Blithe Spirit
an excerpt

1.
Finding out that you’re dead can really ruin a day. If I hadn’t had to go out, I think I might have gone whole day without that discovery. On days I don’t have to go out, I usually don’t get dressed. I either work in my jammies or in the nude. That’s one of the pluses to being a writer. You can do things like that.
Anyway, on that morning I got out of bed before dawn and shuffled off to the bathroom. I didn’t turn a light on until I got there. I really should know better. The first light of the day shouldn’t happen in front of a mirror. I was, as the saying goes, looking unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed.
“Lowry,” I said to my sorry reflection, “you’re getting older.” Little did I know I didn’t have to worry about that particular problem any more. I decided that before I did any thing else I had to get some coffee in me. I have one of those coffeemakers that makes coffee while you sleep. Unfortunately, I’ve never gotten that feature to work. My last lover was the only one it ever worked for.
While the coffee was dripping I fired up my computer. This is really a habit. I don’t consider the day started until I see the Windows logo. I opened up my email to see if there was anything interesting. I ignored a message from my editor demanding to know when I was going to have my book done. I was feeling a little guilty because I’d been ignoring her for days. If I bothered to check my voice messages there would probably be a dozen from Ms. Liza Robinson book editor-goddess.
While I sipped my coffee, (three sugars, two cream) I browsed my way through my usual sites. The news on Yahoo! was depressing, even in snippet form so I clicked over to Hollywood.com to read the latest. I was just turning green with envy over a high priced script sale when I looked at the clock on the screen. I was late.
I couldn’t put it off any more. I had to get dressed. I made my way back to the bedroom and switched on the lights. I was halfway to the closet when it registered that there was someone in my bed. Whoever was there was covered up completely. I stood at the foot of the bed wondering if I had been drinking the night before. Since I didn’t have a hangover I figured the answer was no. I couldn’t see how I could have brought someone home and then forgotten about them.
There was nothing to do but wake the person up and start the process of “the morning after”. It’s funny how you can regret things you don’t even remember.
“Wakey, wakey,” I said with a cheery voice, trying to convince myself that once I saw who it was I’d remember how they got here. There was no movement from the bed. Great! I thought, someone who sleeps like the dead. I can be so funny sometimes I kill myself.
I tried a couple of more times, my voice getting louder each time. I was really late, even for me. I didn’t have time to mess around. “Okay, time to get up now.” I grabbed the comforter and pulled. In the bed, in all naked glory, was the only person I remembered going to bed with the night before. Me.
Only it wasn’t just me. It was me and a knife sticking out of my chest. I panicked. I stood there shaking, looking down at a body I knew so well. Then my brain kicked in and said that it was all a dream. My brain is good at denial. I looked around the room. Everything seemed normal. Except for the stiff. I don’t usually have those in my bed. At least not this kind anyway. If this was a dream it was the stupidest dream I’d ever had. I had absolutely no idea what to do next so I went back to the computer.
EOnline held no interest for me. I had to figure a way to end this dream. Thinking back to other dreams I remembered that I often woke up after falling in my dream. I couldn’t think of anything else to do so I went out on the balcony. For a second I thought about going back into the bedroom and putting some clothes on but I didn’t want to see my body lying there without me. I figured I might as well get it over with.
By this time it was quite light outside and for once it wasn’t raining. I looked out over English Bay pleased that I lived in such a great apartment. From my twentieth floor penthouse the view was spectacular. I looked down onto Beach Avenue and saw the first of the morning’s traffic heading off to work. An empty Waterfront Station bus rolled by. Even when dreaming I miss my bus. It’s funny all the things you can notice when you’re about to throw yourself off a balcony. I watched a coyote running back towards Stanley Park.
“Damn it,” I said to myself, “quit stalling.” I sighed as I crawled up onto the railing. This is the part I really hate. I took a deep breath and pushed myself off the rail. It was a good thing I took that deep breath. I needed it to scream all the way down.
