by Lotta Smith
“Yes, I’m back!” Giselle grinned from ear to ear.
“I’m afraid so,” I groaned.
“Oh, Mandy. Don’t look so grim.” Giselle giggled like a young woman. Somehow, she seemed to have lost her previous sternness. “I have about forty minutes until the next bus leaves for the afterlife.”
“Excuse me? Are you going to the afterlife by bus?” I said, astonished.
“Interesting, huh?” Giselle flashed a cocky grin. “Actually, I was presented with some other options like a rocket, boat, plane, but I decided to go on a bus because I’ve taken way too many boat and plane rides, and I don’t feel comfortable with rockets. Anyway, I was going to say good-bye to my friends and acquaintances, but then again, most of them are already dead. So I came back to ask Rick for a dance.”
“Rick, Giselle is asking you for a dance,” I told Rowling, who was looking quizzically at my conversation with an invisible and inaudible counterpart.
“A dance?” He raised an eyebrow.
“She had a huge crush on your granddad, and she says you look just like him.” I filled him in with the information Giselle had previously shared with me.
After a moment of silence, he nodded, with his iPhone in one hand. “Okay. What about music? Any songs you want to dance to?”
“L.O.V.E by Frank Sinatra,” I caught Giselle saying, and I tried to relay the words to Rowling, but that wasn’t necessary.
Before I said anything, the sweet and happy song was playing. Marcus Warne-Smith, the butler who had been inconspicuously staying at the grand foyer all the while, gave us a big smile and thumbs up.
“By the way, how are you going to—?” I opened my mouth to ask Giselle how she would dance with Rowling, but before I finished my sentence, I heard the ghost of a previously cranky old lady giggling.
“Can I borrow your body? Thank you!”
My eyes widened. First of all, I wasn’t even a decent dancer, much less a good dancer. On rare occasions when I actually danced with a partner, I spent most of my time stepping and stomping on his toes. Secondly, I wasn’t expecting to lend my body to her—because you’re not supposed to loan your body to anyone!
“May I?” Before I opened my mouth to protest, Rowling was already taking my hand with a smile.
“My pleasure.” My lips moved and uttered those words against my will. It was a surreal experience. I was conscious and I could see, hear, and feel everything happening to me, but somehow, my body was making moves I could never manage when I had total control of my body.
I was dancing. Rowling led me with the music, and I was making every move of the foxtrot correctly… elegantly, even.
I didn’t know which was weirder—the fact that my foot never landed on his toes, or that I actually enjoyed and savored this special moment like a treasure.
I caught a glimpse of the Miranda Wollf’s rosary—abandoned on the floor—in the corner of my eyes. It looked like it was vibrating on its own, glimmering with a dark blue hue, and then it turned into a colony of very small spiders… But maybe I was just daydreaming. When I closed my eyes and then opened them, the rosary and the spiders were nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER 10
A week later, I was summoned to Hernandez’s corner office at the FBI’s New York City field office. Meeting Hernandez for a brief chat had become my mandatory ritual. I didn’t really fancy this ritual, but I had no choice.
It was a sunny Monday. Thanks to the bright light filling the office, Assistant Director in Charge looked somewhat happy. As I entered his office, the phone rang and he took it. Instinctively, I stepped back to excuse myself, but he gestured me to stay.
“Oh, really? That was brilliant, huh?” As I heard him talking to someone on the other end, I suspected he was on some drug.
“Hello, Ms. Meyer. I’m much obliged for your good work.” Putting the phone down on the cradle, Sheldon Hernandez practically smiled. “Guess who just gave me a call?”
“I have no idea, sir.” Taken aback, I responded with a hesitant smile. As I was used to seeing the head of the New York City field office with his default facial expression of a big scowl topped with deep frown lines between his eyes, seeing him grinning like a little kid opening presents on Christmas morning was scary.
“It was Captain DeLaurentis of the NYPD. She thanked me for sending the two of you to the crime scene,” Hernandez continued. “She was practically uttering her words through gritted teeth.”
