Corinne and I share a look before inching our way out from under the table and toward the disembodied voice. When we round the corner arm in arm, Corinne grinds to a halt.
A tall, slovenly man built like a linebacker twists in circles, taking in his surroundings. Greasy dark curls poke out from underneath a basic black stocking cap. A punk rock T-shirt that appears to be at least one size too small just barely covers his flabby gut. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it at the moment.
When he stops turning in circles, his eyes lock with Corinne’s.
“You,” they say in unison.
My head turns slowly toward Corinne. “You can see him?”
“Yeah, she can, and that’s good because she has a debt to settle.” He spits.
Not like he spits the words, but he literally spits on my floor.
My top lip curls in disgust. “Excuse me,” I bark.
He takes a threatening step forward, and my mouth snaps shut. Every insult and threat I’d planned to hurl dies on my lips. Thankfully, he loses interest in me, walking toward the wall of windows, peering out.
“She’s the narc who nearly got me locked in the pen.”
Corinne’s hands fly to her hips. “You almost got yourself locked up.” She turns to me. “This moron was selling drugs in front of the spa. Some of my older clients were none too pleased. So I called the cops.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I’d do it again.”
The man turns to growl at her like a rabid dog, and not for the first time since I’ve known the woman, I fear for her.
“Can’t you do something?” I ask Billy, who’s been entirely too quiet through this whole exchange.
“I... can’t even see him. This is your fight, lady.” He poofs out of sight and appears in the living room, seated on my sofa, looking far too content, given the newcomer.
“If I die at the hands of a deranged poltergeist, you won’t be getting your ticket stamped to the afterlife, idiot.”
His eyes widen. “I literally can’t see him. How the heck am I supposed to help you?”
“Yo, blondie. Who you talkin’ to?” The new ghost looks right past me into the living room, searching.
“Myself?” I’m not even sure why I lie. Maybe to give Billy the benefit of surprise in the event he pulls himself together and deigns to help us.
I have to admit that I’m less frightened with the sunlight streaming in through the windows. The white walls and dark blue wainscoting always made this one of my favorite rooms. That, and the antiques that line the shelves of my whitewashed hutch.
But when my eyes fall on the new guy, that fear creepy-crawls its way to the front and my legs shake a little.
His eyes narrow in on me. “Are you mental?”
I laugh manically. “I’m seeing ghosts, so that’s a very real possibility.” Corinne jabs me in the side with her elbow and I grunt. “What?”
“On’tday isspay offyay ethay ostghay,” she whispers.
“What does that even mean?”
She groans. “Don’t piss off the ghost.”
I huff, shaking my head in exasperation. “Listen, whoever you are. I’m not sure why you’re here, but I’ve recently learned that ghosts can communicate with me.” I motion toward the wooden bench and chairs situated around the formal table. “Why don’t you sit, and we can talk.”
One bushy eyebrow raises in response. “You’re a ghost whisperer?”
“I’m not exactly positive what that means, but sure. I can speak to you and maybe help you cross over.”
His head shakes. “Nope. No interest. I’m liking the new digs,” he says, looking around with a smile plastered on his face. “Not keen on the whole idea of hellfire.”
“You don’t know you’re going there for sure,” I say, hoping to change his mind. I want him here less than I do Billy, and that’s saying something.
