Chapter 8
They landed back in Dell’s entryway, where they’d been standing not long before. Tommy was sweeping up the broken lamp. Nikki
must have left.
Good, Dell thought. She’d be less tempted to use her ghostly powers for evil.
“Seriously, how do you do that?” Cole asked from beside her.
She let go of his hand and turned to him. “We just traveled through some physics- and logic-defying wormhole, and you’re wondering
how I managed to pick up a piece of paper?” She held it between them and wondered if it would look like it was floating to
anyone from the other side. “Much more pressing matters at hand.”
“Right,” he said, and followed her when she ignored Tommy and beelined for the kitchen. “But I’m still curious.”
“I got really mad, I told you.”
“Interesting. I wonder if the ability to breach planes is tied to any strong emotion or only anger.”
“Well, once we unravel the mystery of what’s in section three, clause C, we can experiment with the full spectrum of feels,” Dell said, and went to set the paper on the island.
On second thought, she kept it in her hand in case she wouldn’t be able to pick it back up without blowing an emotional gasket.
“What does it say?” Cole asked. He stood behind her, once again close enough to feel his warmth and catch a hint of that minty-fresh
smell.
Dell scanned the dense little paragraph, holding her breath and preparing for more rage. “It says ‘in the event of my death . . .’ ”
She trailed off as she kept reading. When she got to the critical part, she gasped loud enough to make Cole jump.
“What? What is it?” he asked.
Dell was reeling once again. A wave of shame washed over her that she hadn’t paid enough attention to notice this glaring
issue—an addition her family’s lawyers surely would have shut down if she’d taken the time to have them review, like she’d
said she would. “It says in the event of my death, my trust goes to Tommy, not charity like it’s supposed to.”
Cole stared at her with wide eyes. It wasn’t a smoking gun, but it explained a lot.
Dell felt pieces sliding into place. If she died, Tommy would get all her money. Had this been the plan all along? All the
way back to that night they’d met at the fundraiser?
“No wonder his mom is so nice to me,” she said bitterly. “And no wonder she was so concerned about his involvement in my death
this morning and wanted this prenup destroyed.” She held up the piece of paper like a flapping sail. “It would have looked
pretty suspicious if I signed over my trust to him on condition of death, and then died the next day, even if he had nothing
to do with it, and even if we weren’t married yet.”
They stared at each other, silently agreeing, and neither of them giving voice to the elephant in the room. Had Tommy been planning to kill her at some point?
Dell looked over at Tommy still sweeping up the broken lamp and tingled with a giant feeling she could only describe as ick. She knew he didn’t have it in him to straight up murder her. But something that looked like an accident . . . A kitchen
fire. A slip and fall with a sharp knife. Getting locked in the freezer—a restaurant really did provide a bounty of opportunity.
But she was rarely alone in her restaurant. There would be witnesses. He’d need to get her by herself. A dark huff of a laugh
popped out of her. “Maybe he was going to stage an accident on our honeymoon.”
Cole cast her a look that made her realize their honeymoon was actually the perfect opportunity. She gripped Cole’s arm once
more, making him jump. “Our honeymoon! He was so insistent on a boat. I don’t even like boats! Oh my God!” She released her
grip and ran off for the hallway.
“Where are you going?” Cole called after her.
“My office!” she shouted, and kept running. Her blunted bare feet smacked off the hardwood as she flew around the corner and
dashed toward the back of the house.
Cole found her at the shelf behind her desk, yanking out binders until she found the one she wanted and slammed it down on
the desk. “Angry again?” Cole said, acknowledging her ability to touch things from the physical world.
She shot a glance at him and said yes with her eyes. “There’s got to be something in here . . .” she muttered.
Cole gazed around the room while she flipped pages. “You also have a nice office,” he said with an approving nod.
“I don’t know how they treat you in the Underworld of Afterlife Affairs or whatever it’s called, but you seem easily impressed.”
“Well, this is impressive,” he said, and waved his hand at the fresh lily sprouting from the vase on her desk. The square
room was shades of seafoam and cream with built-in shelves housing cookbooks, succulents, notebooks detailing her experimental
recipes, a few framed photos of Dell posing with famous chefs she’d met, and—what she came for—binders neatly organizing every
element of what was going to be her wedding.
“Might I ask what you are looking for?” Cole said over the sound of pages being violently turned.