“Oh, that is…,” I muttered. “It sounds like you have quite a history with Captain DeLaurentis.” Just in case I said something I shouldn’t have said, I didn’t forget to cover up my final few words by chuckling.
“A history? Yes, I think you can call it a history.” Still grinning, Hernandez crossed his arms. “We used to be married.”
My jaw dropped.
“With a daughter,” he went on, showing me a photo of him and a girl. “This was taken a few years back. She’s such a beautiful lady, isn’t she?”
“Sure, she is so adorable,” I agreed. I didn’t say that she was so lucky to inherit her mother’s DNA in her looks.
“Anyway, I’m excited to see that your skill to interview dead persons is working. Now you can go.”
And he dismissed me.
* * *
“Oh my God, oh my God, OHMYGOD!” The moment I came out of Hernandez’s office, Jackie started shrieking beside my right ear. “I can’t believe that guy was married to that sexy captain!”
“I know!” I agreed, pretending I was using my cell phone. Even in the FBI’s New York City field office, my skill to talk to dead people and the presence of Jackie were kept from most agents and assistants. Not that I signed a confidential clause regarding my supernatural communication skill, but I didn’t fancy it when they talked about me as the woman who talks to the dead.
I went into the office of Paranormal Cases Division. “Guess what, Rick? Captain DeLaurentis is Hernandez’s ex-wife!”
“Is that news?” Rowling, who was sitting at his desk, cocked his head to the side. “I thought you knew.”
“What? I so didn’t know it. I can’t believe you kept me out of the loop on that matter,” I said, pretending I didn’t see the third person in the office, who was sitting on—not at—my desk, and it wasn’t easy to miss him. He was a huge man—about 6’5” with the body of a former NFL draft. He was wearing a black sports coat made of glistening fabric—black shirt, black trousers, paired with a black tie with a black Swarovski tie tack. Even his top hat was black, made from Italian leather. The only item that wasn’t black was the pigeon-blood-colored vest, which literally gleamed like blood around his chest and stomach armored with hard muscles, and his frizzy blond hair, which was worn in a low ponytail. His outfit screamed “mob!” but technically, he wasn’t. His name was Brian Powers, the exorcist who happened to be Captain DeLaurentis’s backup plan in case my interview with Giselle had failed.
“Speaking of keeping someone out of the loop, what you guys did to me was downright outrageous. Don’t you think so?” said Brian, in his signature low-pitched voice, which incurred many dark thoughts.
“Oh, hi, Brian!” I gasped like I finally noticed he was there. “By the way, will you move from my desk? We have an extra chair, if you please.”
“Excuse me?” Brian raised one of his eyebrows. “You’re treating me like I’m the one who took something from you. If I recall right, Mandy, you’re the one who stole my gig, don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrugged, making a mental note to myself to practice performing a one-eyebrow raise. Recently, I had noticed that I was only at the receiving end of one-eyebrow raises, so I had to place myself at the giving end sometime.
“Neither do I,” Rowling chimed in.
When we heard from Captain DeLaurentis about her back-up plan to have Brian Powers exorcise Giselle, we knew it was trouble, especially after closing the case before the exorcist had a chance to show his super-duper
skills to the world. So Rowling and I got our story straight that we heard nothing about Brian in the first place.
“You know, Brian, I didn’t do anything. The case somehow closed on its own.” I was going to chuckle a little, to lighten up the mood, until the exorcist gave me the eye.
“Very funny. First, you steal my gig, and then you’re covering up that fact with a lie. Watch your nerve, Amanda Meyer!” I flinched as Brian’s voice boomed. Did I mention his voice was powerful and, at the same time, menacing enough to shake several case files off the shelves?
His voice worked magic when getting rid of ghosts and evil spirits, which was the reason Jackie disappeared the moment she caught a glimpse of this certain exorcist. Jackie sort of fancied Brian at first, because Brian practically looks like a younger and blond version of Joe Manganiello with long hair! According to her, it was a shame that this exorcist pf such a sweet eye candy came with his voice and temper.
Rowling shushed him with a wave of one hand. “Don’t even think about destroying my office. This place is made of taxpayer’s money.”
