Page 12 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

I also realized that meant I would have to give control of the situation over to Ryan, who was unreliable at best. I am nothing if not a control freak.

“I haven’t been feeling well the past few days. Sick to my stomach, clammy, that sort of thing. Came to work anyway because I have to pay the same child support whether I take a day off or not and I didn’t want to lose out. Got here at four, went to get my cart from the closet and then…nothing.”

That honestly sounded like a heart attack to me. Not feeling well with vague symptoms that could easily be ignored, then cardiac arrest and instant death.

The gold standard of least terrible ways to die.

Then I realized what he’d said. Child support. This man had a son or daughter under eighteen who had just lost their father.

“Ask him about his family,” I urged Ryan.

He nodded, but then he said, “Go outside and talk to the coroner and see what you can find out if they’re still here.”

“Great idea.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like I’m a detective or something.” Ryan gave me a grin.

“Fair enough.” I left him to interrogate James Kwaitkowski and went out into the parking lot.

The van was still there. The driver seemed to be taking a nap behind the wheel. When I tapped on the window he jumped and rolled the window down. The frown on his face indicated he wasn’t thrilled I’d interrupted him.

“What’s going on here?” I asked him.

“I can’t disclose that information.” He started to roll his window back up.

“My uncle is the janitor here,” I lied. “I can’t find him. Is the person who died?”

I tried to look suitably panicked, which I was probably successful at, given how much lying makes me nervous. It makes me fidgety and jittery.

“What’s your uncle’s name?”

“James Kwaitkowski. Thin, gray hair, in his early sixties.”

His expression softened just a tad. “Yes, it was him. I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” I tried to look shocked.

“I can’t speculate on that.”

“What happens now?” It just occurred to me that he was napping with a dead body in the back of his van. I guess when you’re surrounded by bodies all the time at your day job, it’s of little consequence.

I always see in movies and TV where coroner’s and medical examiner’s are eating lunch two feet away from bodies. Theimage popped into my head and I felt instantly queasy. I clapped a hand over my mouth.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. I’d been hauling boxes all day and barely eaten. I felt myself sway a little on my feet.

Sometimes the reality of the ghosts I interact with having actually died hits me hard. James was both in this van and in that hallway talking to Ryan. It’s a weird concept.

The coroner, or whoever this guy was, sat up straight in alarm and rolled his window almost the entire way up, like he didn’t want to get splashed. I can’t say I blame him.

Then again, he didn’t have an issue with dead bodies, so why was a little vomit alarming to him?

Swallowing hard, I took a deep breath. “Why aren’t the cops here? Don’t they have to investigate all deaths that don’t take place at the hospital?”

I don’t know why I thought that—probably also from TV. But this was a suburb. I figured they had time on their hands to show up whenever anything happened.

He looked at me like I was nuts. “I’m sorry for your loss. You can contact our office to request an autopsy and claim his personal belongings.”

Well, that was that. “Thank you.”

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