I landed nose first in a pile of goose goo. I immediately thought of all the reasons that I didn’t like Canada geese. Slimy green shit everywhere was one of the big ones. I was halfway through my usual diatribe about those honking pests when I remembered what I was doing there. It hadn’t hurt. Twenty stories should have hurt. A lot. Standing there I had to concede that what I’d seen in the bed was real. I was dead. I had no idea what to do next so I went back inside and fixed myself a drink.
Some people might think that having tequila paralyzer at eight in the morning was the sign of a problem. Well they’re right. I had a very big problem. I was dead and I really needed a drink. Of course I did wonder why I could still have a drink. Did this mean my death was going to be exactly like my life? I couldn’t believe I had done anything to deserve being sent to a hell like that.
Maybe this was purgatory. Maybe heaven had a busload of people to process and I was in a holding pattern. I would have expected them to have some signs or instructions telling the newly dead what to do. While I thought about the problem I had one paralyzer after another. By nine I really needed to lie down, but I didn’t want to go back into the bedroom. Having a stiff lying around was really inconvenient. I settled down on the couch and promptly passed out.

2.
It was dark when I woke up ten hours later. Great. The first day of my death and I slept through it. I really needed to talk to somebody. Too bad I didn’t have any friends. I was too busy working to keep up with the few I once had. They were all gone now. Not that I blame them. I never returned calls. I never accepted invitations. I was too busy becoming the greatest Canadian mystery author of my generation. Only other writers could understand what I went through when working on a book. Only other writers could understand the pressure to make sure your next book is better than the last. Yes, I could have had friends who understood, but who wants to hang around a bunch of writers?
I was feeling sorry for myself, bemoaning the fact that I no longer had any use for an address book when I realized I did have some one to call. Liza, my editor, she’d actually be glad to hear from me. I dug out her number from my contract file and was punching the numbers before I remembered I was dead. I couldn’t call her could I? If communication across the Great Divide were that easy everyone would be doing it. I’ve always been a curious person so I decided to try it anyway. I punched in the number and listened to the phone ring on the other end. On the third ring the answering machine kicked in.
“Hi, this is Liza,” her permanently perky voice said, “I’m out of town until the twenty-fifth. If you leave a message I’ll get back to you when I return.” I hung up before the beep. The twenty-fifth was two weeks away. I had to do something before then. I couldn’t live with a body in my bed for two weeks even if it was mine.
I sat drumming my fingers on my desk while I thought. There had to be some way to call attention to my body. I was staring out the window like I usually do when I’m thinking when it hit me. I picked up the phone and called 911.
“911. How can I help you?” the operator’s gentle voice was music to my ears.
“I’d like to report a dead body.” I said.
“Hello? Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you. Can you hear me?”
“Hello? Hello?”
Frustrated, I put the receiver down on the desk leaving the line open. I hoped that she would send someone even without talking to me. If this didn’t work I didn’t know what to try next. I had no idea being dead was going to be this much hassle. Can’t say that I’d recommend it to anyone.
Ten minutes later I heard sirens approaching the building. I went out on my balcony to watch the fun. The Fire Department was the first to arrive, followed by the Emergency Rescue team. I hoped the building manager, Mr. Hollander, was there to let them in. I didn’t want them breaking down my door.
A few minutes later I heard Mr. Hollander in the hallway. “I hope nothing serious has happened to Mr. Lowry.”
I heard the key in the lock and turned around to see a big, blonde fireman push Mr. Hollander aside.
“At least it didn’t take you too long to get here.” I said to him.
“Hello,” he called. “Is anybody here?” without waiting for an answer he and his partner began looking through the apartment. I followed the blonde into the bedroom. I wanted to be there for the big moment. “Oh, shit,” he swore when he saw my body. My sentiments exactly.
Over the next couple of hours a multitude of people milled around doing various bits of homicide crime scene work. I’d written about it often enough but I’d never actually seen it. I’m not sure I’m happy with the irony of my own investigation being the first.
