Page 13 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

I turned to go.

“Hey.”

I looked back at him.

“Have we met?” he asked, studying me curiously.

It was entirely possible, given my mother’s career involved lots of fundraisers and parties and election work, and she had forced my sister and I to go to them with her when we were younger. It made the she-bitch prosecutor look relatable to have daughters. Her words, not mine.

“No,” I said, because my mother would not be happy if she knew I was going around claiming to be related to dead people. Jake wouldn’t be thrilled either.

Time to disappear. I waved in thanks and hot-tailed it back inside the building.

Ryan was sitting on a console table that held flyers for events going on around time.

James Kwaitkowski was nowhere to be found.

There were a few people coming in and out of the auditorium so I put my phone up to my ear to pretend like I was using it while I talked to Ryan.

“I got nothing from the guy out there. He said to call to request an autopsy.”

Ryan nodded. He looked a little troubled. “Something weird is going on here.”

What else was new?

“Where is James, by the way?”

“He poofed. That’s what I’m saying. This is weird. Why can’t he see people but another dead guy? I got a text from HR that says James is a Class A spirit, but I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Class A? I swear you’re just making this stuff up. Every time I turn around there’s a new level or rule or new classes you have to attend. The afterlife is about as efficient as the government.”

“Tell me about it. I’m stuck working out of a basement office.”

I wasn’t even sure if he meant that literally or not. “What now?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan rubbed his chin. “Maybe talk to his wife.”

Because that sounded easy. “Just stroll up to his wife and start asking her questions about her husband’s death? I don’tknow. Let me think about this. Right now I have some errands to run.”

“Like what? What’s more important than this?”

“I need to get Jake something to eat. I’m going to run across the street and get him a sub sandwich that he can eat when he finally stops pushing himself beyond what any normal human should do in one day.”

Ryan laughed. “He’s not a superhero, Bai. It’s just a few boxes and he knows his limits.”

“He really doesn’t,” I insisted. “He’ll be on the verge of passing out and I’ll ask him when the last time was that he drank water and the answer is always, “Oh, I bet that’s it,” and he drinks a glass of water and instantly feels better.”

“Good thing he has you to feed and water him.”

But Ryan’s tone didn’t sound like he thought that was a good thing at all. “What?”

He was instantly defensive. “What do you mean what? Nothing.”

“You have a tone.”

“You mean the tone that I think it’s ridiculous that you mother him?”

I gasped. “Motherhim? I do not! This is what you do in a relationship. You look out for each other. It’s a nice gesture to get him dinner, not some overbearing control issues.”

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