Chapter 2

“Damn it to hell.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kid,” he heard from behind him.

Jon spun around to find a man standing there, grinning. Well, not a man, Jon realized, since he could faintly see the lights surrounding the crime scene through the guy.

“You’re a ghost, too,” Jon said. “And by the way, I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-eight.”

“You weretwenty-eight. Now you’re a couple of hours old in afterlife terms.”

“As compared to you?” Jon replied belligerently.

“Yep. Have been this—” The ghost swept his hand down his body, “—for the last five years.”

Jon frowned. “I don’t remember anyone talking about another murder in the lot.”

“Why would they? I didn’t die here.”

“But I thought…” Jon frowned.

“Like I said, you’ve got a lot to learn.” The ghost held out his hand. “I’m Brody, by the way. Brody Ellis. I know you’re Jonathan.”

“Jon. I hate Jonathan.” Tentatively, Jon reached for Brody’s hand, although he was certain they couldn’t touch. To his surprise, they did. “So it’s only real things I can’t move or feel?” he asked.

“Not yet. Give it time. You wanted inside?” Brody replied, gesturing to the door.

“I live there. Lived. Damn it!”

Brody smiled compassionately. “I remember how it feels. You’ll get used to it in time.” He gripped the door handle, stared at it for a long moment, and managed to pull the door open. “You gotta concentrate. At least I still do, for heavy things. I know a lady who’s been around for more years than I have, who can deal with anything.” He chuckled. “Of course you don’t have to use the door. Just walk through it.”

“I’d…rather not,” Jon told him as they entered the building. “Then I’ll know I’m really, truly dead.” He shivered.

Brody smirked. “Like watching them work on your body didn’t clue you in?”

“Yeah. Well.”

“What floor do you live on?” Brody asked.

“The fourth.” Jon started down the hallway leading to the lobby.

“Let’s…No, let’s not. Not yet.”

“What?”

“I was going to say we could go straight up.” Brody pointed to the ceiling. “But you better get used to lateral travel first before trying vertical. We’ll work on that when we get to your place.”

Jon nodded as they entered the lobby.

“Well, aren’t we the lucky ones,” Brody said a moment later. He and Jon arrived at the elevator at the same time as the detective and one of the police officers Jon had seen by his body at the crime scene. The officer pushed the Upbutton.

As soon as the door opened, everyone stepped into the elevator. Obviously the detective and his companion weren’t aware they had company on the ride up.

When they got off, the detective said, “Number four-o-four should be this way,” as he started down the hallway toward Jon’s apartment. He was holding a set of keys that Jon recognized as his. The detective unlocked the door then switched on the lights in the living room. “Not bad, for a waiter,” he told the officer.

The officer nodded. “Even waiters can have good taste, Detective Harris.”

“I told you, call me Mike. Okay?”

Jon frowned as the detective began going through the drawers of the desk in one corner of the living room. “He’s prying.”

Brody shook his head. “He’s looking for anything that might tell him why someone wanted you dead.”

“He won’t find anything, since I don’t know why I was killed.”

Brody studied Jon. “What happened before the guy bashed your head in?”

“Huh?”

“Okay. Rephrase. Where were you before you got to the parking lot?”

Jon was thrown off by the question. “At work? I mean, yeah, I must have been.”

“You don’t remember?”

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture it. “I drove into the lot, parked, got out, then walked toward the building. Something hit me—” he touched the back of his head, “—and that’s it.”

“Nothing before then?”

Taking a deep breath, Jon slowly shook his head. “Nothing. Well, I know I was a waiter, and how old I am. Stuff like that. But no details. Can ghosts get amnesia?”

“Got me. But if a blow to the head can cause it while you’re alive, maybe it carries over?”

“Do you remember your life, before you died?” Jon asked.

“In living color,” Brody said tightly. “I was thirty-four and they finally let me go undercover to bring down a drug dealer we were after. A feather in my cap, as far as I was concerned, since I’d been trying to get them to let me do undercover work. Anyway, I was walking down the street, about a week after I made it into the dealer’s gang. It was around two in the morning and I was heading to a meet. Some bastard shot me—once in the back, once in the shoulder. I’d bled out by the time someone found me.”

“Damn,” Jon whispered. “You were a cop?”

“Yeah.” Brody almost smiled. “A good one, until that happened. It made all the papers. They never found out who did it, even though it probably had to be someone in the gang who figured out I was a cop and decided to eliminate me. I guess I wasn’t as good at undercover work as I thought I was,” he added dryly.