The First Ghost (9 page)

“I stole a burrito, okay? Happy now? I’m a burrito thief. And that’s when I started to feel weird and I tried to go back to my desk, but I felt so hot. Hot all over. And my heart was racing and I felt all shaky and like I couldn’t catch my breath.”

“Then what?”

“Then I was in the hospital room and I was dead. So that’s what happened.”

My jaw hung open. “So no one was even trying to kill you, were they? You ate someone else’s poisoned burrito.”

She hung her head and sniffled. “It’s true.”

“Do you think the police know this? Because that’s very relevant.”

“See? I should go. I can help.”

I sighed. She was right. She would have to go. Oh God, the police were never going to solve this. She had been accidentally killed. My heart sank.

I had one more phone call to make, and it was a testament to how distracting my new life was that I had put it off this long.

I had a cute doctor to call.

I was nervous.

Dr. Ethan Feller thought I was cute a few days ago, but maybe he asked out all his patients. He was probably some type of weirdo who got off on sick and injured women. He was probably at home waiting for one of the thirty-odd patients he’d propositioned to call him back so he could take advantage of her. Or him. He was probably bi.

“Ethan? This is Portia Mahaffey. I don’t know if you remember me...”

“Portia!” His warm baritone started a pleasant tingle down below. “Of course I remember you. I’m glad you called me.”

And just like that, I had a date with a potentially stalkerish, but extremely cute doctor.

When I finally went to bed, Billy woke and staggered into the bedroom. I contemplated putting him in the bathroom, but it seemed like too much trouble. I naively thought he would curl up and go to sleep.

Billy wanted up with me and he made himself annoying enough that I finally deposited him at the foot of the bed. “There. Happy now?”

He started up to the head of the bed.

“No, Billy. Stay there. Stay.”

He deflated and sank onto his belly with beseeching eyes.

“Don’t push it, dog.”

I closed my eyes. The bed stirred. When I opened them, Billy was lying just as he had been, except he was a few inches closer.

“I mean it. I’ll banish you to the bathroom.”

We both knew I was lying. He would howl like a banshee in an echo chamber. Billy turned three times and then he seemed resigned, so I closed my eyes again. The bed jiggled.

I wasn’t going to win this battle. I rolled over and pulled the covers up tight. Billy settled in against the small of my back like a warm cushion. It was actually kind of nice, and I began to drift off to sleep.

Snork!

My eyes popped open. Billy sighed once, a long hissing sigh, as if someone had let all the air out of the dog. Then he was asleep.

And he began snoring.

I’m a pretty heavy sleeper. I can sleep through a lot. But this was no ordinary snoring. This wasn’t cute little baby snoring. This was full-blown truck driver with pesky adenoids snoring. Pillows over my head did only so much to drown it out.

I nudged him a time or two. Maybe if he rolled over he wouldn’t snore. It worked with my ex-boyfriend. Billy shifted, farted twice, burped once and settled back down to snoring. I settled for sleeping with my pillow on my head.

* * * *

Getting the chapel ready for the service wasn’t difficult. I ran the vacuum over the plush burgundy carpet and gave everything a quick polish, including Mr. McKlusky’s cherry wood casket. The flower arrangements had been delivered and set out earlier. I put out the programs and a picture of Mr. McKlusky circa WWII. I couldn’t blame the family. He had spent his last years in a nursing home. I’d rather be remembered when I had all my teeth, too.

As I started out of the chapel, Boris swung into a rendition of
The Old Gr
a
y Mare
. I turned, applauding slowly. “Very nice, Boris. Knock it off please. The family will be arriving soon.”

“A serenade for the lovely lady.”

The Old Gr
a
y Mare
morphed into
Lady of Spain
. He winked rakishly. I knew from conversations with Mother that antagonizing Boris was a poor idea. He went from genial ghost to pissy poltergeist in no time flat.

“Thank you, Boris. I do appreciate the sentiment. Let’s not scare the McKlusky clan, though. I understand Mrs. McKlusky has a bad ticker.”

“Hah! More business for your family, what?”

“I should have known who was responsible for the vulgarity here. No self-respecting pianist would perpetrate such common tripe.” A very large woman, dripping with furs and jewels, floated imperiously down the center aisle.

Just what I needed, dueling ghosts. “You must be Lady Hildegard Brenwith,” I said, plastering a smile on my face.

