It's a Ghost's Life

by Erin McCarthy

  I took the chance of stepping forward and it worked. He gracefully moved out of the way. “I’m Bailey Burke,” I said. “Vera and my grandmother were very close. I actually took them both to lunch and out shopping yesterday.”

  He had spoken about Vera in the past tense so he clearly knew she had passed.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised given her age,” he said. “But it still shocked me when Eva called. I just saw her myself on Friday night.” He peeled his scarf off. “God, I’m so glad I happened to be in town for work and got one last visit with her.”

  Stanley was shaking his head and looked genuinely upset. “I’m so sorry,” I told him. “I’m sorry to catch you off guard here, too. I didn’t realize any family was in town.”

  He waved his hand in dismissal. “No, it’s fine. I didn’t tell Eva and Steven I’m here because well, they’re not, and I didn’t really know them well anyway. Vera was only married to my father for a few years, but it was a critical time for me. She was more fairy godmother, quite literally, than stepmother to the slightly chubby teen gay named Stanley. My father was in denial about my sexual orientation but Vera knew and was completely accepting of me.” He cleared his throat. “She gave me confidence when I didn’t have any.”

  His story touched my heart. “She had enough confidence for all of us,” I murmured.

  He gave a little laugh. “That she did.”

  I reached down and swiped up the champagne bottle and my glass. “I was toasting to Vera. Can I get you a glass?”

  “Why the hell not?” Stanley said, with a shrug. “I was supposed to be flying home in the morning but now I’m going to stay for the funeral. It’s just me and a lovely room at the Ritz tonight.”

  Because staying at the Ritz must be hell. Not. But I immediately berated myself for the rude thought. He’d just visited Vera and now she was gone. I felt sympathetic toward him.

  “Let me put these letters back,” I said, handing him the bottle of champagne. “I don’t want anything to get messed up.”

  “Anything juicy?” he asked, with a grin.

  “Some love letters, but nothing untoward. Then a nasty letter from a woman named June, who called Vera a homewrecker.” I just threw it out there to see if Stanley would react.

  He did. His nose wrinkled. “Ah, and that would be my mother. She blamed Vera for my parents’ marriage ending, but the way I remember it, it was more from her tendency to go on four-day-long-gin-and-tonic benders with a chaser of cocaine. Dad was a rising music producer and Mom was a fading ingénue.”

  How very L.A.

  “Oh, dear,” I said, putting the letters back in the box and closing the lid. “It’s a tale as old as time. Man leaves his wife for a younger woman.” Though usually minus the cocaine. I think.

  “Oh, no, not in this case. It infuriated my mother that Dad left her for Vera, who was in fact, older than her.”

  “Wow.” Though I shouldn’t be surprised. Vera had it going on.

  We went downstairs and into the dining room. I grabbed another glass for Stanley and we sat down at the kitchen table. Vera’s pill bottles were still sitting there. I poured the champagne into the two glasses and handed one to Stanley, patting my pocket for my phone. I didn’t feel in danger at all but it pays to play it safe.

  Though I suppose drinking bubbly with a stranger doesn’t constitute playing it safe. I pictured Marner’s reaction to this. Lots of sighing and headshaking. Maybe an “Are you insane?” added in for good measure.

  “So what brought you by tonight?” I asked him, realizing he hadn’t exactly offered an explanation.

  “I got the call from Eva this afternoon and I was sitting in my hotel, feeling restless. So I decided to just take a drive to her townhome, I’m not sure why. But then I saw a light on so I decided to make sure everything was okay. Then I heard Glenn Miller and was totally confused.”

  “I didn’t even hear you unlock the door,” I said, fishing a little as I took a tiny sip.

  “The door was unlocked.”

  Weird. That was so not like me. But why on earth would Stanley lie about that?

  “So nothing looks odd to you in here?” I asked. “Nothing missing?”

  He started. “Why would you ask that?”