Mr. Hollander was questioned. When had he last seen me? Last week sometime. Did he know of any friends or next of kin? No. Did he see anyone suspicious around the building last night? No. I could feel the officer’s frustration. It wasn’t going to be easy to figure out who did this to me. Hell, I didn’t even know. I slept right through it.
When the homicide detective arrived I was surprised. He was young. He must be a real hot shot and gotten to the detectives early. If I had seen him on the street I would have guessed he was an actor. He had those looks. Strong jaw, big dark brown eyes and lots of wavy dark hair. He wore tight jeans and a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket. I’d have taken him for one of the cops on Miami Vice if this were television.
“Detective Richardson,” the officer who’d been questioning Mr. Holland greeted my actor.
“What have you got?” Richardson asked.
“The dead guy’s name is Jake Lowry. He wrote mystery novels.”
“I recognize the name.”
“Have you read any of his books?”
“I read one, thought it was crap.”
Crap! I could not believe this. Not only did I have my day ruined by a knife in my chest, now I had to stand here and listen to this cop who thinks he’s a book critic. I wasn’t usually one for hissy fits but I could feel a major one coming on. Without thinking I picked up the first thing I could get my hands on and threw it at the man. Luckily for him I had picked up a throw cushion from the couch. The purple velvet square hit him on the head.
“What the fuck,” he shouted as he turned towards me. He stopped, not seeing anyone in the room.
“Where the fuck did that pillow come from?” Richardson grabbed it off the floor and looked at it.
“Beats me,” said the officer. “It’s almost like it just jumped off the couch at you.”
“You believe in ghosts kid?”
“Yes,” the officer said slowly, “kinda.”
“Well I don’t.” Richardson set the cushion back on the couch. “That was somebody’s idea of a joke. That’s all.”
“Right.”
I never believed in ghosts either, until I became one.
“Do we have any idea how the killer got in?” Richardson asked.
“There are no signs of forced entry. The victim’s keys were on the dresser in the bedroom.”
“Was the door locked?”
“Yes, the building manage had to open it with the master key.”
Richardson opened the door and looked at the lock. “It doesn’t lock automatically. Did the building manager know who might have had another set of keys?”
“No.”
“So someone was able to lock the door on their way out.”
Oh, please. Not a locked door mystery. I hate those.
I swore under my breath as I cleaned up the mess the cops left. Normally I’d have my maid do it but since I was dead he wouldn’t be coming. I stripped the bed and threw everything into the wash in cold. Thank goodness I had a decent mattress cover. The apartment was covered in the powder police use for fingerprints, so while the bedding was washing I got out the duster and the vacuum cleaner.
To say that the police were a little confused about what had happened in my apartment would be an understatement. The time of death had been estimated at between one and three in the morning. The cops were confused about who had the coffee and the paralyzer and when. But most of all they were confused about who called 911. I knew that by cleaning up I was messing with the case but I just couldn’t live with the apartment in such a mess.
I wondered how long it would be before my lawyer, Lou Bentner, got around to selling everything. What was I going to do without my stuff? How was I going to live with new people in this apartment? Thinking about my future as a ghost got me really depressed. I would have had another paralyzer but I was out of tequila. I had to drown my sorrows in a vodka 7 instead.

3.
The sun was rising and my sorrows were on their second dunking when I glanced at my computer. The cops had taken copies of everything on the hard drive but left the machine. I decided that since instructions were not forthcoming, I would have to research my un-alive state myself. I fired up the machine and got my self into the fast lane of the information highway.
When I typed “ghosts” into my favorite search engine, I knew I was going to have a problem. There were 241144 hits. I decided to take a chance and typed www.ghosts.com into my browser. The site belonged to some guy named Philip Makanna who takes pictures of WW2 airplanes and publishes them in books called “Ghosts of the Skies”. They’re very nice pictures but they didn’t help me at all.
