Murder Casts Its Spell

by Margaret C. Morse

  "Fine," I shout. "Be like that. May your intestines hate you in the morning." Then I head back to my car, feeling even more immature than normal.

  * * *

  Once I'm in my apartment, I toss my jacket onto the corner of the couch, flop beside it, pull off my boots, and grab the remote. It's Wednesday. I can either catch the ending of Nashville or that new cop show. Hmm, sassy soap opera set around country music or police hunting down killers. Both sound equally stimulating, but after my experience with Freezer Dude, I pick Nashville.

  I turn it on in the middle of a commercial for Jared the Galleria of Jewelry with some handsome guy giving some gorgeous woman an open-heart diamond necklace. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my phone. I bring up my contacts and scroll to Julian's face. He's squinting because the sun is nearly blinding him. I took that picture over the summer, back when I thought he was perfect for me. Now, I still want to believe that, but I'm just not sure.

  My finger hovers over his name. I want to call him, to see how he's doing. It's almost 11:00. If he's not working, he may be asleep. I don't want to disturb him. I sigh heavily and place the phone on the coffee table.

  The show comes back on and Scarlett, the quiet blonde who gave up a singing career because she couldn't handle the attention and being on tour, is sulking about something. I know the feeling, girl.

  Julian's job is the reason we're taking things slow. Not only did he recently learn I communicate with the dead, but I learned that he's a fixer. He works for a lawyer whose clients are bigwigs. Whenever a client is in trouble of some sort, Julian intervenes and makes things right. Sounds noble, but it's not. That murder Izzie was framed for…if Julian hadn't moved the dead body and fixed it, Izzie probably wouldn't have been accused. He made things better, but I was the one who saved my sister in the end.

  Hence, this is why we're taking things slow. I'm not sure I can be with a person who doesn't firmly stand on the white side of the law.

  The show soon ends, and I immediately look for anything to watch that isn't the news. I can't stomach all the negativity. I get to AMC, and the guide says The Terminator is coming up. This'll do.

  The commercial break is of Hellmann's Mayonnaise, and while I'm now hungry for a BLT, I don't feel like cooking. So I reach for the bag of Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeño Cheetos and pull it open. What can I say? I'm easily influenced.

  I may regret this tomorrow, but what the heck. I pop several long, orange-red, crunchy nuggets into my mouth. Being mature is overrated.

  TWO GHOSTS & A LOVE SONG

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