Page 42 of Ghosted
I groan, knowing I need to get out of bed and get going. I was planning on looking at our profits today to see how we’re doing compared to previous years at this time. It’s mid-October, so I know profits are higher than any other point during the year, but I’m curious if the last few weeks of medium-ing is making enough of a difference to stop us from coming up short. I should be able to compare this last month with the same time last year to see how much it’s helping. I also have to do inventory, order more supplies, and finalize the donations for our Night Before All Hallows Eve Ball auction.
I slump out of bed and shuffle with my eyes half closed to my kitchen to prepare my French press for my morning vat of coffee. Dean appears next to me and leans against the counter, taking up way too much real estate in my small kitchen. “Why are you getting up? It’s 7 A.M. on a Sunday.”
“I have work to do,” I say around yet another yawn.
“You know what working on a Sunday got me?” he asks, tilting his head. I give him a flat look, unamused by where this is going. “Dead.”
Yep, saw that one coming.
“I’ve worked almost every day since I started at The Veil, Dean.” I pour my boiling water into my French press, the aroma of coffee instantly filling the air. I can almost feel my eyes cracking open an extra centimeter.
“Well, that’s just poor work-life balance, Alderwood,” he says, appalled.
I scowl at him, not in the mood for a lecture so early in themorning. “Pot, meet kettle,” I say, holding out my hand to shake.
He grabs it and pulls me in for a sweet kiss that immediately melts my grumpiness away. “Okay, fair point,” he says, tugging me in closer for a hug. I rest my cheek against his chest, and feel his arms wrap tighter around me.
“Sorry about last night,” he says into my hair. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. It was so overwhelming at the end, though. I couldn’t stop myself from vanishing.”
“So youdidfinish. That’s good to hear.”
A surprised laugh makes his chest stutter against my cheek. “Yes, but it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced before. I don’t even know if I can describe it to you. It was like every atom—or whatever I’m made of—burst apart and then reformed. It was like being high and having an out-of-body experience, despite the fact that I’m already literally out of body.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. It was intense, but I didn’t want to leave before we were finished.”
I quirk my mouth to the side and disentangle myself from him so I can push the plunger down in my French press. “I think we were both finished,” I say with a grin.
“I had so many more plans,” he replies mournfully.
I bounce my eyebrows at him. “Practice tends to make these things better. Look at how good you’re doing at staying here and touching stuff.” I pour nearly the entirety of my small French press into a tall mug decorated with swirling patterns that remind me of the Milky Way.
He looks at me suggestively. “So, are you offering yourself up for practice?”
“Well, obviously. My job is to help you in whatever ways you need,” I reply, stirring the cream and sugar into my coffee.
His eyesnarrow. “Wait a minute. You’ve never helped another ghost like this, have you?”
I laugh before taking a sip of my coffee. “No. I didn’t even know I could touch you, remember?”
His expression clears and turns haughty. “That’s right. Only me,” he says, standing up straighter.
I shake my head and wander over to the couch. “Speaking of my job to help you,” I say, trying to distract the both of us from what we did last night before he derails my whole day. “We know you weren’t alone when you died. Someone was waiting to get the jump on you. I think you were drugged, Dean. Nothing else explains the drowsiness you felt or that you didn’t fight back at all.”
He sits next to me on the couch, throwing his arm along the back of it. “But how? I didn’t stop anywhere between home and work that I can remember.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure, but I think we need to go to your office to see if we can get you to remember anything. Let’s go after I get some work done,” I suggest before taking another sip of coffee, steeling myself for a long day.
I turnoff the ignition and lean forward, looking up at the large building that holds Dean’s office. Crawford and Gaines Law Firm is at the top of five office pancakes stacked on top of each other in the behemoth building. “Remember, I can’t talk to you when we walk through the lobby if people are here,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.
“ButIcan talk to you. I wonder how many times I canmake you blush in public?” he asks rhetorically, looking at me with a devilish gleam.
“You know we’re here for a very important reason, right? Ya know, to figure out who murdered you?”
“Exactly! How depressing. Why not spice up the murder mystery with a little dirty talk?” He rubs his hands together and waggles his eyebrows at me.
A lightbulb goes off in my brain. “You’re scared,” I state gently, reaching out to take his hand.
The taunting look he wore like a mask melts away, leaving a very vulnerable-looking Dean. “Of course I’m scared. Either some client was pissed enough to orchestrate my death, or even worse, someone I know did it. No matter what, figuring this out is going to suck.”
“Yeah, it is. But I’m going to be here with you every step of the way,” I say, squeezing his hand.
