the couch. “Give me a second and I’ll grab the Ouija board.”

“Daisy?” the man questioned hesitantly.

Chill bumps broke out all over my body. My breath grew short and my vision blurred. I grabbed the wall so I didn’t fall to the floor. Tears of confusion filled my eyes and I choked back the scream that was lodged in my throat.

“Steve?” I whispered on a sob.

“It’s me, Daisy.”

The wall couldn’t hold me—a steel rod in my back couldn’t have kept me upright. I instinctively flipped the light switch as my knees buckled and I slid down the wall to the floor.

The man I’d mourned for a year now sat on our couch—the couch he’d picked out. My best friend for the past twenty years and my husband for the last fifteen had come home.

Swiping the tears from my eyes with my hoodie, I pinched my thigh hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t. I would now have a bruise on my leg that would match my knuckles.

Steve didn’t look good. His left arm was wrapped across his chest, gripping his right shoulder. My guess was that his right arm had detached. It took everything I had not to gasp. A photograph of us sat on the end table. Looking at what he’d been and seeing him now broke my heart.

In life he’d been so handsome, with dark curly hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. He was only a little taller than me and his body was lithe like a runner’s. Running was something we’d loved to do together. I was tempted to tell him about my twelve-mile run, but it felt wrong. He couldn’t run anymore.

His once beautiful blue eyes sat back in hollowed-out sockets. His eyes were a sad representation of what they used to be. He was wearing the suit he was buried in, but it didn’t fit him right anymore. The fabric hung on his gaunt frame.

“Where have you been?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m dead,” he replied, confused by the question.

I nodded. “I know that, baby. I meant, where were you before you came here?”

Steve pressed his lips together and made a sound in his throat that I would recognize even blindfolded. He’d made the noise a million times when he was thinking. I’d always teased him about it. He’d said it was his pensive sound—made him appear smarter.

“I don’t know, Daisy,” he said. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “It’s not important.”

Looking down at my shaking hands, I felt awful for not going right to him. But I was so saddened by the state he was in, I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d lose it.

Wait. How was I able to talk to him and how was he able to talk to me? This wasn’t how it worked.

My head jerked up, and I gaped at him. “We’re talking,” I said, shocked. “How are we doing that?”

Steve smiled. It was macabre but somehow beautiful. “Why is that strange? We always talked, Daisy.”

“I know,” I said with a small laugh. “But I can’t talk to other… umm… the others like this. I have to use a Ouija board or slip into their minds.”

Steve shrugged—or he tried to. His arm slipped and he grabbed it in embarrassment. I turned my head away so he didn’t think I noticed. Both Donna and Karen had joined him on the couch. Donna was aware of him. Karen was not.

“I don’t have an answer for you, babe,” Steve said, glancing down at the dogs. He smiled. “You finally got your pets.”

“I did,” I said with a smile, slowly getting to my feet. “Donna can see you but Karen can’t.”

“I take it Donna is the one wagging her rear end?” he inquired with another smile.

“Yep. She’s unique.”

Steve stared at her for a long moment. I could tell he wanted to pet her, but wouldn’t risk his arm dropping to the floor. I didn’t have the heart to tell him his hand would go right through her. He was dealing with enough at the moment.

“Donna’s not a dog,” Steve said, still smiling at her as she turned little circles on the couch to impress him

“What is she?” I asked, amazed he could tell. I’d had my suspicions, but honestly, I didn’t care what she was. She was mine.

Steve shook his head carefully. “I’m not sure what she is, but she’s not a dog.”

I crossed the room, gently pushed Karen over, and sat next to Steve. He was still confused, but seemed more peaceful now that I was near.

“I’ve missed you,” I told him.

“I’ve missed you too, Daisy. How have you been?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. The truth would probably upset him, but I was a terrible liar and he knew it.

“I’ve been okay. It’s been a rough year,” I admitted.

“I died a year ago?” he questioned, perplexed. “It’s been that long?”

Biting down on my bottom lip, I nodded jerkily. All of the other dead had known when they’d died. None of them had been as confused as Steve seemed to be.

He glanced at his unattached arm and sighed. “I’m not sure why I’m here right now. I…”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told him, forcing my tone to sound happy and light. Since I had no clue how long he would get to stay, I needed to stop being careful. The awkwardness was ridiculous. I would treat him being here as a gift—a precious gift. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of tubes of superglue. Resting my hands on the edge of the countertop, I stared at my reflection in the window above the sink. What was happening was unreal, tragic, amazing, and heartbreaking yet somehow perfect. Even if it was only for tonight, I would be present and thankful for a little more time.

Tucking the glue into my pocket, I smiled at my reflection. It was surgery time. I’d repaired people I barely knew. It would be an honor to make my husband as whole as he could be again.

“I’m going to glue your arm back on,” I said with a smile as I walked back to the couch and sat down. “Won’t hurt a bit.”

Steve laughed and then groaned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he said sheepishly.

“Give me your arm,” I instructed.

“Seriously?” he asked with a wince.

“Very. I’ve been fixing people for a week now. I’m good at it. I promise,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Other dead people?” he asked.

I paused for a moment. The truth will set you free, or at least keep you from getting busted for lying. “Yep. Other dead people. You should have gotten here a little earlier,” I told him, taking his arm and slathering the shoulder joint with superglue. “There were sixty squatters here. We’re down to ten now.”

“Eleven,” he corrected me as he watched in fascination while I reconnected his arm.

“Eleven,” I agreed with a smile.

“I can feel your touch,” Steve whispered. “It feels so good.”

My eyes filled with tears again and I nodded. We simply stared at each other for a while. Even though Steve was in a serious state of decomposition, I could still see him. He was beautiful.

“Why are they here?” he asked.

“Why is who here?”

“The others. The squatters,” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh. It’s kind of a long story, but I’ll synopsize it. Apparently, I come from a long line of Death Counselors. When the dead started showing up, it took me a little while to realize I wasn’t insane. Gram was one. My mom was one. Now I’m one.”

I paused and considered telling him that my mom didn’t die in an accident, but that wasn’t something I wanted him to think about when he left me. He’d also worry… about me.

“I help people move on.”

“Every single dead person comes here?” Steve asked, perplexed.

“God no,” I said with a laugh. “Just those who have unfinished business.”

“And you send them to Heaven or Hell?”

“No. I don’t,” I said, wondering if he believed now.

We’d both questioned the afterlife and religion in general while he’d been alive. Steve had grown up in a fundamentally religious household—snake-handling, hellfire-and-brimstone religious. It had done a real number on him. He’d turned away from both his family and their religion before we’d ever met.

His parents hadn’t even been at our wedding… or his funeral. Maybe in death he’d learned something about Heaven and Hell that I didn’t know. I didn’t want to ask. Talking about religion had always made Steve antsy and stressed.

“Whether a person goes into the light or the darkness is determined by the life they led. I just help them find peace so they can leave.”

Steve pressed his lips together. Again, he made the sound that I’d missed so desperately. “I know why I’m here now,” he said, his chin dropping to his chest.

I sat silently and waited.

“I have unfinished business,” he said, raising his eyes to mine and giving me a small smile.

“I can help you,” I said, torn about letting him go.

I was aware that Steve should have moved on a long time ago, but I just got him back. He couldn’t leave again so fast. Taking a deep breath, I knew I had to do the right thing—for him.

“You just have to tell me what your unfinished business is and I can help you.”

Steve continued to stare at me as if he was memorizing my face. I couldn’t imagine what he’d left undone, but he’d died in an accident. There had been tons of things left undone. I was curious as to what had kept him from moving on. It had to be big if he’d stuck around this long.

“It’s you, Daisy,” he said, trying to keep eye contact, but unable to. “You’re my unfinished business.”

My stomach lurched and my mind raced with scenarios—good and bad. Had Steve cheated on me? No. That was ludicrous. I knew in my heart he was as faithful to me as I’d been to him.

Although… we hadn’t been intimate for years before he’d died. Maybe he’d found someone to give him what I wasn’t capable of, and I hadn’t known. It would tear me to shreds, but I’d forgive him.

Steve had stopped being sexually attracted to me early in our marriage. Neither one of us acknowledged it—just pretended like it wasn’t an issue. I’d tried so hard to make him want me, but after a while it was too difficult. Mortifying and soul-crushing were better terms. No matter how fondly I remembered the past, the truth was devastating. I had been extremely attracted to my husband, and he hadn’t felt the same about me.

Living like we did was hard for both of us—or it was for me. He’d stayed with me even though I was broken somehow. I was grateful that our friendship remained so loving and strong over the years. It held us together like the superglue I’d just used on his arm.

Steve could have left me at any time and I wouldn’t have blamed him. My heart would have died a little, but ultimately, I would have understood. I was defective as a woman.

I loved him. I still loved him. I would always love him. And I knew he loved me.

Cheating was not the reason he was still here.

“Can we talk a while about other things before you tell me?” I asked selfishly. If I solved something right now, there was a chance he’d move on tonight. That was too soon.

He looked up and gave me a relieved smile. “I’d like that.”

And we did. We talked and laughed into the night until the sun rose. It filled me up with all the things I’d missed so desperately. Mostly it was reminiscing. Our shared past was a safe place to stay. Although, I’d told him about Gram slowing down and being in the nursing home. That made him sad. He didn’t want me losing anyone else in my life. Once Gram was gone, that was it as far as my family went.

Steve was curious about the other dead in the house, but he didn’t ask too many questions and I didn’t offer up any unsolicited stories. He was thrilled I was going to work with Heather. She had been a dear friend to both of us. His laugh of delight made me feel incredible when I told him about my running and how fast I’d made it to Heather’s house.

This was what I’d missed the most. Steve was my person. He was the one that I could share everything with—the one who passed no judgment and just offered loving support.

Who knew I’d get one more chance to be with the man who’d been my entire world?

Missy had been correct. Forty was turning out to be a far better year than thirty-nine had been.

Chapter Twenty

“Oh my God, Steve,” I said with a laugh as I peered bleary-eyed out of the window at the rising sun. “I need to sleep a little.”

“Don’t you have to go to work?” he asked, testing his arm that I’d repaired hours ago.

“Umm… no. Not today. I have the week off.” There was no way I was going to tell him it was because Clarissa wanted me out of the way due to the arrival of Gideon. Gideon the Grim Reaper was a subject I wouldn’t touch with Steve. It felt all kinds of wrong. Plus, it was a non-issue. Gideon wasn’t my person and he never would be. “I’m going to grab the afghan and nap on the couch. Sound good?”

“Daisy, I’m gay,” Steve said so softly that I was sure I’d heard him wrong.

My back faced him and my hand was on the afghan. All sorts of riotous emotions gripped me much more violently than I gripped the afghan. What the hell rhymed with gay? What else could my dead husband have just said? Daisy, I’m stray? Daisy, I’m gray? Pray? In decay? In disarray? He did not just tell me he was gay.

Plastering a smile on my face that didn’t reach my eyes and felt brittle on my lips, I slowly turned and faced him. “I’m sorry. I think I misunderstood.”

Steve looked positively devastated. “You didn’t. I’m gay.”

“Since you died?” I asked, completely confused.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No. Always.”

My head began to throb and the walls of the house felt like they were closing in. Steve had a great sense of humor. Was this a joke? It was a joke. It was a bad joke, but I didn’t want to get pissed off if his sense of humor had become skewed in death.

“Right,” I said, shaking my head and forcing out a laugh that sounded tinny and rung false. “Good one. You almost got me.”

Steve said nothing. He didn’t join me in my fake laughter. He appeared pained and terribly sad.

“You’re not joking,” I whispered, wrapping the afghan around my body for protection and seating myself carefully on the love seat across the room from him. The irony of the piece of furniture I’d chosen to sit on didn’t escape my notice.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

“For being gay or for marrying me and knowing you were gay… are gay… were gay… whatever,” I snapped as my voice rose and sounded like it was coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Sitting felt suffocating. I stood and began to pace. I stayed on my side of the family room.

I was afraid I would damage Steve if I got too close. There wouldn’t be enough superglue in the state of Georgia to fix him if I got my hands on him right now.

How was this happening? How did I not know? I wasn’t one of those women who went through life with blinders on.

Was I? Apparently, yes.

“For everything. I’m sorry for everything. I couldn’t accept it,” Steve said hollowly. “I didn’t want to be that way. My parents threw me out of the house when I was fifteen. Told me I was going to burn in Hell for all eternity.”

“How did I not know this?” I shouted, feeling out of control and sick to my stomach. “How?”

Steve said nothing. What was left to say?

“Was I a joke to you?” I demanded, pacing like a madwoman. “Was our whole life together a joke?”

“No,” Steve said in a broken whisper. “Never. I loved you and I always will.”

“Yet you let me think there was something wrong with me sexually for twenty years?” I ground out between clenched teeth as I held on to my sanity by a thread. “You let me believe it was me. That I was broken and undesirable. Half a woman. A freak of nature because you were hiding who you were? And I realize the blame is mine too because I was too stupid or in love with you to see it.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

I hated him. I hated me. Hatred raged through my body as helpless tears flowed from my eyes. I had to rethink everything now. All my memories were lies. Half of my life had been a lie. The unfairness of it made me feel like I was drowning. My naïve stupidity made me want to die.

“Oh my God,” I choked out as I leaned against the wall and pressed my cheek to the cool plaster. “Were you seeing other men while we were married?”

I didn’t want the answer, but I needed to know. Did I need to get checked for an STD?

“No, Daisy. I’ve never been with a man.”

“Ever?” I whispered, still unable to look at him.

“No.”

I felt even sicker. Why did I feel sorry for him when he’d knowingly destroyed me? Steve had made me feel like I wasn’t enough of a woman.

What the hell was wrong with me? Did I have no self-preservation instincts at all? Did my Southern manners own me?

“Why?” I whispered.

“Why what?” Steve asked.

“Why were you never with a man?”

Steve sighed and then stayed silent.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” I said, tasting the salty tears as they continued to run down my cheeks.

I believed what I said. One of my best friends was a lesbian. Sexuality didn’t define a person—character did.

Steve’s character was sorely lacking to the point of being criminal.

“I couldn’t, Daisy,” he said flatly. “I just couldn’t.”

“Why?” I hissed, turning to glare at him. I wasn’t going to hide my pain. He deserved to see it after what he’d done. “Your upbringing? Are you going to blame the way you grew up as your reason for ruining my life?”

Steve was gutted. He grew more transparent as the conversation—or rather, come-to-Jesus, if you will—went on.

“When I met you, I fell in love,” he said cautiously. “You were the perfect woman.”

“Steve, don’t,” I said, holding up my hands. “Don’t lie to me anymore. We’re way past that now.”

“I’m not lying. You were so smart and beautiful… and alive. You made me feel whole—normal—loved. I thought I could be a different man with you—a real man.”

“Many real men are gay,” I said with very little emotion in my voice. “A real man is honest with himself about who he is.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not really cutting it right now. I loved you,” I told him. “With everything I had. I thought I was broken and you didn’t want me in that way.”

Speaking the words aloud that we should have spoken many years ago was miserable. Both of our lives could have been vastly different.

“Sadly, I still love you,” I whispered.

“I don’t deserve your love, Daisy.”

I picked at the cuticle on my thumb and wondered if he was right.

“I know,” I told him, wanting to hurt him. I was a life-sized bloody open wound. I was also kind and honest. Right now, I despised those particular qualities about myself. “But I love you anyway. I hate you, but my love can’t disappear that easily.”

“You’re not broken,” Steve said. “I was broken because I couldn’t accept who I was. Because I was such a coward, I destroyed your life too.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic. He was right. I didn’t think I would ever become unbroken. I’d lived too long this way. I’d missed the opportunity to be whole a lifetime ago.

“I don’t regret our life, Daisy. I treasure every moment we had. What I regret is…”

“Harming me to the point of no return?” I asked, still feeling spiteful.

It infuriated me that I could understand and feel compassion for his pain. I believed that he did love me. He loved me completely but in a non-sexual way. He’d been both a gift and a curse to me.

We had been happy. I’d always felt safe and adored as a person—person being the operative word. I’d never felt loved as a woman, but I didn’t know anything else. I never knew my father or grandfather. I hadn’t grown up around a healthy, loving male-female relationship. Gram never even dated, or if she did, I didn’t know about it.

“Steve, I need to ask you a question,” I said, as my stomach dropped yet again and my chest tightened.

“You can ask me anything, Daisy.”

“Was your death really an accident? Or did you want to get away from me?”

The sound that came from Steve sent chills skittering down my spine. It was filled with such anguish, I let go of my anger and went to him. Wrapping my arms around his decaying and trembling body, I held him.

“Daisy,” he choked out. “You were the best and most beautiful thing in my life. As much as I hurt you, I was so blessed to have had your love—to still have your love, even though I don’t deserve it. I would have never left voluntarily. You need to believe me even if you can’t forgive me.”

“I believe you. I forgive you,” I whispered as I tried to remember what Steve had smelled like when he was alive. Ghosts had no scent. It saddened me that I couldn’t remember. “What exactly do you need me to do before you can move on?”

Steve laid his head on my shoulder. “I need you to find love—real love with a man who can give you what I never could. I need you to feel whole, Daisy.”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “Steve, you might be here for decades then. I’m not sure that will ever happen. After this morning, I’m not sure what part of my life is fact and what’s fiction.”

“It can happen,” he said softly. “We have to make it happen.”

“We?” I asked, feeling strangely back to normal with my gay dead husband who wanted to help me get laid… or loved. Neither were going to happen anytime soon.

My mind drifted to Gideon. I knew I could sleep with him if I wanted to, but he came with baggage that was dangerous and possibly deadly. I was smarter than that. There was no way I would road test my new womanly wholeness with the Grim Reaper.

