Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (2 page)

“What did you say?” he barked. “Turn around and answer me this instant.”

Oh lord. I needed to regroup, and I couldn’t do it in front of my potential boss.

“Can you excuse me for just one moment?” I asked. Without waiting for his answer, I left his office, shutting the door in his very surprised face.

I heard the ghost follow me, and in the reception area he actually started dancing. I closed my eyes for a second, in a vain attempt to compose myself. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to make his appearance, and here he was, dancing around like an idiot or something. I had to get hold of the situation, and I had about two seconds to do it.

“You have to go away,” I said.

He stared at me, caught in mid-caper. “What?”

“You have to go away!” I yelled, and then turned toward Mr. Latterson’s closed door, wondering whether he’d heard me. He probably had. He was probably in the process of tearing up my resume.

My throat thickened with quick tears. This would have been a good job. A really good job.

“You won’t get the job if you cry,” the ghost said.

“Like I want it now,” I muttered.

I walked to the door leading to the hallway, intending to leave, when I thought about my crappy job at the Yellowhead Cab Company. I had to get away from my boss, Gerald the Tyrant and paycheques that never quite paid all the bills. Not all in the same month, anyhow.

I thought about my mom. She was sick, and she was counting on me.

I needed this job. Even with a ghost.

“How long?” I asked.

The dead guy looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“How long have you been dead?”

If it was just a couple of days, there was a good chance he’d move on all by himself. I wouldn’t have to do a thing.

“Oh.” He took a deep breath, even though he didn’t need to do that anymore, and I could see he’d been holding in his stomach. I tried not to roll my eyes. Men.

“Six—no, seven days. I think.”

My heart sank. Seven days. That was almost too long. He might be stuck.

“How is it you can see me?” he asked. “Nobody else can.”

“I’ve been able to see all of you since I was little.” I shook my head. There was no time for small talk. “Listen—”

“Farley,” he said, and smiled at me, looking pathetically happy. “My name is Farley Hewitt. And you are?”

“Marie,” I said quickly, knowing this was wrong too. I felt like I was in a car crash I couldn’t stop. “Farley, I can’t finish the interview with you in the room. You’re distracting, know what I mean?”

He nodded eagerly. It was getting pathetic. Almost as pathetic as me acting like I still had a chance at this job.

“So, leave. Please. If I get the job, I’ll be here tomorrow.” I wasn’t getting the job. I already knew that, and felt the sigh come up from the bottom of my soul. “We can talk then.”

“All right. Sounds good. Great.”

As he headed for the door that led to the hallway, I realized I had no idea what I was going to say to the living man standing on the other side of the door. I must have made a noise—probably a sob, I was feeling that desperate—and the ghost turned back to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t think of one thing to say to Mr. Latterson that would explain why I ran out of his office in the middle of my interview.” My throat tightened again, dangerously. “I’m never going to get this job.”

Farley pointed at the desk behind us. “Tell him you thought you heard the phone ringing out here. He just got this system and tried to set it up himself. It won’t ring in his office. He screwed it up.”

I recognized the phone system sitting on the desk. It was the little brother version of the one I used at the Yellowhead Cab Company, the job I was desperate to leave. I knew what Mr. Latterson had done wrong—what everybody did wrong when they tried to set these things up on their own. I touched a few buttons and my heart quit beating so trip hammer hard. It might work.

I nodded at the ghost, to thank him for the help. Then I threw my shoulders back, slapped the smile on my face, and opened the door to Mr. Latterson’s office.

Fixing that phone saved my interview. Mr. Latterson was so impressed when I made it ring that he hired me on the spot.

“Welcome on board,” he said. “You start tomorrow morning. Eight sharp.”

Then he pointed at the door and said, “Get out.”

So, I left.

I had the job of my dreams. I also had a ghost. And the ghost got me the job. What was I going to do?

I didn’t want another ghost in my life. They are trouble. Just ask my mom.

She sees ghosts, too. In fact, she does more than see them. She helps them move through the three phases of acceptance to the next plane of existence. She seems to think that I could do the same, if I just tried.

I wasn’t interested in any of that. I’d seen what it did to my mom. I’d seen what it had done to her life—and to mine. I didn’t want to have a life like hers.

I wanted to be normal.

I stood outside the Latterson Import Export office, trying to decide whether or not to walk back in and turn down the job, when Farley oozed through the door, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Did you get it?” he asked.

“You were spying on me, weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, sheepishly. “Just wanted to stick around, make sure you didn’t need any more help. The phone trick—it worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “It did.”

“So, now you owe me. Get me out so I can prove my death wasn’t an accident,” he said. “I have to prove the idiot cops wrong.”

It took all my control to keep from running out of the building, screaming. Farley’s death was an accident. An accident!

Even Mom hated working with the dead who die accidentally. They seem to hang on to this plane harder than any other spirit. They don’t want to believe that something stupid they did led to their own demise.

“Well?” Farley asked. “You gonna help me or what?”

I stood staring at him, my mouth gaping as I tried desperately to think of something, anything that would get me out of this situation. I couldn’t help a ghost who’d died accidentally. Heck, I couldn’t help a ghost at all. My mom could. Not me.

Walk out
, a little voice in my head cried.
Before you get in too deep. Walk out and never come back
.

I took a deep breath, ready to tell Farley I couldn’t help him, when the cutest guy I’d ever seen in my life walked right through Farley and up to me.

Farley screamed as he exploded in fragments of mist and ecto goo. My nerves were so shot from the interview that I screamed too.