I briefly wondered if I should call the FBI. Even though I’m Canadian, I thought a real life Fox Mulder would be interested. I knew the X-Files was mostly about UFOs but who would pass up the chance to investigate a willing ghost. I decided to keep searching and ended up on the page for the International Ghost Hunters Society. I clicked on one of the buttons and was instantly reading about natural EM waves and geometric storms – whatever they were – I didn’t even get half way through the explanation before my eyes started to glaze over.
I clicked on another button that said “home study course”. For three hundred bucks I could get some kind of a certificate that would allow me to charge people to come into their homes and hunt their ghosts. I suppose it also teaches how to get rid of ghosts. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be gotten rid of. I’d been at this ghost thing for less than forty-eight hours and I was determined to give it a chance. If I could figure out what I was supposed to be doing.
After a few more wrong turns I finally came across a site that looked like a good place for information. The webmaster claimed to have lived with ghosts and was willing to help anyone with a ghost problem. I figured I had a serious ghost problem and sent him an email from Hotmail. I was hoping to get some answers to some basic questions like why am I here?
While I waited for a reply I tried to decide what I could do about my stuff. If I wanted to keep any of it I had to write a new will. The old one instructed Lou to liquidate everything and give it to charity. I had to think clearly about this problem. I was stuck in this apartment. I liked my stuff and wanted to keep it. So I had to legally tie my stuff to this apartment.
I sat down with a pen and wrote out my instructions. Lou was to find a new tenant for the apartment. This person had to agree to keep my stuff. If they agreed and moved in they became the heirs to my estate. The catch was that Lou or someone from his firm would come once a year to check to see if they still had all my stuff. The person could leave the apartment any time but if they did they’d have to give back my money and my stuff.
I figured finding someone could take some time so I also instructed Lou to keep my house cleaner and have him come on his usual schedule. I figured Mel could still use the work so I added him into the conditions of keeping my money. Then there was bottled water delivery every two weeks. Then there’s the cable and my Internet connection. Last but not least the gourmet meal delivery. If I was going to be stuck here I wanted all my creature comforts.
The next problem was making sure whoever moved in was someone I could live with. I’d have to check a person out really well before I let them stay. I worried about that for awhile before I realized that there wouldn’t be any problem getting someone out if I didn’t like them. I was a ghost after all.
I signed my new will and put it in my safe. The cops hadn’t been able to get it open. I expected them back at any time with Lou since he was the only living person with the combination. Lou’d probably think I was out of my mind when I wrote the will but I didn’t think he could do anything about it.
I was feeling good about my accomplishments and decided to have a drink when I remembered that I didn’t have any tequila left. A trip to the LB then. I had to know just how tied to this apartment I was. The idea of spending eternity trapped in this building really scared me. I rushed through getting dressed. I paused a moment to consider the fact that since no one could see me I really didn’t need to get dressed. Call me old fashioned, but I just don’t feel right about going shopping in the nude. Maybe that would change with time.
It was only after I put my coat on that I remembered that the cops had taken my keys. I tried to figure out where I’d put the spare set. Then I remembered that I could just walk through the door. After all, I’d done it once already. Of course I was so freaked out about being dead that I wasn’t paying any attention. I stood in front of my door wondering if it was going to hurt. It was really hard to stop thinking like a living person. I sighed and threw myself through the door. I felt kinda queasy and then found myself in the hall. I turned around to the door and saw the yellow crime scene tape across it. I thought about taking it off. There was a big reason not to. The cops were confused enough as it is. I really did want my murderer to be found. I just didn’t want to be inconvenienced while I was waiting. Then again, it was such a little thing.
While I was trying to make up my mind Andrew from the other penthouse came home. I didn’t even notice him until part of his body passed through mine. It felt like snakes under my skin. I jumped away. Andrew shivered and then hurried into his apartment. I wondered if Andrew and Brad would move. I don’t think I’d like living across the hall from a ghost. If they moved it would be too bad. I liked them. They were good neighbors, the kind that never bothered you.