“Just call her Hilde and be done with it. If Hilde’s a lady then I’m Prince Albert. Hah!”

“You must be Imogene’s daughter.” Lady Hildegard sniffed. “You may call me Lady Hildegard. Ignore the cretin.”

The cretin launched into a breathtakingly bad rendition of
O Danny Boy
, pounding the keys and singing in a reedy tenor.

“I’m so pleased, your ladyship. I was explaining to Boris here that we are expecting a family any minute for a service.”

“Rest assured I would never disturb the solemn grief of the living. Unlike some,” she said darkly. “I’ll leave you to deal with the cretin.”

“I prefer Neanderthal. Or maybe Johnny-Jump-Up. Hah!” Boris was quite pleased at her rapid exit. “Snooty old witch. Always dragging some wretched opera piece half to death. Hah! How about we cut the rug to a little Porter? Eh?” He played the intro to
I Get No Kick from Champagne
.

“Boris,” I said.

“Blast!” He banged the keys and zipped upward. “I never get that section right.” He floated down gently until he was at eye level with me, but his feet were still a good three inches off the ground. “Never mind, love. I can think of better things to occupy our time. It’s been a month of Sundays since I had a chickadee to coo over. How about I show you my real talents?”

“So this is why you left Billy in the bathroom? To flirt with this, this...”

“Hullo.” Boris flitted to Corinne’s side. “A female ghost under the age of fifty. Charmed, I’m sure.” He took her chubby hand in his and kissed it. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” I said. “She can’t stay. Corinne is crossing over tonight.”

“Or the next day.” She twirled a strand of hair.

“Tonight,” I said firmly. “She can’t stick around, Boris, and it’s no good sweet-talking her.”

“Jealous, my dear Portia? Tut-tut. It doesn’t become you.”

“I thought we agreed you would stay home,” I said to Corinne, pointedly ignoring Boris. “You shouldn’t be out roaming around. It isn’t safe outside.”

“I never agreed.” She turned her nose up in the air. “Besides, I’m going to the police with you.”

“The police,” Boris exclaimed. “Why on earth would you want to spend time with those boors?”

“I was murdered.” Corinne ducked her head.

“Murdered? You poor darling. I can sympathize. Tell Boris all about it.” He took her hand again and they both vanished.

“Boris!” I yelled into the empty room. “You bring her back! I mean it, Boris! She can’t stay here.”

I turned to catch a glimpse of the hard-bitten blonde from yesterday disappearing around the corner. I sprinted down the aisle and came blowing out of the chapel, almost bowling over poor Mrs. McKlusky, who clutched her chest. “Did you see a blond woman come this way?” I asked. Mrs. McKlusky and her son assured me that the only person who had exited the chapel had been myself.

“You gave Mother quite a fright.” Junior McKlusky glared at me. I apologized and went about getting them ready for Mr. McKlusky’s service. Walter arrived to conduct the service. He’s ordained and delivers an uplifting, if dull, service.

A quick glance at my watch assured me I had time to grab a cup of coffee before playing greeter. Good. I needed a boost. I found Boris moping alone in the break room. “I take it Corinne was able to resist your charms?”

“She left me to go look after some pooch. Would it be the cunning little dog from yesterday?”

“The same. The McKlusky family is here for the funeral.”

Boris rolled his eyes. “On my best behavior. I’ve heard enough of your stepfather’s sermons to last me a lifetime. They’re deadly boring. Hah! Get it?”

“Then why do you stay? Why not cross over now?”

“I can’t. I’ve been here too long.” He sank lower. “I can’t leave either. I’m tethered to this place. It started as habit and now...I can’t. Thank you for the depression.” He sighed heavily and vanished.

I started the coffee. The guestbook was in Mother’s office. I could run it out to the front in case a few eager beavers showed up early, rush back here for coffee and make it back to the chapel in time to look appropriately sober when greeting mourners.

I ran to Mother’s office and located Mr. McKlusky’s guestbook and two of the good pens. A quick look around the chapel assured me that Walter, Mrs. McKlusky and her son were the only ones here. Walter gave me a weak smile and looked like he would rather be somewhere else than taking the doddering old woman and her cranky son around. I gave him a thumbs-up back, but didn’t go in to rescue him. He needed to finalize the service with the family and that could be done without my help. I have no knack for dealing with the bereaved. I’m guaranteed to say something insensitive and stupid.