  I shrugged. “She has a lot of nice things. The housekeeper said nothing was missing but I wasn’t sure what with people in and out of the townhome last night.”

  “Pam told you that?” Stanley asked, shaking his head and looking disgusted. “I wouldn’t trust a word that woman said. I’ve told Vera for years that she should fire her. I am convinced she was a pill popper.” He gestured to the table. “I bet she’s the one who left all these bottles here. Vera died, she snagged what she could without it looking too suspicious.”

  I tried to visualize that. So Pam had come over arguably this morning and stolen pills? It was possible, though if anything she’d just stolen pills that were already out on the table because the cops had told Jake the night before there were pills all over the kitchen and bathroom.

  I was starting to wonder if everyone was right and I needed to let this whole homicide angle go. Vera wasn’t following me begging me to solve her murder. No one else seemed to think anything was odd about her death.

  “How was she Friday night?” I asked Stanley. “Did she seem out of it to you?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not at all.” He titled his head. “Though, now that I think about it. She did call me Trevor at one point, which was her second husband’s name. But I just think that was a random slip-up.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that Trevor had been the one she’d married twice. The man she had described as the love of her life. I wished I had thought to ask her if she felt now that she presumably had loved all her husbands, and her two fiancés.

  Was it possible to love that many men?

  I had no clue. So far, I had only loved two, and I wasn’t looking to up my numbers any time soon. “How was her marriage to your father, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I need more champagne for that.” He poured more into his glass. “They were fire and ice. Oil and water. It was passion and spontaneous trips and smoky nights of jazz. He threw a glass at the fireplace one night and she slapped him for it.” Stanley shrugged. “It was a different time, but also, they had that relationship where they loved each other but couldn’t live with each other. I think ultimately Vera loved herself more than any of her husbands, to be honest.”

  Which made her a woman that would inspire all kinds of reactions. Some not so very positive.

  “I can’t even imagine slapping a man. That is so not me.” I also didn’t think it was particularly socially acceptable anymore, but maybe I’m wrong. I’m not going to test the theory.

  “I’m not volunteering to be your first,” he said dryly.

  That made me laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “If I’m going to be slapped by anyone it damn well better be a jealous lover.”

  Hard pass on that. I don’t want to either be slapped or have a jealous lover. I like things simple, easy, steady. Which is why being a medium wasn’t exactly working out for me. I can’t handle the stress of the unpredictable.

  I tried to find a tactful way to ask my question. “Is your father still… alive? Did he and Vera keep in touch?”

  “My father is still alive but he’s in a nursing home. His health is failing quickly. He and Vera have always kept in touch though. It’s a fascinating friendship and love.”

  For some reason my friendship with Ryan popped into my head. Then I instantly dismissed that thought. It wasn’t the same. We haven’t been lovers.

  “I find that very touching,” I said.

  “Or dysfunctional,” he said dryly. “One or the other.”

  “So what do you do in Los Angeles?” I asked, draining my champagne glass.

  “I’m a composer.”

  “That sounds creative and fulfilling.”

  “It’s definitely rewardin
g. And you?”

  “I’m a home stager with a love of design and fashion. That is part of what I admired about Vera. Impeccable taste.”

  I suddenly felt like I was on the world’s weirdest date. We were heading into odd “get to know you” questions.

  “Are you married?” Stanley asked.

  That didn’t help my feelings of awkwardness. “No. I have a boyfriend,” I said. “He’s a homicide detective.” Maybe hearing I was in bed with law enforcement would make him nervous.

  “Sexy. Get those handcuffs out.”

  Or not.

  “If Jake ever handcuffs me it’s going to be for my safety, not sexy times. He’s all business.” Nothing about what I just said even sounded right, or accurate, or anything less than awkward and why the hell was I revealing anything about my relationship to a total stranger? Time to lay off the bubbly.

  “I dated a cop once. It all blew up on a weekend in Vegas. Don’t ever let anyone tell you what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. It doesn’t. That shit follows you home and results in an argument where someone gets thrown in the pool.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” The thought of me and Jake arguing to the point one of us got thrown in the drink made me laugh. That was so not us. “Well, I should probably head home. It’s getting late.”

