“Vera’s nephew sued her for his father’s inheritance. Or her portion anyway. What kind of guy does that?”
“A greedy one.”
“It was a million dollars. I guess that’s a decent incentive.”
“When was this?”
“Five years ago. Steven lost. There was no basis to say Vera couldn’t handle her finances. Which I totally agree with.”
“Who inherits from Vera?”
“Presumably her niece and nephew, so he’s going to get the money in the end. I doubt she spent much of it. So what was the big deal?”
“He must have needed the cash. Though who is hard up when they’ve just had a mil dropped in their bank account? I’d check that guy out. Maybe he’s heavily in debt. Five years gone by now he’s probably run through the original inheritance and figures he can’t hold out until Vera dies a natural death. It’s possible. Though doesn’t he live somewhere else?”
“New York.”
“So now we’re assuming hit man? That’s a stretch.”
“Couldn’t he drive here, kill her, and drive back?”
“With CTC footage and electronic toll passes? Seems stupid.”
“Not if no one is going to think it’s murder,” I pointed out.
“You’re reaching.”
“My only suspects are the housekeeper, the niece, and the nephew.”
“I vote housekeeper.”
“This isn’t an election.”
“It should be. Then we could meet our quota.”
Ugh. “Don’t bring that quota crap up to me. I can’t handle that today.”
My phone rang. “Oh God, it’s my father.” The thought of talking to him made me sick, but I needed to hear how my mother was doing. I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“It’s Dad.”
I loved how my father still assumed I didn’t know who was calling. “Hi, how’s Mom doing?”
“She’s fine. Something about putting her on blood pressure medication. No real damage to the heart. Doc told her she needs to reduce her stress.”
My chest tightened. “I’m glad she’s okay. But how is she supposed to reduce her stress unless she retires? Would she even consider that?”
“No, of course not. She’s only fifty-eight. She wants another five years in. She would die of boredom if she was retired.”
“Yeah, but her health.” I knew it was a futile protest. My mother was happiest working, putting bad guys behind bars. She wouldn’t enjoy retirement, he was right.
“Listen, about what she said.”
Please, no, please don’t, I chanted in my head.
“I don’t know how serious your mother is about a divorce but I’ll do whatever she wants me to do.”
What did that even mean? “Okay. And Judy?” I asked, because I couldn’t stop myself.
“Is a friend. Nothing more.”
I suddenly remembered where I’d heard the name Judy. She was the wife in a couple my parents were friends with. She’d gotten a boob job and her husband had gotten a boat and Grandma said Judy spent all summer wearing tank tops without a bra. My mother had thought she was ridiculous. Obviously not the reaction my father had. I sighed.
“Dad. You can lie to me. That’s fine, because ultimately, it’s none of my business, though I have to say I would be incredibly disappointed if you cheated. But whatever you do, don’t lie to Mom. No one can lie to Mom and get away with it.”
There was a pause, then all he said was, “You’re right. It’s none of your business.”
Good talk. “What do you want me to do? Should I go see Mom or just wait until she gets home?”
“Truthfully, I would wait until she gets home. She’s a little frustrated with the hospital setting.”
No shocker there.
In some families it would be considered horrible not to go visit someone in the hospital but that wasn’t my mother. She couldn’t stand to be fussed over or seen as weak. If she said don’t show up, she meant it. It wasn’t a platitude. “Okay. But I will call her.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”
I ended the call and sighed, shoving my laptop computer off my legs. “My father is having an affair with a woman who got a boob job. How cliché. I thought he was better than that, seriously.”
It depressed me no end. I picked at the remnants of my bagel and stood up. I wanted the rest of that fried chicken.
“Men struggle to face their own mortality,” Ryan told me, sounding like Dr. Phil.
“Don’t give me that crap. Oooh, I’m afraid to die so let me bury my face in silicone?” I rolled my eyes. “Excuses. It’s called boredom. Thirty-five years with someone, just out the window because you wanted to order off a different menu.”