“Yes. We,” Steve said with a chuckle. “We are going to find you a straight Prince Charming. It’s what you deserve.”

I pulled back and looked at my best friend. “And that wouldn’t bother you at all—to see me happy with another man?”

Steve pressed his lips together and made his sound. “No,” he said with a genuine smile. “It would give me peace that I’d finally done right by the woman I love.”

“Loved,” I corrected him.

“No, Daisy,” Steve said with sad smile. “Love. I will love you forever. Death can’t change that.”

“And I love you too,” I said, thinking maybe I wouldn’t have to throw away all of my memories.

The horrible ones of being gently rejected when I’d tried to seduce my husband were definitely on the burn pile. However, now that I knew why, it didn’t hurt quite as much… or at least not in the same way. Therapy would be helpful, but admitting to how I got my information was a no-no. It was unbelievable and wouldn’t be wise.

Maybe I could talk to Heather…

Maybe Gram…

Maybe no one.

Or maybe I would just keep talking to Steve. We could work through it together like we should have a few decades ago. As horrible as what he’d done was, he’d also given me a gift in coming back to tell me. I now knew that there was nothing wrong with me sexually. I’d also spent twenty years being completely adored by another person. And I adored him right back.

Nothing was ever black and white—completely good or totally bad. Shades of gray were what most of life was.

Steve was dead now. I didn’t know how much time we would have together to make our past right, but he was wrong about my future. I’d convince him of that soon. I was good. I liked myself. I liked myself more every single day.

I was strong, kind and loyal. I had friends I would take a bullet for and a Gram who loved me as much as I loved her.

I had two furry dogs—or at least one dog and one questionable little beast—and I loved them.

My new job was going to be a joy.

And my hobby of helping my squatters find peace? That made me feel like a freaking superhero.

I was truly fine. Steve would believe me. He would see it and he’d have peace.

Watching him leave me again would be hard. But having him here now… and knowing the truth?

That was the biggest gift of all.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Daisy girl, did you know that booby trap spelled backward is party boob?” Gram asked, slapping her leg with delight.

I shook my head and smiled. “I take it Jennifer visited you?” I asked, knowing how Jennifer and Gram loved to trade useless information that registered on the same intelligence level as a fourth-grade boy. I loved how much my friends adored Gram.

“She surely did. Jennifer just dills my pickles. I don’t know what the hell she did to her face, but that gal is as funny as all get out,” Gram said. “Want another?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked as I folded her housecoats and put some fresh flowers in the vase by her bed.

“Nosiree, you don’t,” she said, rubbing her thin hands together with glee. “Strap-on is no-parts spelled backward! Get it?”

“I would have been fine without ever knowing that,” I muttered with a laugh.

Steve had joined me. He wanted to see Gram. He sat quietly in the corner with a smile on his decomposing face while he waited for her to spot him. So far… nothing.

“The Ouija board worked,” I told her as I went to her door and closed it. I also locked it. There was no need for the staff at the nursing home to think both Gram and I had lost our minds. “I sent fifty squatters into the light yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll be damned—not literally,” Gram said with a chuckle and a thumbs up. “You forgot the mail forgery kit in the dresser. You’re gonna need that.”

“Yep,” I said, pulling the bottom drawer open. “That was on my list for today. I have a ton of mail fraud to execute in the next day or two.”

“I don’t consider helping the dead to be illegal,” Gram said as she channel-surfed like a speed demon. “I call it dishin’ out good karma for deserving people.”

“Works for me,” I said, taking the box out of the drawer and putting it by my purse so I wouldn’t forget it.

Gram still hadn’t noticed Steve.

He was insistent that he be a surprise. I wouldn’t say anything unless we went another ten minutes or so without Gram realizing he was here.

“How complicated is this?” I asked, referring to the large box.

“Instructions are in there,” Gram said, settling on Family Feud. “I love me some Richard Dawson. He’s such a flirt. He’s no Bob Barker, but I’d get gussied up for him.”

“Does it vary by state?” I asked, hoping the instructions weren’t the size of a book.

“It does, but once you get the hang of it, it’s a breeze,” she explained. “Out of country gets a little tricky, but everything you need is in the box.”

“What happens when I run out of stuff?” I asked, peeking at the contents.

“You’re gonna think I’m nuts,” Gram said, glancing over at me.

“I already do. Spit it out, old lady,” I said.

Gram leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “It multiplies. You never run out. First time I noticed it happened, I was so surprised you could’ve slapped my ass and called me Wally.”

“Are you serious?”

“Nope. I’m Gram,” she said with a cackle.

“You’re certainly on fire today,” I said with an eye roll. “So, for real? I don’t ever have to buy supplies for my new illegal side gig?”

“Nope,” Gram confirmed.

Well, that was a relief and a shocker. Although, I wasn’t sure why anything shocked me anymore.

“Did you meet the Grim Reaper?” Gram asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“Umm… I did,” I said, not wanting to go into any details with Steve in the room. I didn’t know why. He’d probably be thrilled that I’d kissed someone. It would be better if I’d kissed someone who wasn’t older than time itself, but I wasn’t the best at choosing men.

That was the understatement of my life.

“Don’t know why he’s in town,” Gram went on. “Were there any oddities with any of the dead?”

“No,” I said quickly. I had no intention of bringing up John. Plus, Gideon had said he wasn’t here for John.

“Well, there will be soon,” Gram said. “He never shows up without a reason.”

I really didn’t like the sound of that. None of my squatters seemed like bad people. The thought of helping someone end up in Hell or whatever came next was disconcerting.

“Does he have a counterpart?” I asked. He had to. Right? If someone’s afterlife was in question there had to be a good Grim Reaper… or some sort of benevolent being, something like that.

I rolled my eyes at myself and waited to see what Gram would say.

“Angel of Mercy. The Angel of Mercy is the counterpart to the Grim Reaper. A tire!” she shouted at the TV when Richard Dawson asked for something you fill with air.

“A balloon,” Steve said, walking over to Gram’s bed.

Gram didn’t look at him.

Steve and I both stared at her in confusion. Was it possible that once the ghosts stopped coming to her, she lost the ability to see them?

“Daisy girl, you fill a tire with air,” she said, noticing my confusion and pointing at the television. “You got something better?”

“You don’t see him?” I asked.

“See who?” she questioned, looking around the room. “Is the Grim Reaper here?”

“Umm… no.”

Steve looked crestfallen. I realized that Gram couldn’t see the dead anymore. Once the torch had been passed, the gift apparently moved on.

“Who’s here?” Gram asked, alarmed.

Looking over at Steve, he nodded his head.

“It’s Steve,” I told her. “He’s come home for a little while.”

Gram paled and her eyes grew wide. She grabbed my arm with far more strength than I was aware she still had.

“No, Daisy,” she choked out. “No, no, no.”

She grew agitated and tried to get out of her bed. Her grip didn’t lessen and she pulled me closer to her frail body.

“Gram,” I said, wrapping my free arm around her and hugging her tight. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you dare do what your mamma did,” she said, glancing wildly around the room as her body trembled. “Don’t you dare follow him. You hear me? Steve, you are not taking my baby with you!”

“Oh my God,” I muttered. I stroked her hair and tried to calm her. “I’m not going with Steve. I promise.”

“What is she talking about?” Steve asked, reaching out to touch my arm.

“He wants to know what happened,” I told Gram, who was still shaking like a leaf and holding on to me like her life—or my life—depended on it.

“Your call,” Gram said, still scanning the room.

I gently put Gram’s legs back on her bed and covered her with the quilt. Sitting down next to her so she didn’t try to get out of bed again, I turned my focus to Steve and took a deep breath.

“My mom fell in love with one of the dead,” I explained, feeling disconnected from my body. My voice sounded flat to my own ears. I hadn’t gotten past the fact that she’d chosen a dead man over me. “When he was sent into the darkness, she took her own life to follow him.”

Steve said nothing. He took the information in as he crossed the room and sat back down in the chair.

“I’m sorry, Daisy,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’s not going with you,” Gram hissed, looking the wrong way from where Steve was seated. “Do you hear me? Daisy is not going with you.”

“Gram, he doesn’t want me to go with him,” I told her. “We have some unfinished business.”

“Like what?” Gram demanded, still searching the room.

“It’s private,” I said. “It’s between Steve and me.”

Gram began to cry. She rocked back and forth and began to mumble incoherently to herself as she took my hand in hers and held it to her heart. Her pale, wrinkled skin seemed to turn gray as she begged me not to leave her.

“Tell her,” Steve said, his expression full of embarrassment and anguish. “Tell her the truth, Daisy. Please tell her.”

“Are you sure?” I asked as I crawled into the bed with Gram and got under the blanket.

“As sure as I love you and your grandmother. Yes,” he said.

“What did he say?” Gram asked, still looking terrified.

“Gram,” I said, taking her chin in my hand and making her face me so she could see I was telling the truth. I was a crappy liar and she was well aware of the fact. “Steve came back to apologize to me.”

“For what?”

“Gram, Steve’s gay.”

Gram squinted at me and looked terribly confused. “No, he’s not. He was your husband.”

“Yep,” I said, sighing and hating that the intimate details of our life were about to be spilled to the woman who had raised me and given me away at my wedding. “Steve couldn’t accept it.”

“He was bisexual?” she asked, still not getting it.

“Umm… no,” I admitted. This was harder than the talk with Steve in a way. “He was always gay. We didn’t have a normal man and woman relationship. I’d always thought there was something wrong with me.”

“Why that little shit,” Gram hissed.

“She’s right,” Steve said, joining me at the bed. “Tell her where I am so she can say whatever she wants to say to me.”

I did. Gram focused on where Steve was standing but her eyes want right past him. “If you were alive, I’d skin your hide, buster,” she snapped. “I loved you like a son.”

“Tell her I loved her too. I still do.”

I relayed the message. Gram just snorted in disgust.

“Gram, here’s what you need to know,” I said, smoothing her sparse gray curls away from her face. “Steve loved me, and I loved him. I was adored for twenty years. Trust me, I’m not okay with what he did, but I still love him. He was my best friend and one of the most important people in my life.”

“But he destroyed you as a woman,” Gram said as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Maybe,” I agreed, not wanting to lie or sugarcoat anything at this point. “But that’s why he came back. To tell me it was him and not me that was broken.”

“What do you have to do to make him leave?” Gram demanded.

Steve turned and walked away. Sadness and fear permeated the small room. This had not gone as planned at all. Gram’s words were harsh, but I could understand her fear. She’d lost my mother to a dead man. She would be devastated to lose me the same way.

“I’m supposed to find a man who will love me in the way Steve couldn’t. He wants to help me.”

Gram settled down and looked pensive for a long moment. “Where is he?”

“Steve?” I asked, not sure who she was talking about.

“Yes.”

“He’s in the chair by the window,” I replied.

“I want you to tell me what he says, and I don’t want you to leave a dang word out,” Gram said, staring at the chair.

I nodded, as did Steve.

“Steve, I don’t rightly know what to make of this,” she said, shaking her head. “But if you’re really here to make right the weirdest wrong I’ve ever heard of, then I’m fine with it.”

“I am,” Steve said. “I promise.”

I repeated what he’d said.

“Let me tell you something right now,” Gram said, waving her finger in the direction of the chair. “If you do anything else to hurt my Daisy girl, after I die, I will find you and beat your ass so raw you won’t sit for the rest of eternity. You hear me, boy? I’m serious. You won’t have an ass left once I get through with you.”

Steve looked shocked for only a brief second and then started to laugh. My best friend laughed so hard I was afraid he might lose a body part—like his head. It didn’t matter. We could bring anything that fell off home with us and I would glue it back on.

Steve’s laughter made me laugh. My laughter made Gram laugh. It was like the old days… kind of.

“Tell her I love her and there will never be a need for her to tan my ass,” Steve said, still chuckling. “Tell her that I’m here to make sure you are happy and whole.”

I did as requested. I almost left out the whole part because I knew that wasn’t going to happen, but I wasn’t asked to edit.

“Steve,” Gram said, relaxing her body and lying back on the pillow. “I think I might have lost a few years off my life that I can’t really afford, but I want you to know that I love you. Not real thrilled to find out you’re gay and married my girl… but I still love you. Probably shouldn’t, but I do,” she added, looking in his direction.

Steve wasn’t laughing anymore. My dead husband looked as if he wanted to cry.

“I can’t see ya,” Gram announced, pointing Steve’s way again. “But you better not be crying. Just come on over here and give me some sugar. NOW.”

“Is she serious?” Steve asked, confused.

“Are you serious?” I asked Gram.

“Darn tootin’,” she said. “I won’t be able to feel it, but I’ll know it happened.”

“You heard her,” I told Steve as he slowly approached Gram’s bed.

“I never deserved either one of you,” he said as he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Maybe,” I replied as my eyes filled. “But we’re damn glad we had you.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

My feelings were complicated, but the simple answer was always going to be yes. It would have been better for both of us if we’d each had our own partner and continued to be the best of friends. But it hadn’t worked out like that and no amount of wishful thinking would change the past. So, yes. The answer was yes. I might not have been loved like I’d wanted to be loved—as a woman—but I was loved completely by a man who did the best he could.

“Yes. Really,” I said.

“Do you two want to stay and watch The Price is Right?” Gram asked, back to her old self.

“Umm, as appealing as that sounds—no,” I said with a giggle. “I have to study what’s in that box and figure out how to continue my life of crime without getting busted.”

“Alrighty then,” she said, pulling me in for a hug. “I want you to promise me on a stack of bibles that you won’t go with him.”

“Gram, that wouldn’t do much good considering I’m not a big believer,” I told her with a smile. “But I will swear on my love for you that I’m not leaving with Steve. He’s truly here to help me find happiness. I promise.”

“I can live with that,” Gram said, giving me one last squeeze. “You tell Steve that while he stays in town, I expect him to visit me.”

“Will do,” I said with a shake of my head. Crazy didn’t even begin to describe this visit. “Gram, I have one more question.”

“Shoot, Daisy girl, but go quick. Bob Barker is getting ready to come on.”

“Why here? Why do the dead come to our town?”

“What do you know about portals?” Gram asked, ignoring the TV for a moment.

“Umm… I know a portal is like a gateway or an entrance.”

“Or an opening,” Gram said. “Our little sleepy town is the epicenter.”

“Of what?” I pressed, wanting a full answer before Bob Barker had all of her attention.

“An opening to Heaven and an opening to Hell,” she replied. “It’s the strongest entrance to the afterlife known.”

“Bizarre,” I muttered as I got out of the bed. I picked up my purse and grabbed the box. “I was wondering why.”

“And now you know, Daisy girl,” Gram said. “You sure you and Steve don’t want to watch the show? I just know I could beat both of you in the big showcase.”

I shook my head and laughed. “Next time, Gram.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a grin. “Steve, you be a good boy.”

“He will,” I said, opening the door to her room and stepping into the hallway.

Steve still stood next to Gram’s bed watching her intently with a smile on his face. Leaning in and giving her one last sweet kiss that she didn’t feel, he followed me out.

“So you’re the only one who can see me?” he asked.

I nodded. “I guess so,” I replied in a whisper just in case anyone was around. “Oh, wait. The other squatters will be able to see you too.”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “Weird.”

I couldn’t agree more. My life was so weird that it was hard to explain. However, it was mine. Weird or not, I had to live it.

Amazingly, I was okay with that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“That was outstanding,” Steve said as he floated out of the car.

The car ride home was fun. I’d driven Steve to all the places we used to go. He was surprised at how much had changed in the year since he’d died. I’d ended up telling him about the insurance company and the fight to get them to pay. He was sad and furious. However, he was grateful that Heather had helped me get it sorted out.

“If there are any other places you want to see, just tell me and I’ll take you,” I said, grabbing my purse and the box and kicking the car door shut with my foot.

“I think I just want to be at home with you,” he told me. “And we have to get working on your happiness.”

“Well, before we find my happiness, I have to forge a bunch of cards and letters,” I said with a laugh. He was going to drive me nuts.

“I wish I could help you with that,” Steve said. “But… I can sit and watch you like I did when you paid bills. I believe you used to say that doing something tedious was far better when someone watched.”

“I believe I did say that,” I agreed with a smile. “It was some kind of bizarre validation that I’d done it if you saw me.”

“Well, seeing as I have no place to go, I’d be delighted to watch you do all the tedious things you have to do.”

“Much appreciated,” I said—and then froze.

Gideon sat on my front porch staring at me. I immediately felt my chest heat up, which meant a blush was sure to follow. What was he doing here?

“Well, alrighty then,” Steve said with a wolf whistle. “I think we might have found your happiness. Look at him. He looks like he wants to eat you alive. Daisy, he’s perfect.”

“Umm… Steve,” I squeaked, trying to stop him. He’d taken me at my word earlier at the nursing home that I was the only living being who could see him. I’d forgotten about Gideon.

Steve didn’t hear me. He walked right up to the porch and checked Gideon out.

“He seems a little intense,” Steve pointed out as I wanted to melt into the ground like the Wicked Witch of the West. “However, he’s handsome and in excellent shape. I’d say the age is right too. He looks mid-forties—a very well-preserved mid-forties. This one is definitely straight—I get no gay vibe at all. The suit is high quality, which means he has money and good taste. Although, Daisy, I don’t want you going for a man just because he has money.”

“I umm…” The crack about Gideon’s age almost did me in.

Gideon’s brows shot up and he grinned when Steve pronounced him straight. However, Steve missed it. He was on a roll.

“Steve,” I tried again.

Again, Steve either didn’t hear me or was just so excited about the prospect sitting on the porch, he didn’t care. Gideon seemed amused—highly amused.

“Okay,” Steve went on. “Only you and I know you haven’t had sex in a decade or so. This guy doesn’t need that info. Maybe we should watch a little porn so you’ll be more comfortable when you get down to it.”

