suggesting.”
That was true; there seemed to be no rule book overseeing the afterlife. In our short time inhabiting the same house, Paul, Maxie and I had seen ghosts who could move freely about the planet and others, like Paul, who were bound to a certain area of real estate. Maxie had recently developed the ability to leave my property but couldn’t actually transport herself independently with any speed faster than a brisk walk. She’d taken to materializing in my car on occasions I was going somewhere, which had almost caused a few accidents along the way. Maxie is anything but subtle.
“So let’s assume that your friend is telling the truth. Do you think he’s the one holding Dad hostage?” I asked my mother.
“I don’t know. After you left, he came back and we talked more, but I got so upset that I wasn’t thinking clearly,” she admitted. “Lawrence said he could get Jack out of whatever predicament he’s in, but he wants something in return.”
That kind of talk always raises my suspicions. “Oh, really,” I said. “What is it he wants from you?” My mind wasn’t wrapping itself around this one comfortably. What could a ghost want? They can’t spend money. They can’t take ransom.
“It’s not me he wants something from; it’s you,” Mom said to me.
I could feel my eyes narrow. “What is it he wants?” I asked.
“He wants you to find out who murdered him.”
This had a familiar ring. When I’d first met Paul and Maxie, that was the very request they’d made of me, and it hadn’t been easy to fulfill. I was in no hurry to try doing something like that again.
Paul sighed before I could. “I understand his torment,” he said. “But how did he know about Alison’s ability to seepeople like us? Does he know she has a private-investigator’s license?”
Mom finished her bottle of beer and looked away, pretending to search for the recycling bin she knew perfectly well I kept next to the fridge. “I might have…mentioned something about it,” she said, making sure not to establish eye contact with me.
Maxie stifled a giggle. When she died, Maxie was a twenty-eight-year-old who had probably topped out at sixteen on the maturity charts. Things hadn’t changed much since then.
I decided to pretend not to notice Maxie and turned toward Mom. “So you’ve been bragging about my detective skills to your dead friends?” I asked.
“Maybe a little. But you know, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
Sometimes it is very difficult not to roll one’s eyes heavenward. In this case, I found it impossible. For one thing, I know I’m not a good investigator—Paul does most of the brainwork, and I do the legwork—and for another, Mom wouldn’t know a good detective if she met Sherlock Holmes at the clubhouse of her condo complex. Which I wasn’t sure she hadn’t.
Before the top of my head could blow off, Paul floated between Mom and me. “Do we have any details, Loretta?” he asked. “Do we know exactly when Mr. Laurentz died and how he was murdered?”
Mom seemed much happier dealing with Paul, so I took a seat and considered having a drink myself but didn’t want to open a bottle of wine just for me. I’d have to look into wine six-packs.
“I met Lawrence at the clubhouse in our development about two months ago, and he began coming around to the house every once in a while right after that. He said he had died a little over six months ago. Last June,” Mom reporteddutifully. “He says he was electrocuted, but that the police think he had a heart attack or something.”
Paul’s eyes perked up. “Electrocuted? How?”
“He says someone threw an electric toaster into his bubble bath.”
Maxie guffawed, and this time I was grateful. It covered my own involuntary yelp quite nicely. Mom gave Maxie a disdainful look.
“The man was murdered, Maxine,” she reminded her.
“Sorry, Mrs. Kerby.” Maxie sounded like a third grader being admonished by her teacher,