  I assumed he would leave when I did but he didn’t. He stood up and shook my hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Bailey. I imagine I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there. Nice to meet you even though it was under unfortunate circumstances.”

  “Indeed.”

  I wanted to say something else, but I didn’t know what. He didn’t seem suspicious of Vera’s death and why should he? I didn’t want to sound like a crazy woman and have my house key to Vera’s condo wrestled away from me.

  So I let myself out the front door and left.

  I hadn’t found any life insurance policies or anything obvious to indicate why someone would want her dead, so I wasn’t sure where to go from here.

  I was sitting in my car, cranking up the heat and shivering, when Vera appeared in the passenger seat. “Oh, geez!” I said, jumping a little. “I wasn’t expecting that. How are you, Vera?”

  She eyed me with a curious smile. “I wish I’d known you see dead people when I was still alive. It makes you much more interesting than I gave you credit for being.”

  That was lovely. Being insulted by a dead old lady in designer boots? Check. I could mark that off my life list.

  “I’m hoping you mean that way less rude than it sounded.”

  “Think whatever you want.” Vera fussed with the neckline of her nightgown. “Listen, I don’t know how much time I have here. But ask your boyfriend what you need to do next.”

  Because that wasn’t cryptic as hell. “Need to do next?” I parroted. “About what?”

  “About me. My death. So I can move on.” She rolled her eyes like I was a complete idiot.

  “Okay.” Why would Marner know what I was supposed to do? Did she mean to solve her murder or something else? “Wait. Do you mean Jake or Ryan?” Ryan would know more what to do in the spirit world. In theory.

  I thought it was possible she was using the term “boyfriend” just to give me crap.

  “Oh, you have two boyfriends? I guess there’s a lot more to you than I realized beneath all those freckles.”

  I barely have freckles at all anymore and what I do have are masked under concealer. That was just insensitive. The glass of champagne had me more mellow than usual otherwise I might have gotten huffy with her.

  “I’m just not sure if you’re talking about Marner, my alive boyfriend who is a detective, or my best friend, Ryan, who is dead and whose spirit hangs around.”

  “I didn’t even know about your dead boyfriend. That sounds kinky, sweetie, but trust me, no judgment here.” She gave me a wink.

  I’d never seen Vera without her false eyelashes and she had wispy thin lashes, and non-existent eyebrows. Without her blush and her foundation smoothing out the age spots, and no pop of bright lipstick, it was her eyes that were the most prominent feature on her face. They were dark brown, a rich coffee color, and filled with humor and wisdom. She didn’t seem particularly broken up over her death, or confused.

  “I meant your living boyfriend. Ask him to figure out what the hell happened to me last night. Because I don’t have a clue. It’s all like a bad acid trip I took in the sixties. I was in bed and then I thought I heard something downstairs and then I don’t know… it’s all odd flashes of pills and cold and confusion. And maybe a dog. I swear I heard barking.”

  I wasn’t sure that proved she was murdered, but at the same time, why else would she be sitting in the passenger seat of my car? I had known it. I’d just known she was murdered and everyone thought I was just imagining a killer.

  “I’ll do what I can. The local police have no plan on doing an autopsy.” Okay, was it weird to mention an autopsy to a dead person? Yikes. But too late. I’d already said it. “I talked to your niece and tried to hint that she might want to order one.”

  “Who, Eva?” Vera snorted. “Like she would care. All she cares about is getting her grubby little hands on my money.”

  Interesting. “So you weren’t close?”

  “Not since her husband made a pass at me.”

  Now why did that not surprise me? “Did you accept it or reject it?”

  Vera glared at me. “What? Of course not! He was married to my niece.”

  So she drew the line in the sand at stealing family members’ husbands but anyone else’s was fair game?

  “Besides, he was bald. I don’t go for bald men.”

  The truth came out.