“Evidence,” Dell hissed. “Tommy said he’d take care of the honeymoon planning since I was handling the whole wedding. Thankful
for the help, I left it to him but insisted he put everything in a binder. I haven’t actually looked at it yet, but there’s
got to be something in here.” She flipped past an itinerary, the rental agreement for the yacht, their on-board chef’s menu,
lists of ports they were going to stop in.
“The Maldives?” Cole said, looking across the desk and upside down.
“Yes. We chartered a boat. Easy place to stage an accident, don’t you think? Lovers out in the middle of the ocean for weeks on end. Drinking, eating, getting a little carried away . . .”
She flipped another page and found contact information for the hotel they would stay in upon arrival and before departure.
It was booked for a night on either end of the trip.
“A drunken slip and fall overboard, sure, I can see it,” Cole said. “But I don’t think you’re going to find that penciled
into an itinerary.”
“No, but there’s got to be something else,” Dell said, and kept flipping.
To his credit, Tommy had done a thorough job.
They would have been well-pampered, had the trip actually happened.
Too bad it wasn’t going to. She got to the last page in the binder, feeling hopeless, and forced herself to slow down and think.
She was not an easy target. Unless . . .
She flipped back to the page with their on-board menus and scanned. When her eyes found it, she gasped again. “Ha! See?” she
said, and lifted it with her finger pointing at the incriminating evidence. “Karithopita. That’s Greek walnut cake. I am allergic to walnuts, and Tommy knows it.” She tapped her finger on the menu, only partly feeling
the truth sink in. “I was never going to come back from the honeymoon.” Anger still flowed through her like a river. Her chest
was heaving even though she didn’t need the air.
Cole gave her a pained, knowing look.
Her anger deflated into something softer, something sadder, as she realized what she had just said. “Oh my God, I was never
going to come back from the honeymoon.” She flipped the binder back around and scanned the page again. It would have been
a beautiful meal, minus the ingredient that would have killed her. Her knees gave out, and she sunk back into her chair. This
somehow felt more real than what they’d found in her prenup. This was further evidence of a plan. Premeditation. An actual
plot to get rid of her.
Dell looked up at Cole, at a loss for what to say.
He stared back at her, sympathy twisting his mouth and a deep furrow in his brow. He looked like he wanted to tell her not
to jump to conclusions, that this might all be a coincidence, but coupled with the prenup and what they’d heard Nikki say
about supposed to happen, it was impossible to think such a thing.
“Dell—” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“Can we have a little fun with him?”
Cole audibly gulped. “How do you mean?”
Dell nodded at his satchel. “What does the book say about haunting?”
“Oh, no. We can’t—”
But she’d already lunged at him and dug her hand into the leather bag. “Relax. I just want to scare him. I mean, he deserves
it, don’t you think? Plus, I want him out of my house.” She flipped to the index again and scanned for haunting. “Page one forty-seven. Perfect.”
“Dell, please—” Cole tried to intervene, but she shot him a look that silenced him.
She scanned the page, dragging her finger over the words. “Okay, it says a quality haunt includes something personally meaningful
to the victim.” She paused and thought for a second, while Cole continued to look at her anxiously. “Oh, I got it,” she said
with a satisfied grin. “I know exactly what will do the trick, but I’m going to need your help.” She shut the book and thumped it into his chest. She turned for
the closet on the room’s north wall.
“I understand your distress, but I do, sincerely, have to warn against this. Haunting is an advanced skill,” Cole pled.
“Well, so is possession, but I got that on the first try, didn’t I?”
Cole paused his argument for half a beat, unable to disagree with her. “Well, yes, you did. But look!” He’d whipped the book
open again and pointed at the haunting page. “It also says haunting cannot be performed without express written consent from
the Afterlife Administration.”
Dell stopped short of pulling her closet doors open. “What? It does not say that.”
“It does, in fact.” Cole pointed at the teeny, tiny print at the bottom of the page. Dell squinted to read it.
He was right. It did say that.
“Huh. Well, let’s pretend I didn’t see it, and you weren’t here to point it out to me.”
Cole grumbled and closed the book. “What are you planning to do?”
Dell stood in front of the closet, silently beaming at the sight of her wedding gown hung front and center. “Show him something
very personal as a reminder of who he messed with.” She channeled her anger into her fingertips and reached for the garment bag’s zipper.
“Please tell me you’re not going to—”