“Don’t bring up taxpayers when you have zero respect for people like us!” Brian snapped, and then he turned to me. “Hello? It was meant to be my big break! That day, I was going to exorcise the hottest mansion in the haunted properties industry, which should have grabbed all the media attention and scored me book deals, TV shows, and a smorgasbord of endorsements!” Brian went on nonstop in his loud voice.
“Wow, I didn’t know there was a haunted properties industry.” I approached him, extending my hands to push him off my desk. “Brian, you really need to move.”
“Hey! Don’t touch me!” Scowling, the noisy exorcist got off my desk. He had this annoying habit of avoiding physical contact with me at all costs, mostly because he regarded me as the Grim Reaper, and he believed touching me was lethal. “I’ve had enough with you stealing my gig! Now are you going to steal my life as well, or what?”
“I told you I’m not the Grim Reaper!” I snapped back. “Look, Rick’s not getting hives or dying, is he?” I demonstrated by reaching for my boss.
“See? I’m still alive,” Rowling said, taking my hand in midair and bringing my fingers toward his lips.
“Rick, you can release my hand now. Thank you.” I retrieved my hand before he kissed it.
“Ha!” Snorting, Brian pointed his finger at me. “Don’t get high hopes, Mandy. Rick Rowling is a known womanizer from his high school days, and you’re not his type!”
“Shut up, Brian. Do you want me to tell my assistant about your relationship with a certain Vitamin C song?” Rowling snapped at the annoying exorcist before I could react.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brian retorted, but assuming from the way he fidgeted with his hands and words, it didn’t require rocket science to tell me he fully understood what his friend was referring to.
According to Rowling, he and Brian Powers were classmates from high school. I had read and heard about many good things about this particular private school, some of which mentioned that many Upper East Side moms would practically kill to get their kids into that school. But seeing the two alumni in front of my eyes arguing, I didn’t think sending kids to their school was such a good idea.
“Where’s Jackie?” Brian said abruptly.
“She’s not here. She’s a little shy,” I replied. Perhaps describing the outgoing ghost of a drag queen as shy was a stretch, but I couldn’t just say, ‘You scare the bejeezus out of her, so she’s hiding,’ in front of him. I didn’t know if Brian was gay, but it was funny that both the exorcist and Jackie somehow showed interest for each other, and they even shared the drama queen traits, but one avoided the other. Jackie never showed up when Brian was around for fear of getting exorcised by Brian once he laid eyes on her. I didn’t know what would happen if you got exorcised, but I knew Jackie had to find her killer for closure, and I was hoping to help her.
“Oh yeah?” Brian crossed his arms. “Maybe Jackie is just your imaginary friend.”
“That sounds so much like sour grapes.” I shrugged off his accusation as I was getting used to it. Jackie’s avoidance of the exorcist was fanatical enough to drive Brian to wonder if I made her up, and I had to make my point.
“Did you just say sour grapes to me?” Brian narrowed his eyes. “That’s not at all sour grapes! I was just trying to warn you. It’s dangerous to communicate with the dead with no formal training whatsoever.”
“I see. You have a point,” I said. “Hey, do you happen to know any ways to turn off the voices of the dead people?” I was a little serious. I had a hunch that losing my ability to talk with dead people would make my life easier.
“Mandy, don’t forget that your potential raise comes from your newly acquired communication skill,” Rowling interrupted before Brian had a chance to say anything.
I groaned. “If only the dead people would tell me the winning numbers for Powerball!”
“I know,” Brian agreed. “Why do they always have to tell me things like getting murdered, betrayed, and such? Can’t they tell me more useful info—such as sport betting tips, at least?”
“By the way, Brian, there’s something you should see.” Chuckling, Rowling took out a piece of paper from his desk drawers.
“What’s that—Jesus H. Christ!” Brian gasped.
“What?” I stood up and peeked at it. “Ohmigod!” I gasped.
It was a printout of the group photo of Captain DeLaurentis, Rowling, and me. Like I remembered, I was forcing a teary smile in the center between Captain DeLaurentis and Rowling, but the three of us were not the only people in the photo. In the space between the two taller people and the top of my head, Giselle McCambridge and Jackie were smiling, sporting thumbs up.
