In other words, he needed me.

I had agreed, probably without thinking about it hard enough, to train for and receive a private investigator license, which I kept in my wallet mainly to impress the supermarket checkout “yenta” who loves to ask about everyone’s business. I had never intended to actually put the license to use, but Paul had other ideas. So once in a while, when Paul conjures up what is usually an already dead client, I do the legwork on an investigation and let Paul do the thinking. I know that seems backward—I should be the one out of harm’s way because nothing more can happen to Paul—but circumstances force us into illogical situations.

“People will just believe anything they hear, won’t they?” Jeannie asked, bringing me out of my reverie. Oh, yeah. Walking back to Jeannie’s car. Right.

“Anything they think is fun,” I agreed.

“I have to admit, you’ve done a great job of selling that ghost thing, got you a lot of business,” she said. We stopped, having reached her minivan. I’ve learned not to belabor the whole ghost subject with her. “You go get back to work,” I said. “I’ve got to get some cleaning done before I pick up Melissa, and then I have a new crew of guests on the way.”

Jeannie chuckled. “It sounded like you said you had a new crew of ghosts on the way,” she said, getting into the van. I waved her off and turned to head back to my vintage (that is, falling-apart) Volvo.

A new crew of ghosts? Bite your tongue, Jeannie.