I raced back for my caffeine infusion, but I smelled something like...smoking? Was someone smoking? Surely not. This was a terrible place to be smoking. It’s an old building filled with wood and chemicals. I rushed into the break room to chastise the scofflaw, only to find Hephzibah seated there in a purple nylon wind suit, happily puffing away.

“You?” I said in disbelief. “I thought you were joking. You really do smoke?”

She gave her hoarse laugh, trailing off into a coughing fit. “Coffin nails? I love ’em. Job security, doll. Guns, too. I could hardly wait for Mr. Winchester to die so I could give him a great, big smoochy kiss.” She laughed again at her own joke.

“Nice,” I said. “You must love twenty-first-century warfare.”

“Naw, I hate bombs. Too much work. They make me feel like a damn tour guide.
Everybody this way. This way to cross
over into the light. No pushing. Enough room for everyone
.
Bah.”

“You can’t smoke in here. It’s dangerous.”

“Young people these days got no respect for their elders,” she grumbled, but put out her light.

“Speaking of crossing over, I have questions.”

“I’ll answer if I can.”

“Where do you take people when they die?”

“Across.”

“To what?”

“To get to the other side. Sorry, doll. Some secrets have to wait.”

Frustrated, I poured a cup of coffee. “So are you really Death?
The
Death, I mean? Are there more of you? I mean, how could you be everywhere? Do you always look the same? Like that?”

She held up the hand with the extinguished cigarette. “That’s a lot of questions. I know this is new, but you sure are Imogene’s kid. You think too damn much. I’m not the one Death, but I am Death. It’s all you need to know.”

“But I always thought...I mean, why look like...”

“Like I’ve got one foot in the grave?” She snorted at her own joke. “I crack myself up. Sorry, doll. You were expecting Brad Pitt perhaps? Ah, Hollywood. Nobody likes my true form. Not anymore. So now I look like everyone’s grandma. It’s what people want.” She glanced up at the wall. “It’s about time for me to go.”

Uh-oh. “Why are you here?”

“Business, doll. I’m not stalking you. It’s business.” She paused. “You ain’t seen Lester Jacobsen, have you? The old guy on the train?”

“No, I…business?”

From down the hall I could hear Junior McKlusky’s wail. “Mother! Help!”

“Portia!” Walter yelled. “Call for an ambulance! Mrs. McKlusky’s having a heart attack!”

“Gotta go,” Hephzibah said. “It’s been real and it’s been fun, but it ain’t been real fun. Later, doll.”

I called 911, even though I was sure they wouldn’t be able to revive Mrs. McKlusky.

* * * *

The funeral was postponed since it looked like a double ceremony, so I called Eleanor to pick me up. She arrived with every hair in place in a shiny new SUV. The leather seats were as soft as Billy’s ears.

“I thought you had a funeral, Portia.”

“Plans change.” I was thinking of making that my new motto. Everything changes. “Where do we go?”

“Into the city.”

From the grim set of her mouth, you’d have thought she was piloting a tank into combat. Her sober focus became more reasonable as we drew closer to the police department. I had thought we would go to the downtown municipal building, which is quite nice. We didn’t. Ellie turned the SUV south.

Canterbury Park is mostly upscale, a more moderate clone of Highland Park. But where the southern edges kissed Dallas, the area changed. Every town has its slum, I guess, and it makes sense to put a police station where the crime is. We were entering a war zone.

I’ve been fortunate enough to never need the police services, and the closest I’ve come to a run-in with the law was a ticket for double parking before I wrecked my car two years ago.

You could feel the economic slide from upscale commercial to low-rent lease and all the way down to abandoned buildings. The few storefronts still open were barricaded: a check-cashing window, a liquor store, a pawnshop. Men with dirty coats and gray skin wandered the streets, not yet ghosts but no longer participants in the land of the living. Even the pavement seemed defeated and had surrendered to the cracks and potholes gouging its surface. What little traffic there was rolled slowly along.

We circled the parking lot twice before a space opened up. Actually, the space on the end was technically available, but it was occupied by broken beer bottles and a snoozing wino using the curb as a pillow. Neither Ellie nor I was brave enough to roll him out of the spot, so we circled a few more times.