The ringing in my ears made it impossible to speak. If I wasn’t frozen in shock, I would have taken Steve’s head off and drop-kicked it. I knew I could re-glue it later. I couldn’t believe he’d just told the Grim Reaper I hadn’t had sex in ten years. It wasn’t exactly accurate, but Stan didn’t count.

“Please stop,” I choked out.

Steve couldn’t have heard the mortified horror in my voice. My best friend never would have thrown me under the bus and backed over me ten times if he had. But he just kept going—like the dead Energizer bunny on steroids.

“I think we go about this very subtly. Invite him to dinner at least three times before you seduce him,” my dead husband suggested, getting more excited with each piece of horrifying advice he doled out. “This guy looks like he knows his way around a woman. If he turns out to be a player, we’ll kick his ass to the curb. He’d be lucky to have someone like you though. You’re beautiful and smart and even though I wasn’t into them, your breasts are tremendous.”

And that’s when Gideon chuckled.

Steve looked a bit surprised and whipped around to check in with me. I was sure I was the color of the big white box I was holding—or possibly green. I didn’t know if I was going to puke or pass out.

I considered running away, but that would be even more mortifying.

“He can hear you,” I whispered, wanting to die.

“Shit. Are you serious? Is he dead too?”

“No, I’m not,” Gideon said as Steve let his chin fall to his chest in embarrassment.

Steve was embarrassed? I wanted to finish the hole Donna had started in the yard and crawl into it. The last five minutes were in the running for the worst of my life.

“I think I might have overstepped,” Steve said.

“You think?” I hissed, trying to figure out how to make all of this go away.

Steve turned to Gideon and waved. “Hi. I’d like to apologize for yet again ruining my wife’s life.”

“Your wife?” Gideon asked with a raised brow as he got up from the chair.

“It’s complicated,” I said, practically running up the steps to enter my house.

I would just go to my bedroom, lock the door and hide for a few months. Maybe Heather would let me work from home.

“Damn it,” I hissed.

I lived in the country. Why in the heck did I even lock my doors? I couldn’t even make a graceful exit from the worst humiliation of my life.

Putting the box down, I ransacked my purse for the house key. Steve and Gideon watched me have what basically amounted to a profane panic attack. I’d never strung so many swear words together in my life.

“Wow, Daisy,” Steve said with wide eyes. “I’ve never heard you cuss like that.”

I didn’t grace him with a reply. He was so close to losing a body part I could taste it. However, I didn’t really want to have a go at my dead husband in front of Gideon.

Gideon had already witnessed me being violent—his broken nose and sore junk were proof. A classy woman did not smackdown on her guests, even if her guests were asking for it.

“Daisy, could we have a word?” Gideon asked.

I could still hear the amusement in his tone and I wanted to throat punch him. So much for being classy.

“Of course you can,” Steve volunteered quickly, yet again doing the wrong thing. “I’ll just float on into the house and you two can have a little privacy without me sticking my foot in my mouth and pulling it out of my ass.”

On that paralyzing note, Steve floated right through the closed front door and left me stuck outside with Gideon.

“Your dead husband is trying to find you a date?” Gideon inquired.

“It’s a long story,” I replied, staring at the wooden floor of the porch. Eye contact was impossible.

“Would you like to share?”

“Nope,” I said. “It’s none of your business.”

“I’m gay,” Steve yelled from the other side of the door. “Daisy didn’t know. I couldn’t accept it and I ruined her life.”

“Oh my God,” I shouted. “You didn’t ruin my life, but you’re doing a damn good job right now.”

“Sorry, my bad,” Steve shouted back. “I’ll go to the kitchen now. But… man on the porch?”

“Yes?” Gideon answered.

“Do you have a name?” Steve questioned. “Man on the porch sounds really cold. And considering all that I overshared, we should probably be on a first-name basis.”

“Gideon,” Gideon said with a grin that made me have to look away.

Why in the hell was the Grim Reaper so charming? Or better question… why did I find him so charming?

“Gideon,” Steve yelled. “Daisy’s a catch. And she’s single in case you were unaware.”

“Oh, I’m very aware,” Gideon said softly, staring straight at me.

The idiot made me tingle from head to toe with just a damn look. And he did it with my dead husband standing on the other side of the door. This could not be my life.

“One more question, Gideon,” Steve shouted.

“Yes?” Gideon replied.

“Well, two,” Steve amended. “Are you straight and do you have honorable intentions toward Daisy? Because if you answer no to either of those questions, I won’t approve of this relationship.”

“There is no relationship,” I growled and threw my purse at the door. “Steve, you need to zip it. NOW.”

“The answers are both yes. Yes, I’m straight. And yes, I have honorable intentions,” Gideon said in a voice that Steve could hear. Of course, he had to add a little something extra for me. “And carnal.”

I nearly fainted.

“Great,” Steve shouted. “I’m clearing out now. For real. Daisy, be yourself. You’re perfect.”

The silence was deafening, and I was torn.

Did I pretend like none of this just happened? Or did I acknowledge it and ask Gideon to leave and never step foot on my property again?

He probably wanted to run like hell. I knew I would. Running was still on the table for me too. I could just sprint off into the woods and find a cave to hide in for a few weeks.

“I want to take you to dinner,” Gideon said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Did you miss the one-sided conversation that was just had?” I snapped, running my hands through my hair. “I don’t know how to do any of this. I’m not good at it.”

“I am,” he replied smoothly.

“I’m sure you are,” I shot back. God, I couldn’t take my eyes off his stupid lips. The memory of our kiss was one I’d take to the grave.

“You have to eat. Right?” Gideon said.

“Most people do,” I countered rudely.

Gideon grinned. “You fascinate me, Daisy. I’ve never come across anyone like you.”

“I’m working on being less fascinating,” I said, trying to yank my eyes from his lips. “And certainly you’ve come across far more interesting people than me in the last few centuries.”

“Is that the problem?” he asked with a lopsided smirk on his face that I wanted to smack right off his head. “My age?”

“No,” I said, deciding to look at his eyes. He needed to know I was serious. “You’re out of my league.”

“I disagree,” Gideon said, now staring at my lips.

My mouth went dry. I clasped my hands together so I didn’t reach out and touch him. What in the ever-loving hell was wrong with me?

“Come to dinner with me. Tonight,” he said. “If you don’t have fun, I’ll leave you alone.”

“And if I do?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

“Then I won’t.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I eyed him cautiously. The man was almost impossible to resist. Did I even want to resist him? When I’d kissed him, I thought I was broken. Now… well, I was still broken but I knew it wasn’t my fault.

“I’m broken,” I whispered.

“We’re all broken in one way or another, Daisy,” he said, putting his hand under my chin and raising my eyes to his. “Let’s not call it a date. How about we call it two broken people who need to eat decide to do it together in a restaurant. Is that better?”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “A little,” I told him.

“Good,” he said with a grin that made my breath catch in my throat. “I’ll be back to pick you up at seven.”

“What’s the dress code?” I asked, wanting to smack myself in the head for agreeing.

“Sexy. The dress code is sexy,” Gideon replied as he walked down the steps and out into the yard. “See you at seven.”

I glanced down at my trembling hands and I sighed. This was such a bad idea. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t care how charming he was. He would crush what was left of me.

“Gideon, I can’t…” I squinted my eyes and scanned the yard. He was gone.

No car. No bike—not that I could see the Grim Reaper ever riding a bike—but how had he gotten here and where the hell did he just go?

“I’m crazy and I’m an idiot,” I muttered as I gave the driveway and yard one last look. “He just disappeared. Like magic.”

And now I was stuck having dinner with him. Dumbass should be my new middle name.

Sitting down on the same chair Gideon had just been in, I inhaled the air. His scent lingered. I loved his scent. If I was honest, I loved the way he made me feel. However, I would never love him. Gideon was the Grim Reaper for the love of everything evil. He would never be my person.

I needed my head examined.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“You can’t wear that,” Steve said, floating over our bed and shaking his head.

“Why not?” I demanded with an eye roll. He’d already vetoed six outfits. I was forty, not sixteen. I didn’t want to go. Why did it matter what I wore?

“It’s all wrong,” he said. “You look like an asexual librarian.”

Steve was right, but I needed armor. I had no plans to follow the sexy dress code.

“Look,” I said, sitting down on the bed and kicking off the sensible flats I was trying to get away with. “Gideon is not the guy for me.”

“And why not?” Steve asked, floating over and hovering next to me. “I might be gay, but I’m still a man—albeit a dead one. I know when a man likes what he sees. Gideon liked what he saw.”

“Yep, I know that,” I said and then sighed. “But I’m not cut out for casual sex, which is pretty much all he wants.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment.

“Daisy, when a person is dead, they can see inside people… kind of.”

“You mean like their guts?” I asked, wrinkling my nose.

“Umm… no, thank God or whoever is in charge,” Steve said with a chuckle. “It’s like I can see auras—colors. I can see feelings and emotions.”

“So you could clearly see that I still loved you even though I hated you last night?”

He nodded and smiled.

“Lying to a dead person is impossible then,” I said, thinking the new information through.

“Yes, but you’re a terrible liar anyway so it’s not a big deal. Right?”

I stood and began to remove the boring granny dress I’d chosen. I almost laughed when I slipped it over my head and remembered I’d bought it for a Halloween party to go as an old lady. “I suppose it’s not a big deal,” I said. “Tell me what you saw around Gideon.”

“Deep pain. Sadness—far too much for someone his age. Yet his colors changed when he saw you. They came brighter and warmer,” Steve said as he floated into the closet and looked through my clothes. “Have you not bought anything new in a year? I recognize all of this.”

“Nope. Why would I buy anything? I don’t go anywhere other than work or out with the girls,” I admitted.

“That’s going to change,” Steve muttered. “The little black dress. Put it on.”

“It shows side boob. Not gonna do that,” I told him with an eye roll.

“Put. It. On,” he insisted with a grin.

“You’re a real pain in the ass,” I snapped, yanking it off the hanger.

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I said with a laugh.

“Trust me on this, Daisy. I’m right. You have wonderful breasts and your legs are phenomenal.”

Closing my eyes, I thought about what he’d seen around Gideon—pain and sadness.

It shouldn’t be surprising since the Grim Reaper sent souls into the darkness. I would think that would take a toll on a person or whatever he was. For the most part, Gideon was a really nice, stupidly gorgeous guy. It didn’t all add up with Grim Reaper at all.

“If you’re wrong about this hooker getup, I get to remove a body part of my choice,” I said, pulling the dress over my head and realizing I would have to wear a freaking thong and forego a bra altogether.

“Will you glue it back on?” Steve questioned with a delighted laugh.

“Of course,” I said with another eye roll. “I might have become a little violent in my forties, but I’m still a nice Southern girl.”

“Black stilettos,” Steve instructed. “Diamond studs—no other jewelry. No pantyhose. Actually, no pantyhose ever. We need to throw those nasty things away. They’re just awful.”

“Anything else?” I inquired sarcastically.

“Yes,” he said. “Hair down. Smoky eyes. A hint of pink gloss. Do not twist your hair up into a bun. You will be yourself. You will have fun. If you’d like to get intimate with Gideon, I’m fine with that—actually, I’d be thrilled. In fact, I’ll go to the nursing home and spend the night with Gram so you won’t feel awkward.”

“Umm… thank you, but no,” I said, feeling a small tsunami beginning to brew in my stomach. I truly couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with my husband. Of course, Steve was dead… and gay… but still… “I will not be sleeping with Gideon anytime soon.”

“Should I order some porn?” Steve asked, completely serious. “You know, so you can get up to speed on techniques?”

“No, you should not order any porn,” I snapped. “I’m going to go eat dinner with him—not blow him.”

Steve began to laugh. My language had taken a real dive in the last month. I tried to keep a straight face. I failed.

“Daisy, Daisy, Daisy,” Steve said, still grinning. “The mold was broken after you were created.”

“Thank God for small favors,” I muttered.

“Do you believe?” he asked, growing pensive.

“In what?”

“God,” he said. “Heaven. Hell.”

I sat back down on the bed. I didn’t know how to answer. Steve was headed somewhere in the near-ish future. I could lie and say I firmly believed, but he would know.

“Honestly, I have no idea. Do you?”

Steve shrugged. “Same. Although, now that I’m dead I’m hoping there’s something.”

“Where have you been this past year?” I asked. “Do you know?”

He floated to the bed and lay down on it. “The best way to describe it was like it was a dream sleep—everything around me seemed gray, lifeless. Maybe it was Purgatory.”

“Maybe,” I said, hoping that wasn’t what he was destined for when he eventually left me. The thought left me unsettled. “Everyone I’ve helped went into a golden light and seemed serene and happy.”

Steve was silent. I could tell he was thinking since he made the little noise that I’d missed so much. “I can only hope I’ll be in the same boat. Other than harming you, I led a mostly good life.”

“You didn’t harm me with intent,” I insisted, not liking the direction of the conversation. “You harmed yourself and I got caught in the crossfire.”

“It was some shitty crossfire,” Steve said quietly.

“Yes and no,” I told him, crawling up the bed and lying beside him. “Yes, it screwed me up sexually, but no I wouldn’t change it. My life without you would have been wrong. And making sense out of this is impossible.”

“You can’t change it,” he pointed out. “It happened.”

“It did,” I agreed. “You apologized and I accepted. I’ll love you until the day I die. Nothing will change that, Steve.”

He smiled and gently touched my cheek. It saddened me that his skin felt papery and not warm and alive, but he was dead. That’s the way it was. His touch was still lovely.

My husband was dead. I was alive and not quite as broken as I used to be.

My dead husband had basically set me up on a date with a man who was way out of my league. My dead husband had also revealed that I had no sexual game to said man who was way out of my league. Said man didn’t seem to care.

Tonight was going to be a disaster. I was sure of it.

“Stand up,” Steve directed.

I did. Slipping on the black stilettos that would make my feet scream in agony in about five minutes, I popped in the diamond studs Steve had given me a few years back and waited for him to tell me I looked as ridiculous as I felt.

No such luck.

“You are stunning, Daisy. That man won’t know what hit him,” Steve said, giving me a thumbs up.

“Oh… that man happens to be the Grim Reaper, by the way.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide for a hot second and then he grinned. “Shut the front door! And it just got more interesting. You will make the bad boy good.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, giving him the middle finger.

“And you adore me,” he shot right back, raising his own middle finger.

“I do,” I said with a giggle. “For better or worse, I do.”

* * *

“My eyes are up here,” I said dryly.

Gideon had been practically speechless from the time he picked me up in a flashy black sports car to the time we were seated at the finest restaurant in our tiny town. His mouth had hung open for a second when I came down the stairs into the family room. It was great for my fragile ego and terrible for my stomach and equilibrium.

The Grim Reaper clearly enjoyed a little side boob.

Of course, when Steve had announced—six times—that he was going to spend the night at the nursing home with Gram, I practically shoved a grinning Gideon out the front door.

Steve had no filter whatsoever. We were going to have a chat about that soon.

All ten of my other dead squatters—including John—were there to send me off as well. The appreciative grunts were nice, but the entire scene was so surreal, I needed to get out of my own house. Normally, my home was my safe haven. Tonight? Not so much.

Glancing around the luxurious dining area of the restaurant, I wanted to shrink until I was invisible. Gideon and I were a major point of interest. We were creating a shitstorm of gossip for the town. Poor old Widow Daisy was out to dinner with a man who could crook his finger and have any woman he wanted. What on earth was that man thinking?

“We should have gone a town or two over,” I mumbled, burying my face in the menu. Oh my God, the prices were absurd. A freaking salad was twenty-five dollars.

“Why?” Gideon asked, raising his gaze and finally acknowledging that I had a face. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“The other way around,” I muttered.

“I’m proud to be seen with you, Daisy. You’re an exquisitely beautiful woman,” Gideon said, giving me a look that made all thoughts of the town gossips in the restaurant evaporate.

“Do you use that line a lot?” I asked with a raised brow. “Does it work?”

“Spicy—very, very spicy,” Gideon said with a chuckle. “I like it.”

I squinted up at the ceiling and tried to bite back my grin. It was useless. I liked him. I was crazy. I saw dead people and I liked the Grim Reaper.

“Okay, I’m sorry I was rude,” I apologized, leaning forward on my elbows and resting my chin on my palms. “Let’s start over.”

“I can work with that,” Gideon said. “You look lovely tonight, Daisy.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You must be speaking of the obscenely low neckline and the copious amount of side boob that I’m displaying. Steve insisted I wear the dress. He wasn’t as fond of the one he labeled asexual librarian.”

Gideon’s laugh was addictive. “Okay. That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but it was certainly descriptive. Please send Steve my thanks.”

“I aim to please,” I said. “And you look very handsome, Gideon.”

“Thank you.”

“So, where do you live?” I asked.

Gideon seemed happily taken aback by the question. He’d completely misunderstood, but I wanted the answer. He could think whatever he wanted.

“I have a place in town. One of the historic homes,” he replied. “Would you like the address?”

“Umm… no,” I said with a smile. “That’s not what I meant. I meant when you’re not here… where do you live?”

Gideon eyed me for a moment. “Are you sure you want to ask questions like that, Daisy?”

“I am,” I replied. “You heard more about me this afternoon than anyone should know in a lifetime. It’s only fair.”

“Very well then,” Gideon said, leaning forward so our conversation would stay between the two of us and not be fodder for gossip in our nosey little town. “When I’m not here, I’m nowhere.”

“That makes no sense,” I said, frowning. “You’re cheating.”

“It’s the truth.”

“So, when you’re not here, you don’t exist?” I questioned, trying to figure out if he was pulling my leg. How was that even possible?