“Oh my God…,” I muttered. “They photobombed!”
“Get out! I’ve never seen such a clear ghost photograph.” Brian exclaimed. “Hell, I should have crashed your meeting.”
“This person here’s Jackie, right?” Rowling asked me, pointing at the drag queen posing next to Giselle in the photo.
“Yes.” I nodded like a bobblehead. I turned to Brian. “Do you still suspect that I made Jackie as my imaginary friend?”
“Hell no,” Brian said grudgingly. “I believe you. You’re not making Jackie up.”
“I told you.” I wiggled my fingers.
“Stop doing that to me, Meyer.” The exorcist hissed through his gritted teeth.
“Hey, Brian, if you like, you can take it home.” Rowling winked. “Maybe you can post it on your blog. I’m sure this photo will go viral. You may even end up having your own TV show.”
“I will!” Snatching the photo from Rowling and smiling from ear to ear, Brian stood up. “Okay, now I’m leaving, but when you’re in trouble, don’t hesitate to call me. You’ll have a friendship discount. Thanks!” The aggressive exorcist left like a storm.
“Hmm, the guy needs to learn to slow down, but I have a hunch he won’t understand.” As the door shut, Rowling chuckled.
“I can almost picture his high school days. He was a jock, wasn’t he?” I asked.
“No. Actually, he was a nerd posing as a jock.” Rowling snorted, but I didn’t miss a small smile coming across his lips.
“Uh-huh, I can imagine. What about you, Rick?”
“Me? I was un-categorical, but the fact is, I happened to be the most intelligent, sensitive, and sensible person in the whole class.”
“So, you were a jock. I can picture that,” I commented.
“Hey, that’s not what I said.” Rowling rolled his eyes.
“So, Rick, was that photo fake?”
“What? No, the photo is 100 percent real.”
“Really? I didn’t feel them during the photoshoot with the captain.”
“That’s because you were practically crying your guts out back then,” he suggested.
“I wasn’t crying, and I don’t cry my guts out,” I protested.
; “Yes, you were. You were like, ‘Did I do everything right? Oh my God, I miss her sooo much!’” For the emphasis, he added some hand gestures.
“I wasn’t crying!” I lied, slapping his arm. “I was just… thinking.”
“About what?”
“I don’t remember. I was tired.”
“Oh, yeah?” Rowling didn’t seem to be convinced.
I said, “Are you sure giving Brian that photo is a good idea? Given the clarity of the photo and the fact that a victim of a high-profile case was photobombing, the Internet will go all rave.”
“I doubt it. Most people will regard it as a photoshopped product.” He shrugged. “By the way, Wilfred McCambridge called. He was very grateful for you.”
“Oh, really? What’s going to happen to Stacy?” I asked. I knew it was none of my business and there was nothing I could do for her, but I was concerned about her.
“DA just dropped charges on her.”
“Oh my God! That’s wonderful!”
“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “I just smell politics, considering that the next DA election is closing in.”
“Please let me have a chance to feel good about something, anything, with this case.” I let out a sigh.
“Okay, then. What about this?” A corner of Rowling’s lip quirked up into a smile. “Stacy’s dad, I mean, Andy Wilcox, had surgery, which turned out exceptionally well. Following the surgery, Stacy and her mom came clean with Andy about Stacy’s birth. And guess what? Andy said he knew that, but he has always regarded and loved Stacy as his own child, regardless of the DNA.”
“That’s sweet.” I felt a smile spreading over my face. Stacy’s birth secret and her—and her mom’s—relationship with Andy Wilcox had been bugging me since the day I found out. So my job was to assist the FBI—and the NYPD, sometimes—to close each case. Then again, unlike mystery novels and TV cop shows, everyone’s life went on even after the case was closed.
“Mandy, you’re much more sentimental than I expected,” Rowling commented.
“I happen to be a sensitive and sensible person, you know. Besides, it’s nice to keep up with all the juicy gossips. Anything else?”
