"We have a job to do," Ann said. "Let's go uncover what the police know."
"I still think it's better to ask Rich."
Ann let out a sigh of exasperation. "Abby…"
"You should let her do what she wants," a deep male voice entered into the room.
Ann and I spun around to the front door of Uncle Callous's office. The man I had met in the alley leaned against the frame, looking at Ann without a trace of emotion on his face. He looked… dead. How could I have mistaken him for anything else earlier?
"Get out of here, Denver!"
Denver, Uncle Callous's rookie associate, the man who had shot him. The man Callous had allegedly tried to kill, and who had defended himself by shooting Callous in the back. The man acquitted of the crime. And the man who had driven off a cliff to his death two days after the jury allowed him to walk. The police had never completed a thorough accident investigation, and there was no autopsy.
I suspected that whoever had hired Denver to murder Uncle Callous decided to take care of the one link to them. If one were paid to kill, one would accept more to talk. I was close to discovering who Denver had worked for when I was killed. And now, I could know for certain.
"Who hired you to kill my great-uncle?"
Denver smiled and leaned against the door, unaffected by the question.
Ann on the other hand, appeared to want to kill the man and would have, except he was already dead. "You know you're not welcome here."
"Never stopped me before." Each word he spoke was said in the same inflection, no change, or hint of the emotions he felt.
"Callous isn't going to be happy about this." Ann's simple sentence sounded like a threat.
"He wasn't happy about the murder, either, but he couldn't do anything about that."
"Looks like someone did." I entered into the conversation.
Denver's cold eyes found me. He looked me up and down and tried looking through me. I held my ground. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yes." For a brief moment, an emotion, a feeling, displayed in his eyes, but not long enough for me to swear it as the truth.
He cocked his head to the side and let out a puff of laughter. "I'm not going to tell you."
"It would ruin my opinion of you if you did." I paused. "Not that you care about my opinion."
"At this moment, I don't." His smile was playful. Amused.
"If the moment ever comes, keep it to yourself."
"Do you think I take orders from women?"
"No, but do you think that's going to stop me from giving them?"
Awkward laughter burst from Denver. The image of a long-sleeping volcano spewing streaming hot lava onto a well-developed city flashed into my mind. The sound wasn't appropriate coming from him.
Ann grabbed my arm and pulled me toward Callous's private office.
"I'll take my leave now." Denver lifted his fedora and tipped it toward me. "'Til we meet again."
"Not if I can help it."
"You can't."
"I know, but I'll say what I feel"
A bemused smiled played across his face. "Callous's eternity is going to be shaken up with you here."
"So will yours."
"One can only hope." Denver bowed and graciously exited the office.
"Why… why…" Ann sputtered. She squeezed the top of her head, strands of blond hair peeking through her fingers. "You shouldn't have talked to him."
"I don't need protection."
"You do now."
"He can't do anything to me. I'm already dead." I grinned, but my words didn't relieve the tension in her face.
"That doesn't mean there's no damage he can do."
"I can handle him."
Ann shook her head vigorously. "Things aren't the same here, Abby. You have to be careful. Denver is not to be trusted."
"I don't trust him."
"But you can't underestimate him, either. That man is evil and conniving. He wants to destroy Callous. He's been trying to do it for over fifty years."
"And he hasn't been able to. There's nothing to worry about." My confidence started to ebb.
"There is. You. He will use you to get to Callous."
I didn't have any wise words to respond to Ann. Would Uncle Callous do something to harm himself if it meant saving me? "I'll be careful."
"Even when being careful, a soul can slip."
"On what, Ann?"
Ann let out a deep sigh and took my hands in hers. "Abby, mistakes are made here, but none are forgiven. Rules—morality, in a sense—are different here in Limbo. This is a layover. When our souls are settled and can rest in peace, we will reach our final destination. Until then, we can change where we end up."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"You never asked."
There had to be some purpose to a lawyer.
Whether great or small, there had to be some usefulness to one. And I didn't think Timmy had ever been given that chance. My first duty of the morning entailed a visit to bring Timmy on board with the investigation. I hoped he would cooperate. I'd hate to have to ruin his day.
I relaxed my body and mind and pictured the scared lawyer I had accosted in the stairwell. I couldn't help but smile. That had been fun. Timmy had some funny ideas about ghosts and how to interact with us. Co-exist with me? Not in any lifetime or even afterlife.
I started feeling disconnected from myself. Nothingness surrounded me. I concentrated on the image of Tim in my head. My spirit started to swirl, becoming a breeze through the air as I transported to my destination.
Light appeared. I formed myself into a white vapor form and checked out my surroundings. A window overlooked the sprawling city. A beige carpet was under my feet, a couch to my left. Beside the desk, a pale Tim stood with his mouth agape, staring at me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" a gray-haired gentleman bellowed at Tim.
"Nothing," Tim stammered, his eyes still on me. "Not a thing."
"Unless you're trying to catch flies, shut your mouth. Or are you still arguing with me?" The man punctuated his sentence by slamming his fist on the desk.