“See if you can follow me,” Gideon said, looking suddenly very tired. “If a person were to live… let’s say… forever. And for argument’s sake, I’m not talking a few hundred years. I’m talking forever. You with me?”

I nodded. I was afraid if I spoke, I might tear up.

I could suddenly feel the pain that Steve had seen in Gideon. Plus, Steve would be appalled if I ruined my smoky eyes in the first half hour of my date or whatever this was.

And even though the other patrons might not be able to hear us, they were watching like hawks. I didn’t need it to make the rounds that I cried while out to dinner with the hottest man alive.

“So, one would think this person would partake in all the alluring things life has to offer—multiple times. Most likely the person did,” he said, staring at me with such intensity I felt naked. The dress didn’t help, but it wasn’t the dress. It was the force of his gaze. “After a while, pleasure—physical, spiritual, all pleasure—ceases to have meaning. What was once gratifying, amusing, diverting and entertaining no longer holds any appeal for this person. The world around this person becomes colorless and void of anything that makes sense.”

“What happens to this person?” I whispered, tamping back my instinct to dive across the table and hug the Grim Reaper.

Gideon smiled, but it didn’t reach his beautiful gray-blue eyes. “Not much. This person no longer has the impulse to interact with the physical or the mental. He has no wish to find purpose or significance. Definitions of words like happiness—even anger or desire—lose meaning. If you had all the time in the world, what would you do with it, Daisy?”

“I don’t know.”

“You would fall,” Gideon replied with no emotion in his voice. “You would fall into a mist, hurtling toward an invisible floor that doesn’t exist. You wait for the inevitable, but it never comes.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not prepared to have answered,” he said.

“It’s not that,” I said, trying to figure out what I felt. “I can handle the answer… it simply makes my heart hurt.”

Gideon looked down at the menu. I could tell he wasn’t really seeing it. He glanced up and pinned me with a stare. I felt like I was a butterfly caught in a web of fire.

“And then one day, this person finds something that makes him feel alive again,” he went on as my heart sped up in panic and something I couldn’t define—maybe excitement, maybe fear. “He finds something—or someone—who wakes him up. It’s disconcerting and extraordinary. Very unexpected. Unheard of would be more accurate. At first, he’s angered and confused by the unwanted emotions. He’s done feeling anything. He’s been done for a very long time.”

“Is he still angry?” I asked.

“No. He’s not.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling somehow safer using hypotheticals instead of names—like his or mine. I was walking through landmine here. “So would sex solve his conundrum?”

Gideon smiled and shook his head. “No. That would only take the edge off.”

Not the answer I was looking for.

“Well, that’s certainly interesting and slightly terrifying,” I said. “Since I’m clearly into asking inappropriate questions, I may as well go for the mac daddy. What exactly is this person looking for with the someone he found?”

“Are you man enough to hear the truth?” he asked as a smile pulled at his lips.

“Since I’m not a man—the side boob is proof—no. However, I’m woman enough to handle pretty much anything. The past few weeks have taught me that. I glue body parts onto dead people for crying out loud.”

Gideon’s smile turned into a laugh and my spirits soared. Making him laugh was as addictive as hearing it.

“He wants all of her—her body, her mind, her soul. He wants to be seen by someone who makes him feel alive again. He wants to feel all of the things that he thought were lost to him.”

Closing my eyes, I willed myself not to scream or pass out.

Of course, I’d asked. He’d simply answered.

Of all the ways I’d imagined this evening playing out, this wasn’t one of them. It would be far easier if he just wanted to get into my pants. I was a forty-year-old woman. He was… shit, I had no clue how old he was.

Mutually consensual sex was no big deal between responsible adults. Although, it was a slightly bigger deal to me since I’d been abstinent for so long. But Gideon had just made a quick bang or three infinitely more complicated.

“That’s a tall order,” I whispered.

“Very,” he agreed as the waitress came to the table.

I watched as she practically fell over herself when her eyes landed on Gideon. I could have been buck naked and she wouldn’t have noticed. The man was that pretty.

“What will you have, Daisy?” Gideon asked, ignoring the salivating woman taking our order.

“A side salad,” I replied.

“Umm… no,” Gideon replied with a chuckle. “The pork chop is wonderful here.”

“I don’t do pigs,” I told him and then blushed furiously. “That came out a little wrong. I meant I don’t eat pork. I like piglets… they’re cute.”

“Got it,” he said, grinning. “Steak?”

“Not really,” I said, feeling like an idiot. “I mean, I’m not vegetarian or vegan, but…”

“May I order for you?” he asked.

Was there much he didn’t do right? He was such a force of nature I couldn’t believe he asked permission.

“Yes,” I told him. “That would save me from looking at the prices.”

“Fish okay?”

“Yep. I haven’t formed an attachment to sea creatures yet,” I replied.

“Excellent,” he said, eyeing the menu with amusement. “We’ll start with the sea scallops. Two caprese salads, and then we’ll both have the Coho salmon. Also, a bottle of your best pinot noir. Good?”

“Great,” I said, thinking this dinner would cost me an entire paycheck.

Did Gideon have credit cards? Bank accounts? A driver’s license?

How exactly did the Grim Reaper get paid… or did he get paid?

Was Gideon really even a lawyer?

My questions were endless and mind-boggling.

“I’ll be right back with your wine,” the waitress—who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—said breathlessly.

“Thank you,” Gideon said, dismissing her.

She looked disappointed, but who wouldn’t?

“Are you really a lawyer?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m a lot of things,” he said cryptically. “I’ve had some time on my hands. Getting degrees has been a hobby over the years.”

“That’s kind of cool,” I said with a grin. “What else are you?”

“Seriously?”

“Completely. Are you a doctor?” I inquired.

“Yes.”

“A politician?”

“No. Never had the desire.”

“Don’t blame you,” I said with a shudder. “What else?”

Gideon smiled and sighed. “I’d much rather talk about you, but since you’re so interested… social worker, human rights activist, professor of philosophy, firefighter, sculptor, and the list goes on and on and on.”

“Favorite job?” His choice of career paths was interesting. For someone who dealt with the darkness, he certainly took jobs that helped people.

“Dog trainer,” he replied.

“Get out of town,” I said with a giggle. “For real?”

“Absolutely.”

My laughed drew attention, but I barely noticed. This was the best date I’d ever been on.

“Do you like your real job?” I asked.

“Do you?” he countered.

I wasn’t sure what he was asking. Being a paralegal? Being a Death Counselor?

“Paralegal? No. The other one? Yes,” I told him. “You?”

“Lawyer? Occasionally,” he said. “The other one? Again, occasionally.”

It was a little bit disconcerting to hear he enjoyed sending souls into the darkness, but people usually made their own beds during life. It had to be hard to do what he was destined for. Having his calling would tear me apart. I was curious what kind of life lived would call for the Grim Reaper and the Angel of Mercy to get involved.

And the Angel of Mercy… I hoped he wasn’t as pretty as Gideon. This town couldn’t handle two male models walking around in broad daylight.

While I was curious about the Angel of Mercy, I’d leave those questions for another time. Tonight was about getting to know the fascinating man sitting across from me.

The dinner was delicious and the wine was incredible. I stuck to one glass. Keeping my wits about me was imperative with Gideon.

“So,” Gideon said, leaning back in his chair and tossing his napkin on the table. “Did you have fun this evening?”

I smiled and narrowed my eyes at him. “Yes, I did. You are quite the charming dinner partner.”

His grin widened and my heart skipped a few beats.

“Excellent,” he announced, raising his glass to me. “This is just the beginning.”

I realized I was fine with that. However, I had a few rules.

“No sex,” I said. And then quickly added, “Not yet. I’m not ready for that.”

Gideon nodded and didn’t seem upset in the least. “I agree with you.”

“You do?” I asked, surprised.

He laughed. “I do—not the best scenario, but I promise I agree.”

I was in so much trouble here. “But… umm… making out would be… you know, fine,” I finished on a mortified whisper.

“Have you ever made out in a car?” he inquired with a sexy little lopsided grin that made me momentarily regret laying down the law about sex.

“No. Can’t say I have.”

“Me neither,” he said, quickly leaving a wad of cash on the table and standing up. “However, it’s on my bucket list.”

“You have a bucket list?” I asked with a giggle as he helped me into my coat.

“I do now,” he replied with a grin so wide, I laughed.

“Well, far be it from me to keep you from your bucket list.”

“Your car or mine?” he asked, swiftly guiding me out of the restaurant.

My excitement mounted and I felt like a freaking teenager who was about to be very naughty. It was liberating and fantastic.

“Umm… yours,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out onto the street. “You drove.”

“You’re right.” His laugh rang out into the cold, starry night and I savored the wonderful sound.

One day at a time.

Gideon might not be my permanent happiness, but we made each other happy right now. I had no clue how long I had left in this life and Gideon could disappear at any moment.

It was okay to steal some happiness for myself. I deserved it.

Gideon’s bucket list… here I come.

Chapter Twenty-Four

My hair was a mess and my lip gloss was nonexistent. I hadn’t felt so amazing and free in a long time. Gideon wasn’t as put together as usual either. His jacket was crumpled up on the floor, his shirt was missing a few buttons and his tie was wrapped around the steering wheel. It made the man even sexier, as if that was possible. We were parked in front of my house and had steamed up the windows for the better part of an hour.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked with a smile that made my toes tingle.

“I’m tempted to say you,” I said and then pursed my lips playfully. “But that would be mean, since banging is off the table for a little while.”

“Banging?” he asked with a surprised laugh. “Did you seriously just say banging?”

I punched him in the arm and made a face. “I most certainly did. What do you call it?”

“With you?” He pondered for a moment and my stomach filled with butterflies. “I would call making love with you the best thing that will ever happen in my life.”

“Shit,” I muttered, leaning forward and pressing my forehead against the dashboard. “That’s very intimidating to someone who has no clue what to do. I mean, I’m not a virgin, but…

“Nope. Not going there,” he said, pulling me back and wrapping his arms around me. “It’s perfect. It will be perfect. I promise.”

“You can make up for my lack of skill?” I asked, shaking my head and moaning.

“Not sure how much skill I have going anymore,” he admitted with a grin.

I glanced up at him in surprise. “You haven’t been with anyone in a while?” Of course, a while could mean something vastly different to him than to me.

“A very long while,” he replied. “However, I do still remember a thing or two.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling strangely calmer about everything. “Can we make a deal of sorts?”

“Depends on the deal,” Gideon said, nipping at my ear and sending happy chills all through me.

“When we do bang,” I said with a laugh, “we have to talk to each other. You know, tell each other what feels good… and not so good. I refuse to go into my head and feel like a failure. That will make me close off and I’m done running away. I want the lights on—literally. You need to see what you’re getting so you can run like hell if you want to… and I want to see you naked in full light.”

“Where have you been all my life?” Gideon asked, sounding so much younger than I’d ever heard him.

It was silly. I was forty and he was a million and whatever and we were acting like teenagers.

“Well, not alive for most of it,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes. It was so out of character and so endearing.

“You think you’re funny?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I’m hilarious,” I shot back, placing my hands on either side of his beautiful face and pressing my lips to his. “I do stand-up for my dead squatters every Saturday. You should come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Actually, I’m joking… kind of. But I would love it if you wanted to come by this weekend,” I said. I held my breath and waited for his answer.

“Oxygen is good, Daisy,” Gideon said. “Breathe. Yes, I want to come by. I want to spend every minute that you’ll let me spend with you.”

“Really?” I asked, still dumbfounded that this was real and happening.

“Really. I was thinking I could bring over breakfast in the morning, get to know Steve better, and then we can go for a drive and find a new make-out spot.”

“Works for me,” I said.

“Great,” Gideon said, getting out of the car and coming over to my side to open my door. “I’ll walk you to the door and get a kiss good night.”

“You haven’t had enough?” I inquired, feigning shock.

“Never, Daisy. I will never get enough.”

I was in big trouble, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

* * *

“Steve, I’m home,” I called out, locking the door behind me and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.

I didn’t recall turning out all the lights when I’d left. Maybe I had. After Steve repeatedly let Gideon know we could have the pad tonight for a bang session, I hauled ass out. Whatever. Turning off the lights was a habit I needed to improve on. My electric bill could use a little break. Leaving the TV on all the time for the ghosts wasn’t great for my bottom line, but that couldn’t be helped. However, the television was silent as well. Bizarre.

“Steve, my favorite dead husband, where are you? I’m not going to remove a body part. I promise. The dress worked out great. The side boob was a hit,” I yelled, dropping my purse on the foyer table, taking off my stilettos and looking at myself in the mirror.

Maybe Steve had gone to Gram’s after all. That was a bummer. I wanted to tell him about my evening.

The moonlight streaming through the window lit the reflective glass. My eyes sparkled and my lips were kiss-swollen. A blush stained my cheeks and my hair was wild. For the first time ever, I liked the way I looked. Happy and kissed looked very nice on me. My feet were killing me, but I’d suffered for my fashion this evening. I hoped Gideon didn’t have any kind of heel fetish. He would be shit out of luck in that department. I was more of a tennis shoe kind of gal. Comfort was my style.

“Your dead husband? How very, very interesting,” a female voice purred.

“What the hell,” I screamed. Whipping around, I held up my heels with the pointy part out, ready to attack. “Who’s there?”

“You said we were friends, Daisy,” the voice hissed.

Damn it. I recognized that heinous voice.

How in the hell did she get into my house?

Great, I forgot to lock my door tonight, yet I locked it earlier and couldn’t make a clean escape from the most mortifying moment of my life to date. Luckily, that ended up not turning out too bad. My swollen lips were the proof of that.

Flicking on the light, I spotted the nightmare sitting in the very same chair she’d been seated in a few days ago. It was an incredible buzzkill. I reminded myself to sage the chair. Clarissa cooties were not welcome here and neither was she.

“You’re breaking friendship rules,” she said flatly.

I noticed Steve and a few other dead hovering in abject fear in the far corner of the room. My dogs were nowhere to be found. What the hell was happening?

“Actually, you’re the one breaking the rules. You’re not supposed to come here. Ever,” I said, keeping a tight grip on my shoes. Gouging her eyes out wasn’t the best plan, but my squatters and Steve were freaking me out even more than seeing Clarissa in my house. Embedding stilettos into Clarissa’s eyes would send me to the big house for a while, but if she came at me, I was ready. “And just so you know, it’s not personal. Heather is offering better pay and benefits.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarissa snarled.

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you,” I said, opening the front door so she would get the clue to leave.

Clarissa didn’t move. Apparently, polite social cues weren’t in her skill set.

“I know it’s abrupt and I’m sure everyone will give notice, but I have to say working for you sucked. It’s been some of the worst years of my life.”

God that felt good. I sure as hell hoped Heather would be up and running soon because I was pretty sure my honesty was going to ensure that I wasn’t allowed back in my old office ever again.

Clarissa still looked confused. I wasn’t buying it. Glancing over at Steve, I could see he was mouthing something to me as John nodded his head so hard, I was worried it would fall off. A head rolling across the floor right now could be a little awkward—for me.

Why didn’t Steve simply speak? Clarissa couldn’t hear him. I suppose after the Gideon porch debacle, Steve was a bit wary.

Staring at my best friend’s mouth, I could have sworn he was trying to tell me that Clarissa could see them. She gave absolutely no indication that she was aware of anyone but me in the room. There was no way Clarissa could see the dead. I suppose if John’s head flew off it would give me a better clue. It would be difficult for Clarissa not to notice a detached head if she could see it.

What I needed to do was get her to leave. Now.

“Your dad is a wonderful man,” I said, trying to end on a positive note. “I’ll miss him.”

“How stupid are you?” Clarissa inquired with a sneer, making her pretty face ugly.

Screw the positive note. I was too old to take this shit from her. My job at her father’s law firm didn’t own me anymore. I owned me. And thanks to Heather, I had a brand-new job. The song “Take This Job and Shove It” came to mind. I wished I could remember the words. I had no talent for singing whatsoever, but it was just Clarissa, Steve, John, some of my dead friends and me.

I grinned at the thought of me busting into song.

“I wouldn’t smile if I were you, Daisy,” Clarissa said in a tone so cold it made me extremely uncomfortable. “Things could get very bad for you.”

Done. I was done. Channeling Gram, I let Clarissa have it. “You know what? You are rude and socially unacceptable. Occasionally, I might be slower than a Sunday afternoon, but you have your nose stuck so high in the air that you could drown in a rainstorm. You’re mean and nasty. Working for you has been a living hell. If you can’t deal with that, you might want to think about having a personality transplant. Maybe the next set of paralegals you hire won’t want to jerk you bald.”

The shocked expression on Clarissa’s face was priceless. I would give almost anything if the girls were here to see it. Gram would be proud. I’d used at least three or four of her sayings. They felt damn good coming out of my mouth.

“You will regret this,” she snapped as she stood and glanced back at the corner of the room where my people were.

“It’s a job,” I said with an eye roll, unsure if she could see Steve and the others. However, I had no plans to ask her. I just wanted her to leave. If she kept showing up, I’d get a restraining order. “It’s not personal.”

“It’s a job. It’s not personal,” she mimicked in a squeaky, shrill voice. “Your foolishness will destroy you when you least expect it.”

I was definitely getting a damn restraining order.

“Out,” I said. “Get out of my house and don’t ever come back.”

Clarissa took her sweet time crossing the room. When she reached the front door, she paused and glared at me. Her perfume was cloying and her makeup was overdone. She was a hot mess of mean and I wanted nothing to do with her.

“I told you to stay away from him,” she said, narrowing her eyes to slits. “He’s mine.”

Oh. My. God. I almost burst out into laughter. This was about Gideon? No wonder she was confused.

“People belong to themselves,” I said calmly. “No one owns another.”

“We’ll just see about that, Daisy,” she said threateningly. “Won’t we? Give your husband my regards.”