  “Bruce Willis made bald heads cool for men,” I said in defense of all men who were at the mercy of their genetics. “There are some very sexy bald men.”

  “If you say so.” Vera didn’t look convinced. “Listen. I need you to fix this, Bailey. I realize death is undignified, but I’m not prepared to spend eternity like this.” She gestured to her face, then her nightgown. “That tart in Titanic got to be young and beautiful again when she died. I don’t appreciate not getting the same treatment.”

  “That was a movie. In my experience, you remain as you were when you died. Until you move on. Then I don’t know what happens.” Hopefully in my case it would be to a seventy-five percent off sale at Saks.

  “Then I advise you to die wearing Prada.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I turned the heat down in my car now that it was warmed up. “Give me a couple of days and I’ll see what I find out, okay?”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. You’re a sweet girl.”

  Or a complete pushover. I wasn’t sure which was more accurate.

  Vera disappeared and I drove home, suddenly exhausted. Jake called me right as I was ripping off my boots inside my front door. “Hey,” I said breathlessly.

  “Why do you sound so sexy?” he asked.

  “I’m just naturally hot.” Nothing was further from the truth but I seemed to have him fooled because he made a growling sound in the back of his throat.

  I continued. “I saw your mom today.”

  He groaned. “Really? You couldn’t give me one minute to stay in the gutter? You had to fish me out by mentioning my mother?”

  “Sorry,” I said lightly, padding in my socks to turn on the table lamp. Not really sorry.

  “You can make it up to me.”

  I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. Maybe because he couldn’t see me.

  “But yes, I know you saw my mother. She called me after brunch to tell me. She mentioned you’re going to go to lunch together to plan my birthday. Please do your best to restrain her. I don’t want some huge thing or a surprise or anything like that.”

  “I know, sweetie. I’ll do my best.” I poured myself some water. “But your mother is a force of nature and I haven’t been in your life long enough to push back too much.”


  “Your mother is a force of nature. My mother is just Italian.”

  That made me laugh. “True. But seriously, what am I supposed to say?”

  “Say Jake won’t want that.”

  “So she can tell me that I have a lot of nerve telling her what her son wants when she’s known you since the womb and I’m your girlfriend of five months? You are very naïve, sir.”

  He laughed. “Fine. Just make sure that there is alcohol wherever and whatever it is.”

  “Done. Can you go to Vera’s funeral with me? It will probably be Thursday or Friday.”

  “I have to work but I’ll see what I can do. Are you doing okay? How was your grandmother?”

  “She’s okay. She’s with you—thinking I’m imagining homicide where it doesn’t exist.”

  “I never said that. I just said the police’s explanation seemed logical.”

  “So if I was curious enough to, you know, look into it, what would I do?”

  “Follow the money. See who gains from her death and if she was planning to change her will or anything like that.” He paused. “Just don’t go sneaking into sweat baths or going out on dates with serial killers, okay? That’s all I ask.”

  “I would never go on a date with a serial killer now that I’m dating you.”

  “That’s so reassuring,” he said dryly. “How are you doing, by the way? Between Ryan’s anniversary and Vera? Do you want me to come over?”

  I pulled the leftover chicken out of the fridge and bit a hunk off of a thigh. “Nah, I’m okay, but thanks though. I appreciate that.”

  “What are you eating?”

  “Fried chicken.”

  He didn’t say anything for a heartbeat. “Sometimes I wonder who exactly I’m in love with.”

  “I’m a mystery.” I didn’t actually believe that but Vera would encourage me to keep the aura of mystique going.

  “Totally.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said, wanting to eat my chicken in front of my laptop. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I meant to do research on Vera’s life but I only got as far as discovering her condo was valued at $612,000 on Zillow before I got sucked into a design show on HGTV. What was the obsession with granite, anyway? And we all know popcorn ceilings are clearly the devil. That’s just a given. Thirty minutes later, I was dozing off from the crazy weekend, the poultry, and the champagne.