Living with the Dead

As for details on that friend, though, that's where things got fuzzy. They agreed she was eastern – from the eastern U.S. by her accent and from an Eastern ancestry by her looks. Middle Eastern or East Indian? They bickered over that until Fi

As for a name, neither had caught it. And they got into another fight because their friend "Chas" claimed he recognized the girl from some high-society charity ball back east a couple of years earlier. He'd mentioned a name, which they'd forgotten, except that it was "totally Anglo, like Jill Smith," which Madelyn claimed proved Chas was too wasted to see straight and had mistaken the girl for someone else. Kendra disagreed about the "wasted" part, but admitted Chas might have just been angling for an introduction to an attractive young woman.

An attractive young woman who had come with her boyfriend, as it turned out. Now him they remembered.

"He was white," Madelyn said. "Older. Maybe thirty-five. He looked like a banker or a stockbroker. A money guy. Portia was all over him. Normally not her type, but he was very fine… for his age."

"Was that a problem?"

"His age?"

"Portia being 'all over' this other young woman's boyfriend."

"She didn't care. Probably used to that. The culture, you know? Arranged marriages, multiple wives…"

Kendra sighed. "The girl was obviously as American as you."

Madelyn dismissed the idea with a snort. Fi

He was in the outer room when a deep voice behind him said, "Whoa. Those chicks were brutal. Meow."

A man stood across the room. Fi

"Look sharp," the man said. "Corporeal being at one o'clock."

Fi

"I wanted to say I think Chas did recognize that girl. Madelyn's just jealous 'cause he was checking her out. But you might have trouble getting hold of him. He took off to Ibiza this morning, and he always 'forgets' his cell, so his dad can't bug him. If that number doesn't work, call me – I have his e-mail address somewhere."

When Kendra was gone, Fi

"We done here?" He bounded forward, arms uncrossing. "Good. We have murders to solve."

He started for the door, then noticed Fi

So he was a ghost. The quip about corporeal beings should have been the tip-off.

Fi

"You are a hard man to get hold of," Trent said as he settled into his seat. "I've been following you all day. A couple times you glanced my way, like you saw a flicker, but that was it. That glow you've got, the one that says you're a necromancer? It's really dim. I suppose that means your powers aren't very strong. No offense."

"Necromancer?"

"That's what they call your sort, isn't it?"

Fi

His family presumed there were other people who could see ghosts, but they'd never given it much thought. You heard about that sort of thing all the time – spiritualists, mediums, whatever – and his family didn't see any use in sticking a name on it. It was what it was, and you learned to live with it. Or you didn't. Your choice.

"What can I do for you?" Fi

"The question, sir, is what can I do for you. The answer? Help solve this case."

Fi

An enigmatic smile. "I know a lot of things."

"Specific to this case?"

The ghost reached for his seat belt, cursing as his fingers passed through. Then he gave a short laugh. "Not like I need that anyway, huh? Old habits…"

"Do you know something specific to this case?"

"About what those girls said, Detective – Can I call you Fi

"What do you know about this case?"

"This and that."

"In other words, not much. Look, if you need something from me, ask. I'll do what I can. But I don't like games. You don't need to pretend you can help – "

"You're right that I don't know squat, but that doesn't mean I can't help." He faced Fi

Speaking of shit, Fi

When Fi

He flashed a smile that reminded Fi

Maybe it was the grin, but as Fi