Again, I almost laughed. Did she think I was married and seeing Gideon on the side? I was quite sure she’d use the information to let Gideon know what a hussy I was. I couldn’t wait to hear his reaction.

Part of me was shocked that she didn’t recall that Steve had died a year ago. It was preposterous but possible. Clarissa was all about Clarissa. If something didn’t pertain to her agenda, she couldn’t be bothered to remember. The death of one of her coworker’s husbands wasn’t important to her.

Clarissa Smith was a sorry excuse for a human.

With one last vicious glare, she walked out of my house. As soon as she crossed the threshold, I slammed the door shut so hard a picture fell off the wall. Quickly locking and chaining the door, I leaned on it and let out a long breath.

“Holy shit,” I muttered. “I can’t believe I ever thought I was nuts. She’s certifiable.”

“Daisy, are you okay?” Steve asked, floating across the room to me.

The others followed suit and hovered around me making clicking sounds. Donna and Karen, who had been hiding under the couch, popped out, trotted over and sat at my feet.

“I’m fine,” I told everyone. “Really.”

“I think she could see us,” Steve said.

“Did she speak to you?” I asked, still doubtful.

“No.” He shook his head and seated himself on the couch. “It was a feeling. She seemed to stare in our direction an awful lot to not be able to see us.”

“What emotions surround Clarissa?”

Steve shuddered. “Fury. Anger. Hatred. It’s not a pretty picture.”

I refused to let Clarissa ruin my evening. She was evil and stupid but there was nothing she could do to me. As insane as she’d seemed, I didn’t believe she would physically harm me over Gideon. If I still had to work for her, she could make my life awful. However, very soon she would never be my boss again. Thank God.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” I said with a small shudder. How did a man as nice as Clarence Smith produce a daughter as hideous as Clarissa? Not my problem. “She’s gone. Now let’s forget about her. Wanna hear about my date?”

The ghosts laughed and zipped around the room creating a wind that blew Clarissa’s nasty essence away. Steve’s smile widened and he patted the seat on the couch next to him.

“Was it good?” he asked hopefully.

I nodded. “It was magical. I’m not sure he’s my permanent person, but I like him a lot.”

“Why didn’t he come in?” Steve questioned, worried.

“Because I told him no sex. I’m not ready for that yet.”

“And he was good with that?”

“He agreed,” I said with a laugh.

“Yessssssssss,” Steve said as he floated to the ceiling, he was so excited. “A man who will wait is a keeper.”

“We’ll see,” I said, unable to hold back my grin. It was still odd to be discussing this with my husband, but we’d definitely had a nontraditional relationship in life. I suppose it made sense that we would have a nontraditional relationship in death. “He’s coming over tomorrow morning. He wants to get to know you better.”

“Outstanding,” Steve said, turning serious. “Daisy, no matter where I end up when I leave you, seeing you becoming whole will give me peace always.”

“You’ll go into the light, Steve. I can feel it. You’re a truly good person,” I told him, reaching out to take his hand.

Quickly turning on a reality show for my squatters, I gently hugged my husband. “Ready to go to bed?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin as he floated over to the stairs. “It’s a damn good night, best friend—even with the shitshow of a finale. I was so proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

“Well, it helps that I don’t have to work for her anymore,” I pointed out.

“True,” Steve said, “but your manners usually stop you from defending yourself when you should.”

He had a point. “Not anymore,” I promised. “Forty-year-old women have balls.”

Steve laughed and drifted up the stairs as Donna trailed him and Karen tagged along behind Donna. “Lady balls look good on you, Daisy.”

“Thank you,” I said as I followed him. “I think so too.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Don’t tell me you’re a chef too?” I said with an eye roll, glancing around my kitchen at the gourmet breakfast being prepared.

“Okay. I won’t,” Gideon said as he expertly flipped a pancake by maneuvering the pan without using a spatula.

If I’d done that, the pancake would have either stuck to the ceiling or landed on the floor. My God, was there anything Gideon couldn’t do? He was going to give me a complex.

“Are you attached to turkeys?” he inquired.

“Umm… no. Why?” I asked, confused.

“Turkey bacon,” he said, pointing to a sizzling fry pan. “Just wanted to make sure that you did turkey.”

I laughed and flipped him off. He laughed and returned the favor. The Grim Reaper was standing in my kitchen making me breakfast and just flipped me off. Life didn’t get much better… or weirder.

Gideon had shown up at seven in the morning wearing jeans and a sweater, looking good enough to eat. I’d had a towel on my head and sweatpants and a t-shirt on my body. I was appalled. He was thrilled. After I chewed him a new one for showing up so early, I left him with Steve and the squatters so I could dry my hair and make myself at least semi-presentable.

Gideon was thrilled by that as well. His joy at the simplest things was humbling.

“Daisy likes an obscene amount of syrup on her pancakes,” Steve announced, hovering over the griddle and sighing dramatically. “How I wish I could still eat. Those look so damn good.”

“They should,” I said. “Gideon is a chef… and a doctor… and a lawyer… and a dog trainer, among hundreds of other things.”

“Cool your jets, hot pants,” Gideon said with a chuckle. “You’re making me sound like an overachiever.”

“If the shoe fits…” I said, grinning. “And while we’re on the subject of dog training, can you tell me what breed Donna is?”

Donna wagged her tail and barked. Both she and Karen had placed themselves strategically to catch any food that fell off the countertop.

“Not sure you’ll like the answer,” Gideon said, squeezing oranges for juice.

“Very little surprises me anymore,” I said, setting the kitchen table.

“You sure?”

“Positive,” I said, not feeling quite as confident as I hoped I sounded. What the heck could my puppy be? A freaking demon?

“Donna’s a Hell Hound.”

Well, at least I was close…

“Okay,” I said, stopping mid-napkin fold and staring at my adorable puppy in shock. “I stand corrected.”

Gideon glanced over at me and raised a brow. “Very rare and very special. Where did you find her?”

“My girlfriends gave her to me for my birthday,” I muttered, still staring at Donna, who was now dancing in circles hoping for a pancake. Hell Hounds liked pancakes?

Heather had picked her out for me. Heather had believed my crazy story that was full of holes about John. Did Heather know about Donna? Did she know about me?

Impossible. I reminded myself that she’d walked right through one of the dead at my birthday dinner. No one who could see the dead would have done that. Right?

“Right,” I said aloud.

“Right what?” Gideon asked as he plated the pancakes and turkey bacon and then poured orange juice and coffee.

I was surprised that he made my coffee the way I loved it. He put a big squirt of chocolate syrup into the shot of espresso and then added a bunch of milk and poured it over ice.

“Right nothing. I was just talking to myself,” I said, watching him put a straw in the coffee and setting it on the table. “Can you read minds?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “Steve clued me in to your interesting coffee preference. Hungry?”

“Always,” I said, sitting down and digging into the best pancakes I’d ever tasted.

Steve and my other dead guests joined us as we ate and chatted. Gideon was as gracious to Steve and the dead as he was to me. He couldn’t understand a word my squatters grunted, but he was polite and kind. It was every kind of bizarre.

The con side of my mental list where Gideon was concerned grew smaller as the pro side weighed in as the projected winner. Gideon knew what I did and I knew what he did. Being able to be honest was freeing in a way I’d never known. I’d lived a lie with Steve for twenty years. And even though I wouldn’t trade my life with Steve, I had no intention of ever living that way again.

“Donna doesn’t look like a Hell Hound,” I commented as I drenched my pancakes in syrup.

Gideon’s eyes grew wide as he watched me destroy his pancakes with maple syrup. He winced and shook his head. “Steve wasn’t joking.”

“You should try it,” I suggested, pointing my fork at him. “It’s delicious.”

“I’ll just enjoy watching you,” Gideon said, grinning. “Back to Donna. What do you think a Hell Hound should look like?”

“Umm… horns, fangs, red eyes,” I said with a mouthful.

“Maybe a cheesy black hooded cape and a scythe as well?” he inquired dryly.

“Fine point. Well made,” I said with an eye roll. “I just didn’t think a Hell Hound would be so cute.”

“And who knew the Grim Reaper would be so hot?” Steve chimed in. “Oh my God, I just sounded so gay.”

“Kind of,” I said with a laugh.

“Feels good,” Steve said with a sad sigh. “Death has been a rebirth for me in some ways. But no downer talk. I stand by my statement that the Grim Reaper is hot.”

Gideon glanced over and I shrugged. “I told him who you were. He thinks it’s great.”

“Steve, I really like you,” Gideon said with a grin. “A lot.”

“Back at you,” Steve said. “As long as you’re good to Daisy, I’m good with you.”

“You will be good with me always,” Gideon said. “I promise.”

I shook my head and wondered why everything was coming together for me in such a spectacular way. My dead husband and my new kajillion-year-old boyfriend—for lack of a better term—were getting along and liked each other.

I’d recently realized I wasn’t insane and had sent a lot of deserving dead into the light.

My pet quota was filled with a dog and a Hell Hound. It shocked me that I wasn’t unsettled about having a Hell Hound, but a whole hell of a lot had changed in the past few weeks.

Accepting the unbelievable was now my norm. I had a new job on the horizon that I was excited about. I had dear friends and Gram was still kicking. Life was good.

Of course, the wary side of me wondered when the other shoe would drop, but I pushed the thought away. I was going to live in the now, not in the what ifs.

“Do you like to run?” I asked Gideon.

“Haven’t done it in a while,” he said, taking the plates to the sink. “Do you?”

“I love it,” I said, pushing him out of the way and getting started on the dishes. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

“Good deal,” he said, sitting back down and sipping his coffee. “If you want to go for a run, I’ll come with you.”

“You’re not dressed to run,” I said, scrubbing the frying pan.

“I beg to disagree,” he replied.

“You can’t run in jeans and a sweater,” I said as I turned around to look at him. “What the hell?” I muttered, dropping the soapy fry pan to the floor.

Gideon was now in running gear and tennis shoes. He looked like a million bucks, but he was just in jeans and a sweater a minute ago. I was very aware that my mouth was hanging open, but there was very little I could do about it.

“How?” I whispered. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” he said with a grin. “Does it freak you out?”

“A little,” I admitted. “Is that how you got here the first time without a car? Magic?”

“It is,” he said, carefully. “If it bothers you, I won’t do it.”

“Nope,” I said, picking up the pan and putting it into the sink. “No holding back. You will be you and I will be me. I will always use tons of syrup and I will never do pig. I’ll continue to talk to dead people and commit mail fraud on a semi-regular basis. You can morph around all you want. Maybe a little heads up every now and then might be helpful,” I said. “If you just disappear mid-conversation, I might worry.”

Gideon rose, came up behind me and wrapped me in his strong embrace. “Deal,” he whispered in my ear.

“Good,” I whispered back, breathing in his scent. “Well, since I can’t magically produce running gear, I’ll go get changed and we can go for a run.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Hey,” Steve said as I moved to leave the kitchen. “You know what I miss?”

“What do you miss?” I asked.

“Board games.”

“Seriously?” I questioned with a grin.

“Yep,” he replied as the squatters began to fly around the room in excitement.

I shook my head and laughed. I wasn’t sure how we would make the logistics work, but we could certainly give it a try.

“I like board games,” Gideon volunteered. “I like to cheat.”

“Of course you do,” I said with a groan. “How does this sound? After we come back from running, we’ll pull out some board games and give it a shot.”

“Perfect,” Steve announced. “Best day ever.”

Steve was right. Who knew that the best day ever would include a round of Monopoly or Trivial Pursuit with dead people and the Grim Reaper who liked to cheat? I certainly didn’t. But I was all for it.

* * *

“Holy hell, Daisy,” Gideon said, walking in a circle and catching his breath. “You’re a machine.”

We’d run ten miles. I could have kept going, but Gideon had clearly had enough.

“You’re out of shape, Reaper,” I said, not even winded.

Gideon eyed me and shook his head. “It’s not that—although you might have a point about me being out of shape—but a human can’t run like that.”

“Dude,” I said with an eye roll. “A human just did.”

“You’re not even sweating,” he said, perplexed.

Looking down, I realized he was correct. That was the second time it had happened. First running to Heather’s and then today. I shrugged. “It’s chilly out,” I said.

“I look like I jumped in a pool,” Gideon pointed out.

“True,” I said with a grin. A wet, sweaty Gideon was even hotter than a dry Gideon. “Maybe I’m starting menopause.”

As the words left my mouth, I immediately slapped my own head. Menopause was not sexy. I didn’t need to keep announcing how old I was even though he was older than dirt. But speaking of old…

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Ms. I Should Be Running in the Olympics?”

I giggled. “How will this work?”

“How will what work?”

I decided on how much I wanted to say and then decided not to hold back. He could change his mind about us tomorrow, but somehow in my heart I didn’t think that would happen.

Although, my heart had led me astray before.

“Well, I don’t want to presume anything,” I said hesitantly, picking imaginary lint off my fleece hoodie.

“I would be delighted for you to presume as long as it’s positive about you and me,” he replied.

“Okay,” I said, drawing confidence from my new lady balls. “Let’s just say that we see each other for a while.”

“Define a while,” he said with a smile pulling at his lips.

“Years,” I replied.

“Decades,” he corrected me, and my heart fluttered.

“Okay. Decades,” I agreed. “I’ll get old and you won’t. Will that bother you?”

Gideon took my hand in his and led me to the steps of my front porch. Pulling me down next to him, he situated me so I was looking at him.

“I can age, Daisy,” he said, watching me to gauge my reaction. “I can control that. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to grow old with you.”

“I’ll die someday.”

He sucked in a swift breath and closed his eyes. “Not for a long time.”

“Time,” I said, thinking about it. “Does it have meaning to you?”

Gideon was pensive for a bit and then nodded. “It didn’t, but it does now,” he replied. “And I intend to enjoy every minute.”

“We’re going to fight,” I told him.

“Can’t wait,” he said with a grin.

“And I’m moody sometimes,” I added.

“Looking forward to it.”

“You’re nuts,” I said with a laugh.

“About you, Daisy. I’m nuts about you.”

My body tingled and my breath hitched. I was fairly sure I was falling for Gideon—possibly a huge mistake. If it was, I’d deal with the fallout when it happened. I refused to let fear of the future affect the present. Even if I was a passing fancy to him, I planned to enjoy it. Who knows? Maybe he was just a passing fancy for me.

Right? Not. I didn’t work that way.

It was moving fast and I’d never believed in insta love… until now… maybe. I’d also never met the Grim Reaper—the most beautifully charming man in the Universe. He might turn out to be my downfall, but right now—in this moment—nothing had ever felt so right.

“Wanna go hang out in the car for a half hour or so?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he replied, grabbing my hand and dragging me to my car.

I looked around for his black sports car and couldn’t find it. My guess was that he’d poofed over here magically. Briefly, I wondered how he did it with all the groceries he’d brought then I gave it up.

Magic couldn’t be explained. If it could, it wouldn’t be magic.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Monopoly isn’t going to cut it,” I said, pulling Trivial Pursuit out of the cabinet by the TV. “Too many moving parts. This will work better.”

Gideon had set up a folding table in the middle of the family room and put six chairs around it. Steve, John and two other ghosts had seated themselves and were ready to go. The other squatters floated around the room chattering with delight. I wished Gram could be here. She’d get a huge kick out of this even though she couldn’t see the ghosts anymore. Although, she’d insist on the board game version of The Price is Right or Family Feud.

Shit. I was going to have to tell her about Gideon. I had no clue what her reaction would be, but I was a grown woman. I could make my own decisions… and mistakes. As long as she could see I was happy, I hoped she’d feel the same.

“If you cheat, you have to cook dinner,” I told Gideon, hoping like hell he would cheat. If his pancakes were any indication of his culinary skill, I couldn’t wait to taste what he would make for dinner.

“Can you cook?” he inquired.

“Not really,” Steve volunteered.

“He wasn’t asking you. He asked if I could cook,” I said.

“Yep, I know,” Steve shot back with a laugh.

“I can withhold superglue,” I threatened.

“You wouldn’t,” Steve said with confidence.

He was correct. I was far too nice for my own good.

“I’m a so-so cook,” I admitted sheepishly.

“I had plans to cook anyway,” Gideon informed me with a wink. “Pick something else.”

I wanted to suggest that he strip naked and run around the yard as punishment for cheating, but it was cold out and there was a very fine chance I’d forget all about my no-sex rule if I saw him in his birthday suit.

“Wait. Do you have a birthday?” I asked Gideon. I mean, he had to. At least I thought he did.

“Where did that come from?” he asked, squinting at me.

“Convoluted and inappropriate thoughts,” I told him. “I do that a lot.”

“She does,” Steve agreed.

“So, do you have a birthday?” I asked again.

“No.”

That made me sad. “Do you want one?”

Gideon glanced over at me and shrugged. “Would you like me to have one?”

“I think I would,” I replied with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. “We could call it Gideon Day instead of a birthday. There is no way in hell we could fit all the candles on your birthday cake. Sound good?”

“What are you doing to me?” Gideon whispered with an expression of wonder on his beautiful face.

“Treating you like you matter.”

“Just say yes,” Steve advised. “She’ll crawl up your butt until you do.”

“That was a seriously disgusting analogy, but he’s right,” I told Gideon. “Pick your day.”

“When’s your birthday?” he asked.

“October twenty-fifth,” I replied, wondering if he was going to horn in on my birthday. Actually, I didn’t care. The more the merrier.

“I’ll take October twenty-sixth then,” he said with a chuckle. “We can make an entire week of it.”

“Works for me,” I said, putting a pile of cards in front of each player. There were still some big logistical issues since the ghosts were difficult to understand, but I had an idea. “Okay, guys, when you know the answer, slap your hand on the table—lightly so it doesn’t fall off. I have the Ouija board right here, so I can interpret and no one will have an unfair advantage.”

