Free Shades of Grey by Clea Simon Page A

lousy karma. Now, have you noticed anything missing? Sometimes an unsettled spirit will try anything to climb back in.’
    ‘Just my sweater, but I know who took that.’ If Dulcie didn’t talk fast enough, Lucy would have the entire Pacific Northwest chanting for her. ‘That was Mrs Putnam, one of my bosses.’
    ‘Your boss took your sweater?’
    ‘Well, I think so.’ She quickly told her mother how she had taken three days off work and when she returned, the sweater she’d left in her cubicle to keep warm against the air-conditioning had disappeared. ‘I mean, the one she had with her looked like mine.’
    ‘That city is an evil place, Dulcie. I’m not sure I like you being there.’
    It had been a bad week, but Dulcie wouldn’t go back to Oregon for anything. ‘Well, it was only a sweater.’
    ‘A woman who will steal a sweater has bad qi. There’s no telling what else she’ll do.’
    Dulcie couldn’t argue with that. It was an insurance office, after all. And she hadn’t even told her mother how reptilian the manager could be. ‘Well, it’s just a temp job. And maybe I’ll ask her about it. Maybe it was a mistake.’ Yeah, right.
    ‘You be careful, Dulcinea. And if your spirit guide comes back, would you . . .?’ Her mother paused.
    ‘I’ll put in a word for you, Mom. Don’t worry.’
    ‘Thank you, dear. Remember, I’ve always been partial to wolves.’

Seven
    She hadn’t meant to be late for work but somehow, in the grand scheme of things, Priority Insurance no longer rated very high. After talking with her mother, Dulcie had stayed up way too late reading the arts and literature grad students’ journal, Notes from Tintype Abbey , and then simply had to write up some thoughts about setting as metaphor before going to sleep. She’d been dreaming of a haunted castle, one that seemed to be up two flights of stairs from the street, and an avenging knight who had suspiciously long whiskers emerging from his visor, when she’d been woken up – not by her alarm, which she’d forgotten to set, but by Helene downstairs, shouting.
    ‘I know you’re allergic, Duane. Duane !’Ah, it was her neighbor’s boyfriend who had provoked the normally unshakeable nurse. Dulcie had never liked the pumped-up little muscle builder Helene had met at the hospital. He’d glared at Dulcie for having the temerity to live in the upstairs apartment, and he didn’t seem to respect Helene for the light and airy ground-floor place she’d paid for and furnished either. Dulcie had even seen him kick at a cat once, out on the street. The feline had dodged the little man easily enough, but Dulcie had been glad to hear her hiss. ‘Of course I care about your health, Duane. Don’t you know that by now?’
    Dulcie couldn’t hear a response and wondered if Helene was expending all that energy on a phone call or if Duane’s asthma had finally silenced him – if he had asthma at all. Dulcie suspected that the little bully just wanted an excuse to take steroids. ‘I wouldn’t, Duane. Never. Why would I have a cat in my apartment? It must have been something else! Duane. ’
    Dulcie heard a positively feral growl of frustration and, yes, what sounded like a receiver being banged down. That’s when she noticed the time and jumped up. At least she didn’t have to wait for the shower anymore. Though, as she balanced on one foot to shave her leg, while simultaneously trying to rinse the shampoo out of her hair, she had to wonder: had a cat been in Helene’s apartment? Could this be the ghost of Mr Grey, watching over both of them? As she rubbed a towel over her curls, she could have sworn she felt the soft press of fur, the familiar figure eight of a feline wrapping around her legs. She could almost hear the purr. But when she looked down, all she saw were her own bare feet, the toenail polish beginning to chip.
    Between the usual T delays and the absolutely necessary stop for a jumbo Dunkin’ iced, she was nearly half