Ryan held his hands up. “Don’t look at me. I probably was/am incapable of monogamy. I know that about myself.”
That was why it was a good thing we had never been more than friends. “How charming.”
“Listen,” he said, suddenly sounding contrite. “I’m sorry about your parents’ relationship, but everyone makes mistakes, Bai. Everyone. It’s not our place to judge anyone else.”
I paused in front of the fridge, my anger deflated. Ryan was right. He had lived that way when he was alive. I had no business judging my father when I didn’t even know the full story. What happened in a marriage was known only to the two people in it.
Plus possibly Grandma Burke. She lived with them and is nosy as hell.
“You’re right.”
Ryan pretended to slam dunk. “I love being right.”
“Then help me solve Vera’s murder.”
“Blah, blah, blah.”
Just like that, every good feeling toward him evaporated.
My phone rang with an unknown number. Normally I wouldn’t answer that for all the money in Vera’s bank account.
But now I was saved from murdering a dead man. “Hello?”
“Bailey, it’s Stanley. I got your number from Vera’s phone. I’m bored and bereft. Will you meet me downtown tonight for drinks?”
I really wanted to stay in Marner’s pajamas but this was a perfect opportunity to get more information about the will. “Sure, if my friend Alyssa can join us. We already had plans.”
“The more the merrier. I’ll call you later and we can have pretentious cocktails.”
“As opposed to plebeian cocktails?”
He laughed. “Exactly.”
When I ended the call, Ryan was frowning. “Who was that?”
“Stanley, Vera’s stepson.”
“He sounds like a dick.”
“So much for not judging people.” I bit a piece of chicken. “You need to go soon. I have to shower and get ready.”
“Leave the shower on for me. I want to see if I can feel the water.”
“You can’t.”
“How do you know? You suck as a medium.”
I got close to him and blew on his face. “Do you feel that?”
“No. And don’t do that. It’s weird.”
“What’s weird is my life.”
Six
“I can’t believe you want drinks downtown today of all days,” Alyssa said. “It usually takes you a crane to get you downtown.”
That wasn’t totally true. “Only when you want to go to a club. I’m too old for clubs.”
“You’re twenty-eight! By thirty-five you’ll be eating dinner at four p.m. if you keep this pace up.”
That was a slight exaggeration. But not much. “I do get hungry early. In fact, I’m going to have to order an appetizer before I even have a drink. It’s after six.”
She shook her head and crossed her legs, showing off gorgeous over-the-knee boots that somehow looked more glamorous than dominatrix. She was also wearing a velvet circle skirt in defiance of the weather. Stanley wasn’t due to arrive until seven but I needed to eat and wanted to hang out with Alyssa alone before he arrived.
We were at a cozy upscale bar t
hat served cocktails with airplane-themed names. “I’m going to have the First Class. After I have a charcuterie board.”
“I want the Mile High.”
“Of course you do,” I said, grinning at her.
“It’s the only thing close to action I’m getting these days.”
“Are you okay?” I asked her. “You still seem down.”
She waved her hand. “We are not going to talk and me and my ridiculous screwing myself over by revenge-dating a dick I then started to like. It’s just stupid. You’re the one who needs sympathy. Your mom and dad… wow. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Ryan told me I just need to let it go. That I don’t have a right to judge my dad. Or my mom for that matter.”
Alyssa’s eyebrows shot up. “You just said Ryan instead of Jake. Oh my God, Bailey. That is so not good.” She looked at me like I had bought a house in Loserville.
Alyssa doesn’t know I see ghosts. So, yeah, that was mortifying.
I decided it was now or never to come clean. I flagged down the bartender. Might as well get my drink order in first before my BFF declared me insane. “I’ll have the First Class cocktail.”
“Excellent choice.”
Anything with booze in it was probably a good choice today, but sure. Let’s go with excellent choice.