“Unless one was to cheat,” Gideon reminded me, sounding delighted about the prospect.

“Correct,” I said with an eye roll. “And if one was to get caught cheating, they’d have to strip naked and run around the yard.”

Gideon threw his head back and laughed. I was stupidly proud of myself. “Was that the inappropriate thought you had a minute ago that led to me getting a birthday?”

“It most certainly was,” I informed him. “And as much as I should not admit it, I really hope you cheat.”

“Would it be inappropriate if I were to agree?” Steve asked.

“Pretty much,” I said with a laugh.

“Okay. Then I’ll just think it,” Steve said with a thumbs up.

It was unconventional, abnormal and off the charts weird to have this conversation with my dead husband about the man I was seeing, but it also felt comfortable and outlandishly okay. Again, my normal was nuts.

“Trivial Pursuit might not be the best choice either,” I said, realizing that it could take us all day and into the night to play one full game.

“Charades?” Steve suggested. “Not really a board game, but still fun.”

“Major potential for losing body parts,” I pointed out, never thinking I would utter those exact words in a single sentence.

“How much superglue do you have left?” Steve asked as Gideon listened to the exchange with amused interest.

“Not enough if everyone’s heads fall off,” I said. “Arms and hands—possibly. Heads? No way.”

“Poker?” Gideon proposed. “I’m excellent at cheating at poker.”

“Umm… no. My dead squatters can’t hold cards,” I told him, racking my brain for something that would work.

“Twister is definitely out,” Steve said with a wide grin.

“Definitely,” I agreed with a laugh. “Maybe we could figure out a game that all of us could play—all thirteen of us.”

“You have thirteen people here and I wasn’t invited?” Heather called out as she came into the house and stopped dead in her tracks.

To her credit, it had to look strange. Gideon and I were seated at a table with six chairs surrounding it. Piles of Trivial Pursuit cards were still stacked at six spots on the table. I now regretted putting out a glass of lemonade for each ghost. I was well aware they couldn’t drink it, but I wanted everyone to feel included. Shit.

“Hey Heather,” I said, standing quickly and crossing the room.

“I’ve missed you, Heather,” Steve muttered sadly.

“I’ve missed you too,” Heather said, giving me a quick hug.

“What?” I asked, alarmed.

“What do you mean what?” she replied.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I missed you,” she said, looking at me strangely.

“You said you missed me?” I choked out.

“I did. Common Southern manners dictate telling someone you miss them when they tell you that they missed you,” she said, glancing over at Gideon with extreme curiosity and then back at me.

Was it possible that Heather couldn’t see the ghosts, but she could hear them? Was it possible that I had said I missed her? I would swear on my life that Steve had said it. Or was it completely possible that I wasn’t as sane as I’d hoped?

“Good to see you, Heather,” Gideon said, standing up and joining me.

“Interesting to see you,” she replied, trying to gauge what was happening here.

I was still too stunned to speak. Steve floated over and hovered at my side. He was smiling at Heather. It looked macabre, but I could feel him vibrating with excitement at seeing his old friend.

“Cut the act,” Gideon said flatly.

“Screw off,” Heather replied rudely. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“No game,” Gideon said, leveling Heather with a gaze that reminded me how powerful and intimidating he could be.

However, Heather wasn’t intimidated in the least.

“Daisy, the girls are right behind me,” Heather said, looking straight at Steve and putting her hand on her heart. “You might want to pretend that you set this up for all of us to tell us whatever you want to tell us about Gideon being here.”

“You can see them?” I squeaked out, feeling faint. If Heather could see them, she was someone entirely different than who I thought she was.

“She can see them,” Gideon confirmed.

Heather nodded curtly and walked right over to John. As she passed Steve, she gently touched his face. “John, I’m going to destroy your wife. I promise you. She will rot in a jail cell for the rest of her miserable life and no one will think you committed suicide.”

“How?” I gasped out.

Heather turned to me and smiled. “I received a video of the murder… John’s housekeeper found it in a chair in his home and brought it to me.”

I had no clue how she’d worked that out, but Heather was far more powerful than I’d thought. She was brilliant.

“His housekeeper?” I choked out.

“We happen to share the same housekeeper,” Heather replied. “She’s a very loyal woman.”

“Yausssss,” John said with a smile. “Thauuuunk yooooah.”

“You’re most welcome,” she said. “Daisy, did you change the will?”

“I did,” I said, still feeling like I might pass out. What the hell was happening? I didn’t know why it was so hard to accept that Heather wasn’t who I thought she was when I’d accepted that my dead husband had come back and that I was falling for the Grim Reaper.

“I’m going to need it. Now that I’m leaving the firm, I need to get the file back there before they realize it’s missing.”

Nodding because if I spoke I might scream, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the file. I handed it to Heather who took it and put it in her bag.

Oh. My. God. Heather was the Angel of Mercy.

This was the best news ever. It now made sense why she and Gideon were at odds and why they seemed so familiar with each other. It would be a little awkward at first, since Gideon and I were seeing each other, but I knew in my heart that I’d be able to convince Heather he was a good person.

My relief was palpable.

“Why is everyone coming over here?” I asked, holding on to the back of one of the chairs. Even though I was calmer, my knees were still a little wobbly.

“Because you missed Face Mask Friday at Jennifer’s last night and didn’t answer your phone when we tried to call,” she said, grabbing the Ouija board and shoving it under the couch. “Everyone is worried.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I muttered, scanning the room and looking for anything else that could be perceived as odd. It was clear. “No one else can see my squatters?”

“Your what?” Heather asked with her brows raised high.

“The ghosts,” I clarified with an embarrassed laugh. “It’s my nickname for them since they live with me.

“Rent free,” Steve added, following Heather around like a puppy.

“Why are you here, Steve?” Heather asked kindly, carefully putting her arms around him and giving him a hug. “Have you been here since you died?”

“Long story,” I said. “And no, he’s only been here for a few days.”

Heather was perplexed but didn’t ask any more questions.

Steve touched Heather’s face and smiled sadly. “To save time and to get you up to speed, I’m gay. I ruined Daisy’s life by hiding who I was. I came back to make it right. Daisy deserves a person who can love her like I was incapable of. We found him.”

“Gideon?” Heather asked, completely shocked.

Gideon sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“I don’t have time to list off all the reasons,” Heather snapped and then turned her attention back to Steve. “Steve, I’m kind of pissed at you right now—and that’s a polite term for what I’m feeling. However, if you are truly here to make it right, then I’m glad to see you.”

“I am,” Steve promised. “And you’re wrong about Gideon. I can see things that you can’t.”

Heather glanced over at Gideon distrustfully, and then at me. She sighed dramatically and then shrugged. “Okay. I’ll reserve judgment for the time being. However, Gideon, if you hurt her, I’ll destroy you far worse than I will John’s murderous bitch of a wife. Am I clear?”

“You are,” Gideon said tersely. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“We’ll see,” Heather replied coolly.

The irony that Heather might be as old as Gideon didn’t escape me, but I was forty. In human years I was a big enough gal to make my own choices. Before I could come to Gideon’s defense and point out that I was old enough to make my own decisions, the entire family room filled with golden light.

“What the hell?” Heather muttered.

“Not Hell. Definitely not Hell,” Steve whispered as he stared in awe.

“It’s John. It’s okay,” I assured everyone as I calmly crossed the room and put all of my focus on him. “John has his closure. He can leave now.”

John smiled at me and nodded his head.

“It’s time for you to go, my friend,” I whispered, touching his hand and smiling back at him.

John was no longer a decaying corpse of a man with his head awkwardly attached and his neck partially severed. The ethereal and somewhat blinding golden glow surrounded my friend, and his body was restored to what it had been before he’d been murdered. He was lovely.

The room grew warm and the silky golden mist danced around John, making him look like an angel. His smile was serene and he took my hand in his.

“Thank you, Daisy,” he said in the human voice I recognized from being inside his mind. “I wish you would take my money, but I do understand.”

Karen ran to her former human and wagged her tail a mile a minute as she licked John all over. John’s delighted laugh rang out and echoed through the room.

“Take good care of my girl,” he said with tears in his eyes as he pet his dog for the very last time. “And keep your trash well secured.”

“Will do,” I said, swiping at a tear that rolled down my cheek.

“Heather, thank you.”

Heather nodded her head in respect.

“And Gideon?” John added in a kind tone.

“Yes?” Gideon replied.

“You are worthy, and so is Daisy. Remember that.”

Gideon nodded the same way Heather had. It was the longest conversation I’d had to date with one of the dead who was moving into the light, but it wasn’t surprising. John’s circumstances were sad and horrible.

“Be careful, Daisy. Everything is not always as it seems,” he said.

His voice grew faint with the advice… or warning. I sure as hell hoped he wasn’t referring to Gideon. But he’d just told Gideon he was worthy. It had to be something else.

Was it Heather? My gut said no. My gut was working quite well lately so I was going to go with it.

“Safe travels, John,” I whispered as he faded away and took the golden light with him.

You could hear a pin drop, the room was so silent. It was clear to me that neither Gideon nor Heather had ever seen someone go into the light. Of course Gideon hadn’t. He sent souls in question into the darkness. I reminded myself that a person basically determined their own fate—not Gideon. He was simply tasked with making sure that it went according to plan. Heather was his counterpart. Although, it surprised me that Heather hadn’t seen souls go into the light since she was the Angel of Mercy. Maybe just Death Counselors saw it. Whatever. I could only imagine the fights Gideon and Heather had had over the centuries.

“Holy shit,” Jennifer shouted as she, June and Missy entered the house. “If I knew there was a party, I would have baked a cake.

The timing was perfect. A few minutes earlier would have been terrible. There was no way I would have abandoned John as he left this world and that would have been seriously hard to explain.

“They can’t see them?” I whispered to Heather as I plastered a smile on my face.

“No,” she said just as quietly.

Sucking in a huge breath, I went to greet my friends. “Guys, you remember Gideon,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

“Who could forget a hottie like that?” Jennifer said.

“Jennifer,” June chastised with an elbow to her side. “He’s a person, not a piece of meat.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Jennifer said with a bellow of laughter.

“You’re behaving like a teenager,” Missy told her as she winked at me. “I think Daisy is trying to tell us something.”

“I sure as hell hope it’s that she got into his pants,” Jennifer said in her usual filter-less way. “And I think women of a certain age should be called queen-agers.”

I kind of wanted to die. Jennifer was a botoxicated loose cannon. Steve thought the entire exchange was hilarious. Thankfully, my new guests didn’t notice.

“Oh my God,” June said, blushing in embarrassment at Jennifer’s behavior. “It’s lovely to see you,” she said politely to Gideon. “Jennifer must still be hungover from last night. I apologize for her behavior.”

“No worries,” Gideon said with a smile on his face that charmed the pants off of my newly arrived friends. “I’m delighted to meet you all again outside of the office—much nicer atmosphere.”

“No kidding,” Jennifer agreed. “Thank God we’re all done with that shitshow.”

“Not following,” Gideon said, confused as he glanced down at me.

“Heather is starting her own firm. We’re all going with her,” I told him.

Gideon took the news in and turned to Heather. “You want a partner?”

Heather sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she said. “I should keep my enemies close and all that jazz.”

“Work just got a whole lot more appealing,” Jennifer said with a cackle as she walked over to the game table and sat right on top of a ghost.

I almost laughed as the specter grunted and flew away, but I sucked it up. Plus, Jennifer was correct. Work did just get a whole lot more appealing.

“We’re playing Trivial Pursuit?” Jennifer questioned.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” I replied, taking a seat at the table.

“I like to cheat,” she announced.

“Then sit by Gideon,” I said with a laugh. “He cheats too.”

“Damn skippy,” Jennifer shouted as she patted the chair next to her. “Bring your fine ass over here, Gideon. I will cheat you right under the table.”

Gideon laughed and shook his head. I was fairly sure he’d never played board games with a bunch of nutty women in his life. His life was about to change for the better.

And so was mine. I could feel it in my gut.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“It’s nice to see that you’re not good at everything,” I said with a grin.

“I find that insulting,” Gideon said, trying to wipe the paint off of his face, only to smear it. “I also find it correct. This is hard.”

I laughed. The Grim Reaper was hot and adorable.

Jennifer, June and I had given notice at the law firm and were told we were not needed to stay on the two weeks. The day we went to retrieve our personal items from the office, Clarissa had tried to have us escorted from the building by security. It was mortifying. June was so upset she’d cried and Jennifer was so furious, she let Clarissa know exactly what she thought of her. It would have been more powerful if Jennifer’s face was capable of expression, but it was still impressive. I was relieved that Heather wasn’t with us. It could have gotten ugly.

In the end, Clarence Smith had saved the day. He was appalled by his daughter’s behavior and made sure that we could get our belongings without being treated like common criminals. He’d wished us all the best and let us know if it didn’t work out, he would welcome us back. Clarence Smith was the polar opposite of his vile daughter. It was strange to think they were truly related.

Thankfully, I’d had no alone time with Clarissa. However, she glared at me the entire time I was there. Gideon and I had never discussed her. There was no need. She was simply a nasty piece of work who would now reside in my past… not my future.

“Could you have done this with magic?” I asked Gideon, referring to the painting of the office.

“Yep,” he replied. “But I don’t want to. This is fun.”

The past two weeks had flown. My days were filled with helping Heather get the new office space ready and my evenings were filled with Gideon. We still hadn’t slept together, but I felt closer to him than if we had.

“Fun for you,” I muttered, glancing up at all the paint he’d gotten on the ceiling. I’d taped the room and he’d somehow painted out of every line that I’d meticulously created. “How about you stick to the middle of the walls and let me do the edges?”

“Sounds like a far better plan that what we’ve got going right now,” he agreed with a grin that made me smile. “How’d you learn to paint so well?”

“Practice,” I told him as I began to re-tape the areas he’d destroyed. “We didn’t have a lot of money growing up and Gram loved to redecorate. Wall painting became my specialty. I painted every room in my farmhouse.”

“You didn’t,” he said, impressed.

“I did,” I shot back, grinning. “Steve chose the colors and the décor and I did the dirty work. I can even do some light plumbing.”

“I have no clue why this is turning me on, but it is,” Gideon said, chuckling.

“Same way I feel when I watch you cook,” I told him, feeling my face heat up a little. “A man who knows his way around a kitchen is some serious hot.”

“And a paint-covered beautiful woman in overalls is my fantasy,” he replied, giving me a look that made me tingle all over.

I’d been ready to throw the no-sex rule out of the window for a week now. There was no pressure from Gideon at all. It was all me. I wanted him so badly I was having trouble sleeping at night. However, my enormous fear of failure held me back.

I’d discussed it with Steve and he’d suggested porn again. I told him absolutely not, but maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea. Embarrassing myself with the man who consumed my thoughts and had moved into a place in my heart was terrifying.

Walking over to the door and closing it, I sat down on a can of paint and summoned my lady balls. “Can we talk about something?”

Gideon eyed me warily, pulled a stepstool over and joined me. “As long as you aren’t going to tell me there’s someone else, I’m all ears.”

His vulnerability was what gave me the confidence to let her rip. He treated me with the same fragile care I treated him with—the way people were with each other in the beginning of a relationship.

“I want to sleep with you,” I said, staring at the brush in my hands.

“I’m over here,” he said with amusement in his tone. “That is, unless you’re talking to the paintbrush.”

I groaned and flicked it at him. Tiny cream-colored paint splatters were now in his blond hair. He already had a bunch of paint in his hair. A little more wouldn’t make a difference.

“You suck,” I told him, making a face. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he said, removing the brush from my hands and taking them in his. “This is very good news. Why are you upset?”

“Not upset,” I promised. “Worried. Terrified.”

Putting his arms around me, he pulled me close. “You’re not the only one,” he said quietly. “I’m pretty sure once I see you naked, it might be over before it even starts.”

“Seriously?” I asked with a giggle.

“Deadly,” he replied. “Sex is just like painting—practice makes perfect.”

I sighed with such audible relief, Gideon laughed. His laugh made me laugh. I’d had no clue that communication and honesty were so sexy and freeing. I was tempted to bang him in the half-painted office. However, getting caught by my friends was enough to put a kibosh on that plan.

“Tonight,” I told him as his smile grew wider. “My house. I’ll tell the squatters to disappear for a while.”

“What about Steve?” Gideon asked.

“He’s been staying with Gram all week in hopes I would come to my senses and bang you,” I said, shaking my head. “He loves us together.”

“As do I,” Gideon said.

Someone so beautiful shouldn’t be so good with words. It was fabulous that he sucked at painting.

Neither one of us had said the L word to each other. The thought of it unnerved me. What I’d thought was love between a man and a woman had not even been remotely right. I loved Steve, but as a friend—a best friend. The reality that I hadn’t been able to figure that out until now made me mistrust my judgment about the entire concept.

“Daisy,” Jennifer called out. “Can you come look at this? I think I mucked up the plumbing under the sink.”

“Why are you doing plumbing work?” I yelled back, horrified. Jennifer was a disaster with anything that had a moving part. She’d single-handedly blown up three copy machines.

“The plumber didn’t show up and I wanted to surprise Heather.”

“Heather will certainly be surprised,” I muttered as I stood up and grabbed a belt with tools on it.

“It’s a damned good thing we’re in public,” Gideon said, wincing and rearranging his junk in his jeans. “I’d bang the hell out of you with that tool belt on.”

“Oh my God,” I said with a laugh. “You’re insane.”

“No. I’m in love,” he replied. “With you.”

The tool belt fell to the floor and my rear end joined it. Speech eluded me, but over the ringing in my ears, I was fairly sure I heard Gideon tell Jennifer I would be there shortly. He gathered me up in his strong arms and joined me on the floor.

“Wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he said.

“I…”

“You do not have to say it back, Daisy. That’s not why I told you,” he said slowly, as if each word that came out of his mouth was as much of a surprise to him as it was to me. “I’m not even sure what the word means, but I’ve never felt like this in the entire time I’ve existed. It has to be love. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“Try,” I whispered. “Try to explain it.”

Gideon was quiet for a long moment as he buried his nose in my hair. “I suppose it’s more of a feeling of excitement and peace. I’d given up so long ago that anyone would ever see me—the real me.”

I stayed silent and waited. My heart beat so loudly in my chest that I was sure he could hear it.

“When I saw you, I felt things… emotions… very unwelcome,” he went on. “I blew it off as lust. Lust would pass. I refused to act on base human needs. Plus, we would be interacting with each other and I didn’t need to complicate things. But then you screwed everything up.”

“How?”

I could literally feel his smile even though I was staring at my knees.

“You were you, Daisy,” he said. “It’s hard to explain. Your smile. Your compassion. The loyalty to your friends. I was jealous of your damn Hell Hound when I first saw you holding her. It was ludicrous. I had no clue what to make of it.”

Again, I waited for more.

“So, I decided to get to know you… feeling certain after I knew you, the ridiculous things I was experiencing would go away.”

“And they didn’t?” I asked.

“Can’t you tell?” he inquired, pulling me closer. “All of a sudden I’m alive after being invisible for millions of years.”

The millions-of-years part was a little shocking since we’d never talked age in numbers, but everything else was damn near perfect.

“Can I admit something?” I asked, raising my eyes to his, feeling sexy and beautiful despite the paint all over me and my ten-year-old overalls.

“Yes.”

“I thought I knew what love was when I married Steve. And I did love him, but it was safe and secure… and it was a lie. I wouldn’t change my time with Steve even if I could. I’m who I am now because of what my life has been,” I said, feeling sort of like I was having an out-of-body experience. Who was this woman speaking?

It was me, and I liked her—was proud of her… was rooting for her to win. “I have no definition of love between a man and a woman, but if it means that thoughts of you and your well-being consume me, every time I see you it feels like Christmas and the thought of spending every minute for the rest of time is love then…” I paused and gathered my jumbled thoughts. I realized I was no longer scared. “This all feels so fast and I’m nuts, but I’ve never been so happy in my life. I’m in love with you, Grim Reaper.”

Gideon’s grin lit his face, making him go from gorgeous to otherworldly beautiful. He stole my breath and my heart.

“Counselor, I’ll take very good care of your love,” he said, kissing me senseless. “You have my word.”

“And I’ll take good care of yours too,” I promised. “Always.”

Jennifer marched into the room twenty minutes later and screamed with delight as she caught Gideon and me in a make-out session worthy of two teenagers—at least we were still dressed.

“Better than porn,” she cackled. “Get your ass to the bathroom sink, Daisy. Lover boy is gonna have to wait unless you wanna make out in a swimming pool.”

“On it,” I said with a bright pink blush staining my cheeks. “I’m on it.”

As I ran out of the room with my tool belt and Jennifer on my heels, she pulled me to a stop.

“Baby, I believe with all my heart that Steve would be real happy for you,” she told me.

I smiled and wanted to cry. She was right. She had no clue how right she was.

“Thank you.” I gave her a hug and rested my head on her shoulder. “I think he would be too.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Steve,” I yelled as I tossed my purse on the foyer table. “You’re going to be so proud of me.”

There was no answer. Maybe he was with Gram. Although, I’d popped into the nursing home after I’d fixed the sink and Steve wasn’t there. Jennifer had been profusely thankful that I’d been able to stop the leak and offered to take me out to our favorite Mexican place. I took a rain check. Of course, the tardy plumber arrived right when I’d finished. He’d been impressed with my handiwork, but I was sure by the time he was finished he would leave a hefty bill. Jennifer had also had a go at trying to repair the toilet.

“Steve,” I called out again. “I have news! Get your butt out here.”

I’d used my new lady balls and told Gram about Gideon last week. She’d rolled her eyes and informed me that Gideon had already been by to tell her. He’d earned massive points by watching a marathon of The Price is Right with her.

She’d apparently grilled him and made him swear on his life that he wasn’t gay. I was delighted to have missed that. In the end, he’d convinced her he was straight and had noble intentions. She was surprisingly fine with the fact that her granddaughter who could see the dead was dating the Grim Reaper.

Weird didn’t even begin to define my life. But my life had never been so good.

“Steve, where are you?”

I searched the family room and the kitchen. There were ten new squatters in different stages of decomposition who’d taken up residence. The superglue had been put to good use. There was one gal who lost her hand several times a day. Thankfully, she thought it was hilarious when I glued it back on. I kind of hoped she stayed around for a while. She was a hoot.

I’d tried the Ouija board with some of my guests, but they didn’t have anything to tell me. My guess was that they weren’t quite ready yet. It didn’t concern me. They would come to me when the time was right.

“Steve?”

An alarming thought hit me. Had Steve gone into the light while I wasn’t here? He’d accomplished his goal for coming back. I felt whole and I’d found my person.

Horrible thoughts accelerated in my mind. They wouldn’t slow down and breathing took effort. I stood still and gathered myself. Steve would roll his eyes at my mini panic attack. We were going to laugh about this as soon as I found him.

I was pretty sure I had to be with the dead in order for them to go into the light, but I’d only been doing it for a few weeks. Starting to feel desperate, I ran through the house looking for my best friend.

“Donna, have you seen Steve?” I demanded as I yanked open the back door and scanned the yard, feeling sick to my stomach. Steve liked to sit under the oak and listen to the birds.

He wasn’t there.

Donna barked but didn’t wag her tail.

“Does that mean yes?” I questioned, sprinting to the stairs and taking them two at a time. Steve and I still had more places to go. There was no way he’d left without saying goodbye.

He’d recently asked to see his gravesite.

I didn’t want to go. It felt morbid. I’d made excuses to get out of driving him to the cemetery. Shit. Who the hell was I not to let him do what he wanted? If he needed to see where he was buried, I should have taken him. We’d do it today.

“Steve,” I yelled, going from room to room.

Something was wrong. I felt it in my bones and my heart. Could someone die twice? My breath started to come in gasps and the chances of me passing out grew high. Steve would never let me live it down if he found me out cold in the hallway.

“Answer me now,” I shouted.

“Daaaauusayy,” I heard a voice call out weakly from our bedroom.

“No, no, no,” I hissed as tears filled my eyes and I slowly pushed the door open.

Steve was on the bed. His eyes were huge and he looked terrified. His state of decay had increased—most of his body was transparent. If I didn’t know in my heart it was him, I might not have recognized my best friend.

The room began to spin and I got down on my hands and knees so I wouldn’t fall. Crawling over to the bed, I tried to steady my breathing so everything would slow down and I could help him. My heart pounded in my chest so fast and hard, I wondered briefly if I was having a heart attack.

“Steve,” I choked out as I pulled myself up onto the bed and lay next to him. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Daaaauusayy. Sooorahy,” he told me, trying to move closer.

He couldn’t. It was like he was lying in state… in a coffin. His dead body was rigid and his pale coloring was now dark gray. Holding back a scream was difficult, but I reminded myself it was Steve—my best friend in the world. It would never matter to me what he looked like on the outside. His insides were pristine and beautiful.

“It’s okay. Nothing to be sorry about,” I said, gently stroking his forehead. “Something is going on and I’ll fix it. Don’t you worry, baby. I’ve got you.”

Steve closed his eyes as much as he could and I think he tried to smile. I had no idea if I was just a conduit for the dead to leave this plane or if I had more power than I was aware of. Could I help him? Shit. I didn’t even know what was happening.

Glancing around the room, I looked for the golden light. It was absent… but a blackish-gray mist was beginning to seep in through the crown molding and from invisible cracks in the floorboards. The smell was rancid, and I swallowed back my bile. My heart skipped beats and my head throbbed. Steve moaned quietly next to me, and I realized that freaking out would accomplish nothing.

“It will be fine. Everything will be fine,” I said, more to myself than him, rolling off the bed and grabbing a basket of clean laundry. I quickly covered Steve with Gram’s afghan to protect him, and then tried to stop the progression of gray-black mist with towels, jeans, t-shirts and sweats. I ran around the room stuffing clean clothes into every crack and crevice that was leaking the deadly fog.

It wasn’t working.

“What do I do?” I muttered frantically. “What the hell do I do?”

Moving back to the bed, I covered Steve with our quilt and wrapped my arms around him. It was a long shot, but maybe he could help me. It would be difficult to understand him, but there was no way in hell I would leave him alone to get the Ouija board.

“Steve,” I said, trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice. “Can you tell me what’s happening? Just talk slow. I’ll be able to understand, baby.”

“Daaaurk.”

“No. You can’t go to the dark,” I growled, glaring at the murky haze and willing it to disappear. “You’re going into the light.”

“Naawwwooo,” he grunted. “Suuuuausiidea.”

“Suicide?” I asked as my gut clenched and my vision blurred. “You didn’t commit suicide.”

“Naawwwooo.”

“Steve, I need you to be straight with me,” I said, and then laughed. It was the most inappropriate laughter that had ever left my lips in my entire life. I’d just told my gay husband I needed him to be straight.

“Fauuhnny,” Steve said in the midst of both of our lives being blown up.

“I’m a regular stand-up comedian,” I said, trying not to cry. “I need you to tell me the truth. Did you commit suicide? I won’t be mad. I need to know.”

“Naawwwooo.”

I heaved a sigh of relief and tried to formulate a plan. For what? I didn’t know. My brain raced a mile a minute and Steve grew more transparent with each second that passed.

“There’s been a mistake,” I whispered to Steve. “What’s happening is wrong. I’m going to stop it.”

“Daaaauusayy. Sooorahy,” Steve whispered. “Laaavaue yooooah alllwauyas.”

“I love you always too,” I told him. “Always.”

I was here to help the dead move on. As far as I knew, they couldn’t do it unless I aided them. The sheer backup of ghosts a few weeks ago was proof of that. Not one of my squatters had gone on without my assistance.

If I left the room, would the darkness not be able to take him? I couldn’t leave him. Not one single thing in this world could pull me away from Steve right now. The house could be on fire and I wouldn’t move.

Could I refuse to let him leave?

“You can’t have him,” I ground out through clenched teeth as the mist grew more menacing and thicker.

Shit.

Could I quit my job and end this horrifying madness? If there was no one to lead the dead, the dead couldn’t go anywhere. It was worth a shot.

“I quit,” I shouted. “I quit. I will no longer help the dead. Do you hear me?” I screamed, having no clue who I was shouting at. God? Satan? I didn’t care. If anyone would listen, that worked for me.

Maybe my lack of belief was going to come back and bite me. Was there a higher power involved? If there was, could they, or it, even hear me?

The mist began to dissipate a little and my confidence increased.

“I do not accept the role of Death Counselor. Never again will I help anyone cross over. I QUIT.”

An eerie howl that sent shivers all through my body came from the floor and the walls. The deadly cloud of gray-black mist began to retreat, leaving sparkling charred-black crystals behind.

My relief was a physical ache that tore through my body like a searing-hot knife. Steve was still here and the mist had evaporated. I had no clue what the repercussions of what I’d just done would be, but I didn’t care. I’d die before I’d let Steve go where he didn’t belong.

“It’s gone,” I whispered, falling back on the bed and biting down on my bottom lip so I didn’t sob.

Steve still looked hideous. Not one of the squatters had ever improved as far as decay went. I had no idea if Steve would be stuck in the state he was in now.

Turning to him, it took every bit of effort in my body to smile and make it look genuine. I was a bad liar and wore my emotions on my face, but I was grateful he was still here. That part was real. I just hoped my expression showed it.

“It’s over,” I told him. “You’re not going anywhere. And someday when I die, we can see the world like we always wanted to.”

“Daaaauusayy. Sooorahy,” he choked out.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” I said. “Someday we’ll go haunt houses and scare people we didn’t like.”

Steve tried to smile, but since most of his jaw was missing it was macabre and heartbreaking.

The squatters gathered in my bedroom even though it was an off-limits area for them. I didn’t care. Their presence was reassuring.

One by one, they touched my head and disappeared.

I closed my eyes and prayed to an entity I didn’t believe in that they would find another way to leave this Earth. I hoped with everything I had that they would find someone who would let them watch reality TV and glue detached body parts back on. However, it was no longer my problem.

The thought made me positively ill.

I’d done what I’d had to do at the expense of others. That wasn’t how I rolled. I was nice. I was polite. But there was no other way. Steve’s afterlife was on the line. I could only hope that the ghosts realized this and would forgive me.

“It’s just me and you now, babe,” I whispered as tears for the dead rolled down my cheeks.

“Daaaauusayy. Geeeodahun.”

“What?” I asked as I felt my blood run cold through my veins. “Say that again.”

Misunderstanding Steve right now could end in tragedy.

“Daaaauusayy. Geeeodahun. Yausssss,” he said.

“Yes what?” I asked, growing light-headed and wanting to die alongside Steve.

His lips continued to move, but no words came out. He became frantic as a myriad of emotions crossed my face. I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It had dropped, crashed to Earth and ripped a hole in my heart that I knew could never be repaired.

“Daaaauusayy,” Steve grunted.

“Stop,” I said softly as my chest hurt so badly, I was sure it would never stop. “It’s okay. I understand. I will make sure he pays.”

Steve’s lips continued to move in a panic-stricken manner, but I couldn’t understand a word he said. It didn’t matter. I knew what had happened. Steve’s death had been in question and Gideon had won. Heather had lost. Steve had been tried and convicted of something he hadn’t done.

And the man I was in love with was responsible.

Correction. The man I now despised was responsible.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Don’t go anywhere,” I said to Steve, and then grimaced.

The absurdity of my statement didn’t escape me at all. My limbs felt like lead and I wanted to sleep for a year, but that was impossible. If there was a way to reverse what had happened to Steve, I was going to get it done.

My happiness was about to go up in flames, but it hadn’t been real. Trusting myself had been a mistake that I’d pay for the rest of my days. Never again. Never.

Steve’s lips still moved, but the garbled sounds made no sense. I couldn’t make out a single word. Maybe the Ouija board would help… maybe not. Not one of my squatters had ever been in this bad of shape. It didn’t matter. I’d figure out something.

Slowly standing up, I glanced down at the black crystals littering the floor. Were they deadly? Avoiding them was impossible. I’d sweep them up later and bury them somewhere. If they were harmful, I didn’t need them to end up at the county dump.

Hurting innocent people wasn’t in me.

Hurting myself? I was an expert at that.

Making my way to the family room, I had to hold on to the walls so I didn’t fall. Every inch of my body hurt, but that was nothing compared to what was happening inside me.

“Gideon. Heather,” I shouted. “Come to me.”

I almost laughed. I didn’t possess magic. I was simply a forty-year-old woman who used to help the dead. Now I was just dead inside. I was unsure if Heather could poof around like Gideon, but my guess was she could. If they didn’t hear me, I would text them.

Gideon heard me.

That was good. I had things to say to him privately that I didn’t want Heather to hear.

The most beautiful and deceitful man I’d ever come across stood before me with an angelic smile on his face. I closed my eyes and tried to block the picture, but his scent still intoxicated me. The memory of his lips on mine and the sound of his laugh tore at my heart. My judgment about people was terrible. Heather was right not to trust Gideon. She’d been my friend for years. I should have listened.

I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I still didn’t want to, but I had no choice. None.

“Couldn’t wait until tonight?” Gideon asked with a crooked grin.

He thought he was here for sex. It was surreal.

“No,” I said with no emotion in my voice. “I couldn’t.”

“Daisy, what’s wrong?” he asked, approaching me.

I held up my hands and backed away. If I hadn’t known what he’d done, the hurt in his eyes would have undone me. But I was a different person than I was a few hours ago. There was no going back to the old Daisy now. She was dead.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I questioned calmly as I tamped back my urge to go to him.

What was wrong with me? He’d decreed that Steve go to the darkness and I wanted to touch him? He knew Steve. He liked Steve. I would never take anything at face value again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gideon replied, putting his hands in his pockets and watching me warily.

“No games, Gideon,” I snapped. “He’s gay. He posed no threat to you and he didn’t kill himself.”

“Again,” Gideon said, his tone turning cooler. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”

I wanted to believe him so badly. I wanted to turn back time and be happy again. But Steve was upstairs in our bed looking like something out of a horror movie. I’d just fought back the darkness that Gideon was in charge of and I’d won—hopefully.

“You lied to me,” I said coldly. “You played me with your bullshit declaration of love and I bought it. And now Steve is paying the price.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Daisy,” Gideon said as his eyes began to glow red.

The time in the park wasn’t my imagination. His eyes had turned red. I swallowed my gasp and stood my ground. However, I couldn’t stop the tears. Whatever. I was who I was. That wasn’t going to change.

“You tried to send him to the darkness,” I shouted, turning away from the shattered look of disbelief in his eyes. It was a lie just like he was. “You failed. You need to fix it.”

“You believe I would do that?” he asked in a harsh tone.

“I saw it,” I yelled. “I lived through it.”

“And you stopped it?” he asked, perplexed.

“I did. And there is nothing you can do about it.”

“How?” he asked.

I couldn’t believe I was going to answer him, but it felt right amidst all the wrong. He should be aware that we were no longer working together. He could move on to a different Death Counselor and charm her.

“I quit,” I said flatly. “I will no longer aid the dead. I’m done.”

“You’re amazing,” he whispered.

I whipped my head around and I pinned him with a glare. “And you’re a sorry excuse for a man or whatever you are. If there’s anything you can do for Steve, I would appreciate it. If not, you need to leave and never come back.”