"Neither, sir."
"Good. No more of this nonsense about Willow's will. The woman is dead, and she made her wishes known. It's not our concern that nothing was left to Diane. That was Willow's decision."
"Based on your advice," Tim said meekly.
I wasn't sure what argument he was trying to win, but that tone wasn't going to change anyone's opinion to his side. Maybe there was no purpose to this guy.
"Then, we're done." The man stood, nodded at Tim, then marched out the door.
"Nice guy," I said, hovering over the couch.
"Can't you sit on it?" Tim dropped himself into the chair. "It's too distracting when you do that."
"Do what?"
"Float. What do you want?"
"What makes you think I want anything?" I did the backstroke to Tim's desk and floated above his head.
Tim craned his neck toward the ceiling. "I don't think you're here to be entertainment."
"Excuse me?" A sharp feminine voice responded from the doorway.
I grinned. It was going to be fun hearing him talk his way out of that. The pretty brunette looked at the ceiling. She returned her gaze to Tim and eyed him warily.
"What?" Tim smiled, attempting to make her believe he hadn't been holding a conversation with the ceiling.
"Were you talking to me or something else?" She dropped some folders on Tim's desk and sneaked another look upward.
"I didn't say anything."
"Right." She paused by the door. "Maybe you should go home and get some rest."
After she left, I started laughing. "You're not going to be much good as a lawyer if you can't lie better than that."
Tim glared at me. "As if I need you to tell me that. My father has already claimed that as his job. Now, can you please come down here?"
"Am I correct in assuming that gentleman you were speaking with—" I remained in the a
ir, enjoying his discomfort.
"Yep, good old Dad. He doesn't feel that we need to do what's right, just what's best for our clients." Tim rubbed his neck.
"And your bank accounts." I settled down beside him.
"We have to make money."
"Not arguing that, just your methods."
"Look who's talking," he snapped. "You made your income prying into peoples' lives and uncovering information they didn't want anyone to know." Tim jumped up from his chair and wobbled toward the window. "You gave what you found out to the very person they didn't want to know. And you did it for money."
"I did it to right wrongs, not to hide them."
"According to you and your clients. I'm sure the victims didn't feel that way."
Who was this guy to lecture me? And what did he know about any of my cases? "They weren't victims. They were criminals. And criminals need to be caught."
Tim spun away from the window and marched toward me. "Are you saying I'm a criminal? That my father is?"
"I'm not a judge." I shrugged slowly to give a more horrifying effect. Tim wasn't impressed. Maybe he thought I was the Ghost of Lawyer Future letting him in on the little secret that he was going to Hell. "Why do you think I'm here about you?"
Tim sighed. "Okay, Mr…"
"Callous. The name is Callous."
His eyebrows arched upwards. "Okay, Callous, are you here to warn me or for help?"
I floated over and rested my form on the edge of Tim's desk. I flipped through his calendar. "Where were you and, or, Diane at the time Willow Flannery died?"
Tim addressed the floor. "I was here at work with Diane. She was pumping me for more information on Willow changing her will."
"Do you or Diane know what kind of car Willow drove?"
"No, Willow never drove herself. The chauffeur always dropped her off and came in the evening to pick her up, or whenever she paged him." Tim took a seat on the couch, leaning his head back on the cushion.
I allowed the leather calendar to close with a nice resounding thud. "To me, that seems kind of unusual for an independent woman."
"It was for security reasons."
"Security?" I didn't try to hide the pique of interest in my voice.
Tim placed his right foot on his left knee and started to retie his laces. Why was it so hard to speak more than one sentence without turning away from me? Though I was sure it was unsettling to see through someone. I'd give him the benefit of the doubt for now.
"Tabloids."
I motioned for him to expand the explanation.
"Those faux newspapers love to take pictures of a woman who runs an escort service, and Willow was very interested in staying out of the papers. She was a master at it." Tim exchanged knee and shoe and started to retie the other shoe.
"Nobody can ever say with certainty that was a part of my business." Willow's voice drifted into the room. "I ran a temp agency, not an escort service."
I groaned. Tim paled and appeared ready to fall from the couch.
"Willow."
She smiled at him. "Surprised to see me?" She floated around to take a place beside me at the desk.
"Of course he is," I snapped. "You're dead."
"I have to sit down." Tim tried to keep his eyes off of his dead client.
"You are," I reminded him.
Tim just nodded.
Willow pointed at me. "He doesn't bother you, but I do?"
"I never knew him alive." He looked back at her form, shuddered, and decided to take great interest in the carpet.
"Excuse us." I punctuated my words with a sharp nod. I took hold of Willow's elbow, being careful not to turn it into an accusation of assault, and floated her to the other side of the room. "I told you to stay away. I had him talking, ready to spill his guts, and he clammed up as tight as church doors to the true heathens."
"You're wasting time, and I know you have more cases to solve." Willow let out an exasperated sigh. "Gannon murdered me. I keep telling you that, and you keep ignoring me. Why do you think my lawyer would have better information than I do?"
