It's A Wonderful Midlife Crisis (Good to the Last Death #1)(11)

Planting my hands on my hips and surveying the situation, I tried to figure out how to handle it. Maybe I’d call a meeting. It was my house after all and they were here uninvited. The very least they could do was to follow some damn rules.

“Okay, umm… people. We’re having a meeting. You have two minutes to show yourselves and bring your dead selves outside. Whoever decides not to join us is no longer welcome to squat on my property,” I said, using my outdoor voice so the inside interlopers would be sure to hear the invitation.

Slowly but surely, semi-transparent dead people began to gather on the porch and in the front yard. Holy hell, how many were there? I lost count after forty-two—mostly because they kind of faded in and out of each other. After I realized I’d counted the laughing dude from the Stan debacle three times, I gave up. It didn’t really matter how many had taken up residence at my house. They were here and it seemed I didn’t have much of a say about it.

“Can anyone here speak English… or umm… Spanish? I speak a tiny bit of Spanish and I know a few phrases in French. I took it in high school, but that was a while ago,” I called out and almost burst into hysterical laughter.

What was I doing? These people were dead. Sharing my skill—or lack thereof—of foreign languages from when I was in high school over twenty years ago with dead people meant I was crazier than Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch on national television.

I still wasn’t sure they were real. True insanity had taken over. It didn’t really matter at this point if they were real or I was imagining them. I could see them and I had glued a freaking hand back on this morning. They were real enough.

No one uttered a word. Fine. If they couldn’t speak English, they most certainly could understand it. I hoped.

“Okay,” I said, pacing the grass and keeping a lookout for anyone who might drive up. It wouldn’t do to let the cat out of the bag that I’d lost my mind. “Today’s my birthday.”

I was interrupted by what I could only interpret as some kind of garbled grunting congratulations. Pretty sure a few tried to clap, but their hands went right through each other. The sentiment was nice even if the reality was alarming. I decided to go with my gut here.

“Umm… thank you.” My need to be polite bordered on absurd and definitely embarrassing. “None of you are actually invited to the party. So I think it would be a great idea if you went to the movies or maybe took a walk this evening—a three-to four-hour walk. You know, to the graveyard or somewhere appropriate like that.”

Silence.

The movies were probably a bad idea and the graveyard comment bordered on bad taste. I didn’t need them getting pissed off. Honestly, I was lonely in the big rambling house since Steve died. Maybe I’d conjured up imaginary dead friends to keep me company.

“I’m crazier than a fish with tits,” I muttered, repeating one of Gram’s favorite phrases.

I was pretty sure some of the ghosts laughed. At least I was entertaining to someone, even if they were dead. Living alone was hard after sharing my life with a partner for so long.

The farmhouse had been a dream of Steve’s and mine. We’d bought it ten years ago and had spent the last decade fixing it up. It sat in the middle of twenty acres surrounded by lush forest. Steve was a far better decorator than I was, but I was a pro with a hammer and a gallon of paint. The hours spent improving our dream house were some of the best memories I had of my husband.

I’d also had dreams of filling our home with our children and dogs from shelters. Sometimes dreams didn’t come true. With our issues, kids were not an option.

And then Steve died. The end.

Pushing the sad thoughts away, I eyed my attentive audience.

“I’m going for a run,” I explained. “When I get back, everyone will be gone. We clear? Oh, and if anyone left a body part lying around, you need to take that with you. While I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can see you guys, a random nose or foot lying around would freak my guests out. You feel me?”

Again, no one said a word. I didn’t expect them to. If they had, I might have fainted. It would mean I’d gone from simply cracked to completely certifiable. I was fairly sure my transparent buddies understood not to leave their appendages lying around, but I’d take a walk around the house before the girls came over, just in case.

Realizing I was an idiot, I smacked my forehead. I had the rest of the day in front of me and I’d forgotten to take any work home. There was no way in hell I was going back to the office. Running into the pretty-boy lawyer was not good for my sanity.

And considering I only had a little of that left, I could take no chances.





“Absolutely not,” I huffed as I began to sprint the last mile of my run.

I noticed a few of them on mile three of my usual five miles. The dead dude who was so supportive when Stan was talking smack this morning led the pack. They floated along beside me squealing with laughter and moving their legs like they were running. They weren’t. They couldn’t. At one point during the uphill part of my run, I was jealous that I couldn’t float like they could. I needed to stop hanging out with people who should be taking a dirt nap.

“You can’t come on my runs,” I tried to explain, swiping the sweat from my face as I increased my pace. “This is my alone time to think.”