“Are you all right?” the cute guy asked, his face concerned. “I thought you saw me.”

“You son of a bitch!” Farley yelled. He pulled himself together and took several hugely ineffectual punches at the cute guy’s head. “How dare you walk through me like I’m not even here!”

“I’m fine,” I said, trying desperately to ignore Farley, who looked like he was ready to blow a gasket. “You just surprised me.”

“So, what are you doing here?” the cute guy asked. He smiled, but it didn’t quite touch his eyes.

He was cute in that tall, dark and handsome, way that I always found too attractive. He was six foot four, at least, and his hair wasn’t just dark brown, it was nearly black. Same with his eye lashes, which were unbelievably long and thick. And his eyes. So blue, I couldn’t look away.

See? Tall, dark, and handsome.

I tried to smile nonchalantly, wishing Farley would shut up for a second so I could think. “I was here for an interview. Mr. Latterson hired me. I’m supposed to start tomorrow.”

His smile disappeared. “Don Latterson?” he asked. “What are you doing for him?”

“What are you, a cop?” I snapped. Cute’s cute, but I didn’t need the third degree.

“No,” he said, and had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, embarrassed myself for overreacting. “I’m Mr. Latterson’s new receptionist.” I stuck out my hand. “Marie Jenner.”

He smiled. “I’m James,” he said, and shook my hand. “James Lavall.”

A hand shake should be perfunctory. Three shakes, no more. Ours went on a lot longer than that. And I was back staring into his blue eyes. They were mesmerizing.

Farley picked that moment to start sobbing, his hands over his face.

“I’m not here,” he cried. “Someone killed me, I’m not here anymore, and that son of a bitch took my job.” He looked at me, pain and grief etched into his face. “Help me prove it. Please. You’re my only hope.”

I pulled my hand from James’, with difficulty. “I should get going,” I said. “Places to be, and all that.”

Then I half-turned, so I was facing Farley. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. He nodded, still sobbing, and I took a giant step sideways, so I wouldn’t have to step into him. Of course, this put me really close to James. Of course, James smelled as good as he looked.

Once I was finally away from them, I ran around the corner to the stairs. As the exit door sighed shut, I heard both of them say, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Good grief.

Marie:
So Now What?

I had to hurry to get to the Yellowhead Cab Company job on time. I made it with two minutes to spare, and sat down at the desk I shared with Jasmine, the day dispatcher and one of my best friends.

“Did you get the job?” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder for our boss, Gerald the Tyrant.

“Yes,” I sighed, and pulled the headset on.

“Excellent.” She smiled. “So are you quitting tonight? Maybe I should stay, just to watch.”

“I’m not going to quit.” I sighed again and sat down.

“Why not?” Even though her three kids were already on the bus heading for home, she put her purse on the desk top and stared at me. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can handle the job,” I said. “I think I should hang on to this one until I’m sure.”

It had nothing to do with handling the job. It had to do with Farley, the ghost. However, Jasmine didn’t know about my problems with ghosts. She knew about Arnie Stillwell, my stupid stalkery ex-boyfriend, and she knew about my mother being sick. But the ghost issue—nope.

She frowned, and I knew my weak excuse wasn’t convincing her. It wouldn’t have convinced me.

“That’s too bad,” she finally said. What she meant was, “Tell me exactly what you mean by that.”

For a second I wished I could, but I didn’t open my mouth. Seeing ghosts made me too weird, and I didn’t have so many friends that I could scare the good ones off with the truth.

“You’re going to be late,” I finally said. “Say hi to the kids for me.”

She looked at her watch, gasped, and scooped up her purse. “We are going to talk soon,” she said. “I want details.” And then she was gone.

I sighed again, knowing I was being too dramatic and not having the strength to stop. I sat down, hitting the first lit button on the phone as I did so.

“Yellowhead Cabs.” I rang the words out in that sing song voice every dispatcher in every office in the world affects. “How can I help you?”

My replacement was late, of course, so I didn’t get home until nearly 4 a.m.. I made sure I opened the door to my apartment very slowly, because sometimes the difference in air pressure made Sally—the drug addict who died in my apartment a month before I rented it, and who I did NOT see before I signed the stupid lease—hysterical. I wanted no part of her histrionics. I just wanted sleep.

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, so I could charge it. I had to charge the stupid thing every night because it was ready to die. I knew I needed to get a new one. I couldn’t afford it. Just one more thing I couldn’t afford.

The red light blinked as I put in the charger. A voice mail message. At first, my stomach clenched. It couldn’t be Arnie. He didn’t have my cell phone number—at least I was pretty sure he didn’t. Hoped he didn’t. Prayed quite regularly that he didn’t. It couldn’t be him.

Maybe it was another job offer. I crossed my fingers. Maybe I could just let the receptionist job—and Farley—go. When I looked down at the number, I saw it was from my mother.

“Oh Mom, what do you want?”

I pressed the button and heard Mom’s breathless, “Marie, are you there, girl?” followed by the sharp hacking cough that sounded so horrible—so final—that I pulled the phone away from my ear.

I didn’t want to listen anymore. Really, all I wanted to do was stop the message. I was sure I didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

The coughing seemed to take forever, until finally, Mom was able to speak. I was right. I didn’t want to hear that message.

She needed money. She didn’t want to say it, and she knew I wouldn’t want to hear it, but that was the gist of her message. Apparently, Ramona, my oldest sister, wasn’t able to help out as much as she’d said she would, and if I could help, just a little, Mom would be eternally grateful.