"Because if you know the answer to that question, then why is your spirit still roaming?"
"That's what I hired you for."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my case notebook, figuring I might as well humor the dame. "Why are you so sure that Gannon is your murderer?"
"I saw him do it."
"Why didn't you tell me?" It was the best, and only, comeback in my repertoire.
She smiled and shrugged. "You never asked."
I fixed her with my interrogation look. I heard Tim squeak on the leather couch, and I turned to look at him. He leaned forward, elbows rested on his knees, chin cupped in his hand, watching us with rapt interest. I glared at him.
Tim cleared his throat and returned his attention to his shoes.
I pulled out my black notebook and poised my pen above one of the pages dealing with Willow's murder.
"You saw Gannon tamper with your brakes?" I asked, words stiffer than a double shot of whiskey.
"No," she responded with glee.
"You saw him paying someone to tamper with the brakes?"
"No."
"Then—"
Willow cut me off quicker than Denver's sharp turn over a cliff. "He was at the scene. He watched the paramedics try to save me and looked rather pleased when they pronounced me dead."
"So that means Diane isn't a suspect. You won't be popping in to visit me anymore?" Tim asked, a broad smile on his face.
"No." I pushed my hat back, an evil grin crossing my face.
Tim groaned and buried his head in his hands. He spread his fingers, peeked out, then closed them. I heard his deep intake of breath, and once again he peeked at me. I cocked my head to one side and crossed my arms.
Take note: Ghosts have all the time in the world.
"What?" he whined.
"You know you want to help."
"No, I don't."
"Trust me," Willow said. "Someone needs to help him figure all this out."
I ignored her. "Tim, you'd miss me. Your life is rather boring now that Diane has sashayed her way out of it."
Tim sat up straight, coming to terms with the fact that ghosts won in the battle of the wills. "I don't think digging around here about Willow is going to help."
I floated over to him and let my form rest cross-legged on his desk. "Of course that won't help. You won't find any information about Abigail digging around about Willow."
"Abigail?" Tim's voice sparked with interest.
"My grandniece. She was murdered a few days ago in her home."
"She's related to you?" Willow asked.
I motioned for her to shush.
"That sucks," Tim said.
I could only nod. "Her name is Abigail Harris. She was twenty-one and a student at the local university."
Tim whipped out a pad of paper and a pen from his desk and started taking notes. "Who killed her? Why?"
"If I knew that, genius, I'd just go haunt them to death. I wouldn't need you."
Tim placed his paper and pen on his lap and pushed himself and his rolling chair away from me. "Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. He'd still need you," Willow piped in.
"Will you go away?" I snapped at her. "Haunt Braswell or Gannon."
A sexy smile played across her face. "I'd rather bother you."
With that smile, I'd bring her interference everywhere I went. "Don't worry about it, Tim. You're a lawyer. Stupid questions come with the territory."
He looked like he wanted to argue the merits of his profession, but decided debating with a dead man wasn't worth the effort.
"Abby was a criminal justice major. She was working on some big project that consumed her mind and time."
"What was it?"
"Shut up, and I'll finish giving you your instructions."
"Just like my dad," Tim muttered, poking his pen through the sheet of paper. He gave me a pathetic attempt at
a grin.
"That's what I need you to find out. What she was working on, what she had learned, and who knew what she knew? The only people on the list I have are her mother, father, grandmother, and boyfriend, Rich. You can cross the mom, pop, and grandma off the suspect list."
"Okay, if you say so…"
"Timmy, I've been living and dead three times longer than you've been alive, so I know the way this scenario works. I can attest to the fact that they didn't do it."
Tim held up his hands in surrender. "I'll take your word for it."
"There's a great plan." Willow made a projection of wiggling her form onto the desk.
Tim read his notes and nodded. "I can handle this. This shouldn't be too hard."
"Great, I'll be back tomorrow to hear what you found."
"Tomorrow?" Tim choked on the word.
"Yeah, the day after today."
"Doesn't give me much time."
"Sure, it does. I'm sure you have connections and employees on the payroll who might be able to help you come up with some of the basic information."
"Well…"
"Use a computer at my office if you're worried about your dad." Willow crossed one ghostly leg over the other.
"It's not really your office…" Tim refused to look at Willow's form. She frowned and vanished from the room.
I floated toward the ceiling. "If you don't want to do it, I can find someone else to give me a hand."
"No!" Tim looked devastated. "I just want enough time to ensure I do a thorough job."
"Right now, all I want are the basic whos and whats. Your cover is that you're a reporter. Talk with a Detective Trip. He won't give you anything, but you might be able to overhear or grab a lead to run with."
"I can do that."
"Good. Tomorrow." I floated off to find a heartbroken woman.
I fixated my mind on her and made sure to keep my thoughts pure and respectful. My form materialized in a small café in Limbo, a little coffee shop with baked goods. Caffeine and sugar weren't needed, nor was any type of nourishment, but eating passed the time.
Willow sat at a table in the corner. I watched as she slouched down and held up a magazine in front of her face.
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