Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“I have a list of ideas of where you should begin your research into the cause of my death,” Lionel began.
Since Lionel was a ghost, Natalie assumed it was a mental list. That didn’t mean she was any more interested in hearing what this micromanaging control-freak had to say.
When she didn’t move or respond, Lionel glared. “Miss Chase, you’ll need a pen and paper to take notes”
Take notes?
“No,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“No?” he asked, as if it was his first time hearing the word.
She raised a brow. “Not until you give me an apology.”
“An apology? Whatever for?” he asked, his tone rising with his obvious surprise.
“For your mocking me. In public. You called into question my ability to see the dead in front of the entire conference and on Facebook.”
“I will admit I was incorrect on that one minor point. You do seem to have some sort of abilities when it comes to communicating with… them.”
“Them? No. Not them. You. You’re dead,” Natalie took great pleasure in pointing that out.
He wobbled his head from side-to-side with a low hum. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” Natalie choked. “How can you possibly question it?”
Pompous, judgmental… ugh!
Even now in death when he could walk through walls, when he was invisible to every living person except for Natalie, the narcissist still couldn’t admit he was wrong.
“I have given this situation some thought and I can question your hypothesis,” he began, “because it is very possible I am not dead, but actually in a dream.”
“More like a nightmare,” she mumbled.
Ignoring her, he continued, “I always have had extremely vivid dreams. This could easily be that.”
“Then please wake up, because I’m more than done with your dream.”
“Another possibility I must consider is that I am in a coma.” As if she hadn’t spoken at all, Lionel kept talking, seemingly more to himself than to her.
“And if that is the case, for some reason which I cannot fathom, my brain has chosen the vestige of you to guide me through this challenging period. Why, I do not know. But since you are here, please do your job.”
Do her job? Like she was his assistant. And an unpaid one at that.
“And what job is that?” she asked with enough attitude even Professor Self-Centered wouldn’t be able to miss it.
“Isn’t it obvious? Find out what happened to me!” he demanded with a fervor she imagined he used for his unruly students, when he was actually teaching and not touring the country hawking his shitty books.
She crossed her arms. “Why?”
His bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows drew low over the pale watery eyes behind the smudged lenses of his glasses. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Why should I care what happened to you? Or for that matter, what happens to you next?” she added as an idea struck.
She could convince Liam to ship the body back and if history was any guide, the attached spirit would follow. It had barely been twenty-four hours since this unwanted delivery had arrived. There must be some sort of cadaver return policy.
With a condescending scoff, Lionel said, “I would think common decency would be the answer to both questions.”
Damn him for shaming her, even if he was right. Even with as much as she disliked him, she couldn’t just ship him out to God only knew where.
She always helped spirits in need. Even that dark entity in Utica who’d scared the bejeezus out of her.
“Point taken,” she admitted. “But you’re dead. Knowing why you died won’t change anything.”
“Oh, how wrong you are. It would change everything. I will not be able to rest until I know how I died. And if this is my new reality…” He spread his hands to indicate his surroundings with a pinched expression of distaste, which was more than a bit insulting since they were in her shop.
“… I refuse to spend eternity wondering. With knowledge comes peace, Miss Chase.”
As self-aggrandizing as Lionel was as he stood there dropping wisdom like he was the Dali Lama or Yoda, and as much as she hated to admit it in light of his already over-inflated ego, he might have a point.
She’d often wondered why some spirits moved on and others remained tethered to their corpses. She knew Liam had been fascinated by the concept as well, once he’d accepted the whole concept that ghosts actually did exist.
Perhaps the professor was right. She’d never ever utter those words to him, but she had to agree. Knowing could change everything for him. For both of them.
Although, it hadn’t for Gabe…
That thought was like a record scratch in her brain, beating back that small spark of hope that she’d be able to get rid of Lionel. That giving him the answer he desired would send him off into the light…or wherever.
They’d found Gabe’s murderer. Justice had been meted out. She’d made sure Gabe’s prized possessions had been passed to his legitimate heirs. Yet Gabe remained.
Of course that could be because he’d fallen in love with Millie… Millie, who also had not moved on after they’d uncovered the unfortunate details of her young death.
Perhaps it was Gabe and Millie’s afterlife romance keeping them both here. After all, when they were together and touching their love made it possible for other livings to hear them, not just Natalie.
“Are you thinking about anything useful to me or just daydreaming about the newest romance novel on your nightstand?” Lionel asked, interrupting her pondering.
Natalie let out a snort. “I wish I had time to read. And stay out of my bedroom. My apartment is off limits. Got it?”
He rolled his eyes and her gaze narrowed into a glare.
She might regret it later, these ghosts were proving to be a full-time job, on top of the one she already had running her shop, but Natalie said, “Fine. I’ll help you.”
One bi-colored salt-and-pepper colored eyebrow lifted, like a two-tone wooly bear crawling up his forehead. “Thank God for small favors.”
“Don’t thank God. Thank me.”
He pursed his lips. “Hmm. Don’t we think highly of ourselves? Now, get that pen and paper. I’ll dictate. And please try to keep up. I loathe repeating myself.”
For the first time Natalie wished her ghost abilities included wrapping her hands around this man’s neck and squeezing until his judgmental eyes popped out of his head.
What would be the word for homicide when the victim was a ghost? She’d have to ask Harper to look into it, because if any ghost deserved to be strangled it was Professor Lionel Graves.