The words ripped my soul to shreds. My gut said everything about this was wrong, but my gut could no longer be trusted.

“Beware what you wish for, Daisy. Words can destroy,” he warned.

“Correct, Gideon,” I said, meeting his devastated gaze. How did he think I could be with him after what he’d done? “And so can lies.”

“You think I lied to you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, wanting to sit down so badly. My legs were barely holding me up. “Everything about you is a lie. And I’m the idiot who believed you.”

Gideon swore and began to pace the room. My hand went to my mouth involuntarily as shimmering black ebony wings erupted from his back and a golden glow surrounded him. The span of his wings had to be six feet and the shimmering light made them sparkle. The juxtaposition confused me.

“There is much you don’t understand,” Gideon snarled.

“Enlighten me,” I shot back.

He stopped and stared. My breath caught in my throat. He looked like a gorgeous avenging fallen angel. His pain and sadness radiated off of him.

“Why?” he inquired coldly. “You won’t believe me.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to, but he was right. I wouldn’t believe him. How could I? He was the Grim Reaper. He sent souls in question into the darkness. Didn’t he?

Nodding jerkily as the tears flowed freely down my face, I tried one more time. “Is there anything you can do for Steve?”

I was sure I imagined it, but Gideon looked at me with such love and compassion, I sucked in my breath. In a split second it was gone. His expression grew remote and guarded. It was wishful thinking on my part. I was pathetic.

“Since I wasn’t the one who set the wheels in motion, no. There is nothing I can do for Steve,” he informed me in a tone void of emotion.

“Right,” I whispered, shaking my head sadly. “Go. Go away and never come back, please.”

I wanted to belt myself for saying please, but it was ingrained.

Gideon closed his eyes and made a sound from deep in his soul that shredded me even more than what I’d just been through with Steve. I understood the sound. It was happening inside my body and would probably live within me for a very long time.

“I will always love you, Daisy,” he said quietly. “I will take the memories of the last few weeks with me and hold them close for eternity. But we would have never worked. Trust goes hand in hand with love, and you aren’t capable of that.”

I glanced down at my trembling hands and felt faint. I wanted to throw something at him. I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me.

I wanted to touch him.

I wanted to hold him.

“Gideon, I…” I started as I looked up, and gasped.

He was gone. He’d done as I asked.

That was good. He’d lied and tried to send Steve to the darkness. He’d used me. I didn’t buy anything he’d said.

I was a liar as well. My heart believed every word he’d said, but my heart was the organ that had gotten me in trouble most of my life. My head knew I’d done the right thing.

Falling to my knees, I let the exhaustion claim me. Sobs racked my body and I was sure I would cry until the end of time. Crawling to my phone, I texted Heather. Gideon was gone and Steve was still upstairs. I owed it to my dead husband to try to help him.

Gideon had said he couldn’t undo what he hadn’t done.

Maybe Heather could.

* * *

Heather stood in the doorway of my bedroom with an expression of shock on her face. She bent down and scooped up some of the black crystals. They slipped through her fingers and floated back to the floor.

“Can you do anything for him?” I asked hoarsely.

I’d cried so hard my voice sounded like I’d swallowed shards of glass. It had taken Heather a half an hour to get to the farmhouse. When she found me on the floor in the fetal position sobbing, she freaked out. Trying to explain to her what had happened was impossible. Instead, I took her to my bedroom and showed her Steve.

“Oh God,” she gasped out as she approached the bed and looked at him. She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to cry.

“I need your help.”

“You stopped the darkness,” Heather whispered, flabbergasted. “How?”

Gideon had asked the very same question. Had no one ever stopped the darkness?

“I quit my job,” I said. “I’m no longer a Death Counselor.”

“Yet you can still see Steve?” she asked.

My gut clenched in terror for a moment, and I thought I might throw up. Gram couldn’t see the dead since she was no longer the Death Counselor.

My head whipped to the bed. Steve was there—I could see him. My cry of relief was primal and guttural; it sounded foreign and strange to my own ears. But foreign and strange had become par for the course. All that mattered was that I could see him. I wasn’t sure what that meant as far as the rules went, but I didn’t care. I was grateful that I still had the ability.

“Yes,” I choked out. “I see him.”

Heather eyed me for a long moment and shook her head. “Daisy, there is no one like you. No one.”

“Not sure if that’s good or bad,” I replied, moving to Steve and sitting next to him.

He looked bad, but Heather didn’t comment or act repulsed. That was a relief. Even though Heather was one of my dearest friends, I would have kicked her ass. Steve could hear us. He was in enough agony. He didn’t need to be made aware of his revolting appearance.

“Can you help me send him to the light?” I asked.

Heather tilted her head and gave me an odd look. “Why would you think I could help you send Steve into the light?”

The cryptic games were wearing on me, but I would play along. Maybe this was how it worked.

“You’re the Angel of Mercy. You send people into the light.”

Heather paled and sat down on a chair. “I’m not the Angel of Mercy.”

“Yes, you are. You have to be,” I insisted, glaring at her. “You can see the dead and talk to them. You are the Angel of Mercy. Stop playing games. I need you to help me send Steve into the light. I’ll give you anything you want. I just need your help.”

“Oh God, Daisy,” Heather said, letting her head fall to her chest. “You have it all wrong.”

“Have what wrong?” I asked as a feeling of dread washed over me.

“Every good story has a major plot twist,” she said slowly, growing more agitated with each word.

“Go on,” I said, not liking the direction of the conversation, but knowing I needed to hear it.

“The Grim Reaper sends souls in question into the light, and the Angel of Mercy sends them to the darkness—opposite of what you might assume,” she explained. “It’s been that way since the beginning of time. It’s for balance and to eliminate conflict of interest.”

“Don’t,” I said. “Do not screw with me.”

Heather stood and began to pace the room. “I’m not,” she whispered. “I would never do that to you.”

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Gideon had not lied to me. Steve had tried to tell me, and I didn’t understand. Even John had warned me that everything was not as it seemed. Gideon had not sent Steve into the darkness—and I was the biggest idiot alive.

I couldn’t even comprehend what I’d done and right now wasn’t the time to rip myself a new one.

Had Heather done this to Steve? That didn’t seem right, but it was the only option left. My body trembled violently. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do this?”

Heather stopped in confusion and looked at me. “Daisy, I didn’t do this.”

Fury consumed me It had happened. I witnessed it. I was there. Someone had to be responsible. If it wasn’t Gideon and it wasn’t Heather, who was it?

“Fine,” I said harshly. “I’ll play along. If you’re not the Angel of Mercy, who in the hell is?”

“Clarissa,” Heather replied. “Clarissa is the Angel of Mercy.”

The need to scream or destroy something was overwhelming. Sitting still wasn’t going to work. I’d implode.

Hopping off the bed, I stripped off my clothes and yanked on running gear.

Clarissa had warned me. She had warned me to my face. She had destroyed me in every way possible, and I’d played right into her plans. I’d banished the man I was in love with and destroyed my best friend in the process.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I ground out between clenched teeth, wanting to put my fist through the wall. “From their titles, I would think the Grim Reaper was the bad guy and the Angel of Mercy was the good one. Even with what you told me they do, this makes no sense. Clarissa is the damned definition of evil.”

“Nothing is black or white,” Heather said, running her hands through her hair and closing her eyes. “The simplest way to explain it is that Clarissa is a Heavenly Angel—so to speak—and Gideon is a Demon… or a fallen Angel. Bad people do good things and good people do bad things. Existence is a shade of gray. Living forever takes its toll on people.”

“I’d hardly call them people. People don’t live forever,” I snapped.

Heather opened her eyes and leveled me with a stare. “What would you call me?”

Meeting her gaze, I was at a loss. I had no idea. My understanding of just about everything was completely screwed.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said emotionlessly. “I don’t even know.”

Turning my back on her, I walked over to Steve and gently tucked the covers around him. It made no difference. I was aware he felt no real physical pain, but it helped me. Quickly pulling a copy of my will from the safe under the bed, I thrust the papers into Heather’s hands.

“Everything goes to Gram,” I said. “Make sure it happens, please.”

“What are you going to do?” Heather asked, alarmed.

“I fucked up, Heather.”

Her expression would have made me laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. I never dropped the F-bomb. I’d never dropped one in my life. However, the F-bomb was merited now. Tons of F-bombs were merited.

“Talk to me. Please,” she insisted.

“What are you?” I asked as I tied my tennis shoe and broke a lace in my rage.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you?” I snapped, getting frustrated and grabbing another pair of running shoes. “You’re not the Grim Reaper and you’re not the Angel of Mercy. What are you?”

Heather only paused for a moment. “I’m the Arbitrator. I’m the Arbitrator between Heaven and Hell.”

“They exist?” I demanded. “Heaven and Hell are real? God and Satan are real?”

“Depends on your definition, but yes,” she told me.

I didn’t have time to even get into that right now. I had an Angel of Mercy to eliminate.

“Daisy,” Heather said in a worried tone. “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’m going to kill Clarissa,” I said so calmly, Heather blanched. “In the space of several hours, I’ve destroyed my entire life. And she warned me. The piece of shit warned me and I didn’t listen.”

“Daisy, that’s not allowed,” Heather said, putting her hand on my arm.

“She tried to send Steve to the darkness based on a lie and her hatred of me,” I hissed. “I should just forget about that?”

“No,” Heather said, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose and sighing. “No, you shouldn’t, but…”

I stopped for a moment and tried to make sense of my thoughts so I could make Heather understand why this was the only way. I knew Steve wouldn’t get better. In my act of saving him, I might have very well sentenced him to a life of nothingness.

“Heather, I just banished Gideon from my life because I blamed him for what happened to Steve,” I said flatly.

“Gideon didn’t try to defend himself?” she questioned, startled.

I shook my head and laughed. It was a hollow, ugly laugh. “He tried. I wouldn’t listen. Seems like that’s a pattern for me lately. Hence, I systematically just decimated any chance of happiness I will ever have. It’s gone. I have myself to thank for that—not Clarissa. She started the ball rolling. I grabbed it and ran it in for a touchdown. However, she played with Steve’s fate because she was jealous of Gideon and me. She’ll pay for that. And for what she did, she dies.”

“Sit down,” Heather demanded. “Now.”

“I’ll give you five minutes,” I said, still standing. “If you want to represent me in my murder trial, I’d appreciate it. You’ll probably lose and that might not be good for business. I’ll understand if you don’t want me for a client. However, I am going to kill her and it’s completely premeditated.”

Heather’s laugh was so shocking, I almost smiled. But smiling wasn’t in my repertoire right now.

“Let me start by saying I would love for Clarissa to be eliminated from this world. However, it’s not an option. She can’t be killed.”

“Are you serious?” I shouted.

“I am,” Heather said. “Here’s the real question. Do you want Steve to stay in this state forever?”

I paled and sat. It didn’t occur to me that he would be like he was right now until the end of time… if time actually ended.

“No.”

“Fine,” Heather said. “I’ll represent you.”

“I thought you said Clarissa couldn’t die,” I said, confused now.

“There are far worse things than death, Daisy,” she said with the beginnings of a smile. “Far, far worse.”

“Clarissa’s decision was wrong. Steve didn’t commit suicide. Why can’t it just be reversed?”

“Once a decree has been made, it stands,” Heather said. “However, in this case…”

That was all I needed to hear. I was in. “Tell me what I have to do.”

“You won’t like it.”

I sighed and pressed my lips together. The choices were not many. I was sure none of them were good, but at this point it didn’t matter. As long as Clarissa would pay for what she’d done and Steve wouldn’t be left like a dead vegetable, I was game. Gideon was gone. Due to my stupid habit of assuming I knew what the hell was going on, Gideon and I could probably not be fixed. It would forever be the biggest mistake I’d made, and I had to live with it. However, I was never going to assume anything again. If that was my lesson the price had been damned high.

“I don’t care. I’ll do it.”

So, she told me. She told me in great detail what had to be done. It was far more horrifying than what I’d imagined. But Heather had given me something.

Heather had given me hope.

There was a blinding golden light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

And maybe if I came through it in one piece with a small bit of my sanity intact, I’d search for Gideon and apologize. I didn’t think he would accept, but I would find him someday and tell him.

He deserved that.

And I owed it to him… because I still loved him. Not that it would make a difference in the end, but I knew. And that would have to be good enough.

“When do we start?” I asked.

“We start now,” she replied.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

Heather looked at me for a long moment, and then sighed. “Daisy, you can get your happiness back too. Love doesn’t disappear that easily.”

I smiled but I doubted it. Heather hadn’t been here when it went down between Gideon and me, but it was a nice thought—one I’d hold on to.

Forty was a shitty year, and it had barely started. Midlife had been one hell of a bumpy ride so far. I chose to believe midlife was a journey—not a destination. It was the only way I could go forward without breaking.

There was no other choice. My best friend’s afterlife was on the line… and possibly my happiness.

May the best woman win.

The End… for now

More In The Good To The Last Death Series

ORDER BOOK TWO NOW!

Midlife’s a journey. Enjoy the ride. Crisis included.

Never knew that life after death was far more dangerous than real life.

Never in my forty years did I think my new normal would be gluing body parts back onto ghosts and hosting a houseful of dead squatters. Thank God for superglue and a strong stomach.

Never thought I’d date the Grim Reaper and that I would be the one to blow it. I mean, how idiotic does one have to be to get dumped by a dude who lives in Hell?

Going about business as usual is not usual in any way. No one is who they seem to be… and to be honest, neither am I. What I’d known to be true has turned out to be myth. The Angels are frightening and the Demons are hot. Wait. I meant not. Who am I kidding? The Grim Reaper is very hot—like a freaking pre-menopausal hot flash hot.

Now I’m in a race against time and all sorts of unsavory supernatural horrors to save my deceased gay husband’s afterlife. And that was a sentence I never thought would leave my lips.

Whatever. I’ll yank up my big girl panties, stock up on wine and lean on my girlfriends as needed. As they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get inebriated… or something like that.

With everything to lose, I have no choice but to grow some lady balls. That I can do. I just hope balls will be enough.

I had planned to live midlife in peace, not in pieces.

Good luck to me…

Robyn’s Book List

(in correct reading order)

HOT DAMNED SERIES

Fashionably Dead

Fashionably Dead Down Under

Hell on Heels

Fashionably Dead in Diapers

A Fashionably Dead Christmas

Fashionably Hotter Than Hell

Fashionably Dead and Wed

Fashionably Fanged

Fashionably Flawed

A Fashionably Dead Diary

Fashionably Forever After

Fashionably Fabulous

A Fashionable Fiasco

Fashionably Fooled

More coming soon…

SEA SHENANIGANS SERIES

Tallulah’s Temptation

Ariel’s Antics

Misty’s Mayhem

Madison’s Mess

Petunia’s Pandemonium

Jingle Me Balls

SHIFT HAPPENS SERIES

Ready to Were

Some Were in Time

No Were To Run

Were Me Out

Where We Belong

MAGIC AND MAYHEM SERIES

Switching Hour

Witch Glitch

A Witch in Time

Magically Delicious

A Tale of Two Witches

Three’s A Charm

Switching Witches

HANDCUFFS AND HAPPILY EVER AFTERS SERIES

How Hard Can it Be?

Size Matters

Cop a Feel

If after reading all the above you are still wanting more adventure and zany fun, read Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures, the romance novel budding novelist Rena was helping wicked Evangeline write in How Hard Can It Be?

Warning: Pirate Dave Contains Romance Satire, Spoofing, and Pirates with Two Pork Swords.

PWF Pal Pimping

Betwixt by Darynda Jones

Divorced, desperate, and destitute, former restaurateur Defiance Dayne finds out she has been bequeathed a house by a complete stranger. She is surprised, to say the least, and her curiosity gets the better of her. She leaves her beloved Phoenix and heads to one of the most infamous towns in America: Salem, Massachusetts.

She’s only there to find out why a woman she’s never met would leave her a house. A veritable castle that has seen better days. She couldn’t possibly accept it, but the lawyer assigned to the case practically begs her to take it off her hands, mostly because she’s scared of it. The house. The inanimate structure that, as far as Dephne can tell, has never hurt a fly.

Though it does come with some baggage. A pesky neighbor who wants her gone. A scruffy cat who’s a bit of a jerk. And a handyman bathed ink who could moonlight as a supermodel for GQ.

She decides to give it three days, and not because of the model. She feels at home in Salem. Safe. But even that comes to a screeching halt when people begin knocking on her door day and night, begging for her help to locate their lost objects.

Come to find out, they think she’s a witch. And after a few mysterious mishaps, Dephne is beginning to wonder if they’re right.

BUY NOW!

Note From The Author

If you enjoyed reading It’s A Wonderful Midlife Crisis, please consider leaving a positive review or rating on the site where you purchased it. Reader reviews help my books continue to be valued by resellers and help new readers make decisions about reading them.

You are the reason I write these stories and I sincerely appreciate each of you!

Many thanks for your support,

~ Robyn Peterman

Want to hear about my new releases?

Visit robynpeterman.com and join my mailing list!

More Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Need more Paranormal Women’s Fiction to tide you over? You can check out more of the amazing authors in the genre at:

www.paranormalwomensfiction.net

You will find fantastic books by my buddies; Darynda Jones, Mandy M. Roth, Michelle M. Pillow, Shannon Mayer, K.F. Breene, Jana DeLeon, Denise Grover Swank, Eve Langlais, Kristen Painter, Deanna Chase, Elizabeth Hunter and Christine Bell

About Robyn Peterman

Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke (the drink not the drug LOL) with extra ice in a Yeti cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting stray animals.

A former professional actress with Broadway, film and T.V. credits, she now lives in the South with her family and too many animals to count.

Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where she can work in sweatpants works really well for her.

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