“You, miss?” he asked Alyssa, his eyes briefly dipping toward her cleavage.
“There’s nothing there for you,” she told him.
He laughed. “Sorry.”
When he moved away, Alyssa confronted me. “You’re seriously not even going to respond to the fact that you referred to your boyfriend, Jake, by your dead crush’s name?”
“I wasn’t talking about Jake,” I told her. “I can see Ryan. As a ghost. He first showed up last August and has sporadically been around since then.”
I pretty much just blurted it out but I wasn’t sure there was actually any other way to drop news like that.
Her jaw dropped. She reached for her phone and started swiping.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to say anything now?”
“I’m on Google looking up if stress can cause hallucinations.”
I put my hand over hers to stop her frantic swiping. “Stop. I’m not hallucinating. Ghosts are real. And I see them.”
“I am speechless. You’ve made me, the loudest bigmouth you know, speechless.” She sipped her water. “Where the hell is my cocktail?”
“I know you’re not sold on the concept of the paranormal. I wasn’t either. But I can’t deny that ghosts exist and they like to hang around me. It’s annoying, but oddly comforting. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d think I was crazy.”
Alyssa wasn’t saying anything, just pursing her lips like she was trying to prevent a torrent of “Are you insane?” flying out of her mouth.
“Jake saw Ryan slam a door shut.”
“Jake sees ghosts too?”
“No. But when I told him I do he wanted some kind of proof. So I had Ryan slam the door shut. I think he reluctantly believes me.”
“Ryan hangs around here and there? That’s not awkward or anything.” The bartender was going to set her drink on the counter but she just demanded, “Give that to me,” and took a huge fortifying sip.
His eyebrows shot up.
“Jake isn’t thrilled about it.”
“You’re basically in a ménage.”
The bartender paused in the middle of setting my drink down. He couldn’t quite mask his intrigue.
“I am not! Ryan knows not to show up when I’m with Jake.” That didn’t sound exactly right either. “Ryan and I are friends. Nothing more.”
“This is so weird.”
“Tell me about it.” When the bartender finally moved out of earshot, I lowered my voice. “I can see Vera too. And twice I saw Hannah, Ryan’s girlfriend.”
“Holy shit.”
“Tell me about it. Vera told me she wished she had known when she was alive that I see ghosts because it would have made me more interesting.”
“That sounds like something Vera would say, I’m not going to lie.”
“Exactly.” I took a tiny sip of my drink. I needed my cheese board before I really got going on it. “The thing is, only murder victims show themselves to me, so that means Vera was murdered.”
“Who would kill a ninety-five-year-old woman? That seems like wasted energy. It’s not like she had another twenty years.”
“That’s what makes it odd, yes.” My best friend seemed to be taking the news that I was a medium reasonably well. “The most obvious reason would be someone wanted her money.”
“Or her wardrobe. The bitch was stylin’.”
“Agreed.” My cheese board arrived and I started noshing on it. “Are you okay with all this ghost stuff? I don’t want you suddenly avoiding me because you think I’m a freak.”
“Oh, I still think you’re a freak but that has nothing to do with you seeing ghosts.” She gave me a grin. “I don’t know what I believe but who am I to say it’s not possible? Two hundred years ago no one even knew bacteria and viruses exist. Maybe we haven’t evolved enough scientifically yet to explain other dimensions.”
That was an interesting way to consider it. “Very true. When you start to really dissect it, science itself is almost unbelievable. Fantastical.”
“I wouldn’t say unbelievable. It’s provable data. Now. But I am open to considering the possibility of ghosts, just skeptical. Mostly I find it ironic that it would be you they’re showing themselves to.”
“I know. That is ridiculous, isn’t it? Because, let’s be honest, I am not a goth girl or a hippie.”
“No, you’re Laura Ashley.”
I was hoping more like Donna Karan but okay. I could see the floral reference.
Stanley came into the bar, his nose red, suit jacket inadequate for the weather. He did have his Burberry scarf on but that would protect two inches of your neck and no more. His California mentality wasn’t going to cut it in Cleveland.
“Order me a hot toddy,” he said, pulling out the stool next to me. “And a ticket to Turks and Caicos.”
“I can do the drink. The plane ticket you’re on your own.”
He leaned over and air kissed me as I waved for the bartender. I loved the way he had instantly declared us friends.
“Stanley, this is Alyssa, my best friend. Alyssa, Stanley, Vera’s stepson.”
She held her hand out toward him and he took it. “Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”
Boom. Alyssa liked Stanley. She smiled. “Why, thank you, handsome.”
It wasn’t flirting. I’d given her the heads-up about Stanley’s orientation. Alyssa loved to both give and receive compliments. I’d had a feeling they would enjoy each other’s company.
“I need a gin the size of my head,” Stanley said.
After we exchanged casual conversation along the lines of “lousy weather” and “did you get your flight changed?” Alyssa took charge of the conversation.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked Stanley.
I jerked, my feet hitting the bar in front of me. Seriously? I shot her a warning look, which she thoroughly ignored.
Stanley seemed to think it was an odd segue into the evening. Which is was. “Is there a reason for that question?”
“Bailey just told me she sees ghosts.”
What the hell? “Alyssa. I told you that in confidence.”
She genuinely looked surprised. “Oh, you did? You didn’t say that.”
“What do you think? Do I seem like the kind of person who wants to be known as the kooky medium? I don’t even own any incense.”
She snorted. “One of my favorite things about you is how fast you leap to the absurd. Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean to spill the spiritual beans. Scratch that, Stanley. Forget I brought it up. You’re sworn to secrecy.”
“I clearly walked in at a bad time,” he said, flagging down the bartender.
&nbs
p; “Cheese, Stanley?” I asked him, indicating the brie on the board. “It’s delicious.”
“Ah, the favorite way to change the subject. Cut the cheese.” He gave me a humorous look.
I laughed. “When you put it that way… I feel like I need to clarify.” I didn’t want him to think I was seeking attention.
There were plenty of legitimate mediums, and I genuinely believed in that, well before Ryan had shown up in my kitchen at the crack of dawn. But there were also a ton of frauds who either liked the attention or the cash and I was mortified at the idea that anyone might think that of me. That was really why I was compelled to be silent. I didn’t want anyone to think I could be faking it for some kind of material or emotional gain, because one, that’s not the kind of person I am. Two, I would throw this back if I could.
So far I had no out.
In fact, I now had quotas. (Yes, I am still bitter about that.)
“I had a very close friend who passed away and eight months after his death, he appeared to me.” See, that sounded super innocuous. Like no big deal.
“That’s fascinating. Why do you think he appeared to you as opposed to say, his mother?”
“I don’t know. I think it has to do with the fact that he wanted me to solve his murder.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A post-death request for justice. How very ‘Ghost’ of him. Is he as hot as Patrick Swayze?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Alyssa said.
Stanley laughed. “To each her own, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked Alyssa, offended on Ryan’s behalf. “Ryan was attractive.”
“There’s attractive and then there is Patrick Swayze hot. Stanley said Patrick Swayze hot and I took that very literally. I mean, any of his roles he was just so sexy it’s a shock movie screens didn’t burst into flames. Johnny, Darry, and whoever the hell he was in Road House. Ghost. Hot. With Ryan it was more like ‘congratulations on your face, you’re not ugly.’ He didn’t have that secret sauce that Patrick did.” She shrugged. “I mean, no offense to Ryan.”
I sipped my drink, waiting for her to keep talking, because she certainly seemed to be enjoying it. “Are you finished presenting your dissertation?”
“Yes.” She looked to Stanley. “You get what I’m saying, right?”
It's a Ghost's Life Page 7