I passed through my door again thinking I was not going to get used to that queasy feeling. I’d just have to open the door like normal people. I got my spare set of keys from the safe and opened the door. I pulled the tape from across the door and bundled it up into a ball. There was something soothing about the ritual of locking the door behind me that made me feel good. I decided then that no matter how weird my life was now, I was going to keep doing normal things. How weird is that?
I never figured it would be a lot more fun to shop when you’re dead. You don’t have to wait in line. You can walk right through all those little old ladies who crawl along at a snails pace. You can sail right through all those happy loving couples who decide the middle of a busy aisle is a great place for kissyface. As an added bonus, you don’t have to pay for things. I’m sure there are lots of fun things to do when no one can see you but I was in need of booze so I loaded up my arms with four bottles of tequila and walked home.

4.
Ghosts are elusive. Some walk around doing the things they did when they were alive. Some may show up on film but not to the naked eye. There are pictures that show floating spheres, squiggly lines and unexplainable fog. All of these are considered by some to be spirits trapped in this world.
After spending a few days trying to learn the rules of being a ghost I came to the conclusion that there are no rules. No one really knows anything. Some people think they know what’s going on but I’m not so sure. The one thing that I thought had merit was the idea that a spirit is trapped here because he or she has unfinished business. I definitely had things to do. I had a murderer to find. But more important, I had a book to finish.
After the original flurry of activity surrounding the discovery of my body things got back to normal in my home. I learned some interesting new swear words when the cops came back and realized someone had cleaned up the mess they’d left. Lou opened my safe for the TV cop then they all went away again. A couple of days later Mel came to clean and life went on. So to speak.
I was losing track of time. I wasn’t expected to be anywhere or do anything. My time was my own. I wondered how much time I had. All the time in the world I supposed. Until I finished my business at least. I had no idea who’d want to murder me. I didn’t have any enemies other than a few obnoxious book critics. I didn’t think any of them thought enough about me to want to stick a knife in my chest. It was more like me wanting to stick a knife in their heartless chests.
As I thought back on my life trying to think of someone I had touched enough to want to kill me I got more and more depressed. There wasn’t anyone I could think of who really felt anything for me. Most of the people I had contact with were people I employed in one form or another. All the rest were just casual contacts or, occasionally, a lover. For a few minutes, I entertained the idea that it was an ex-lover who had done the dirty deed. Then I realized that by the time my affairs were over neither participant cared enough to hate the other. All my relationships died of indifference and neglect.
I was downing my third paralyzer of the morning when the door opened. Lou was there with a middle aged couple who looked like they just fell off the hay wagon from Saskatchewan. Real live Norman Rockwell models. I was horrified when I realized that Lou meant to have these people move in.
The woman blushed as she stared at my genuine reproduction life-sized Venus de Milo. I knew there was only one thing to do to stop these people from invading my home. I goosed her. Her scream was satisfyingly shrill and she started to babble to her husband in some Eastern European sounding language. I didn’t need a translator to figure out that she wasn’t interested in staying one more minute. They left without even saying goodbye.
Lou stood staring after them. I picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “How could you even think of giving my home to people like that?” I shouted at him. “I thought you liked me!” The pillow bounced off his head and landed in front of him. He looked at it as if it were some kind of vicious bug.

I decided to finish my novel. I had loads time and nothing else to do. I could write books and leave them to be mysteriously “found” for publication. Hell, if I wasn’t the most famous mystery writer already I’d become famous just for that. Has any other writer ever continued to publish new works after he was dead? I think not.
I was contemplating the joy of no deadlines when my apartment door opened. Lou, bringing me another prospective roommate. I watched from a corner of my balcony wondering what I’d have to do to get rid of this one.
“I really think you’ll like the place,” Lou said turning on the lights.
She stood there, a wild mane of red hair, green eyes and milk white skin. If she had an Irish brogue I was a gonner. Then I looked at her body. She was more Venus of Wilendorf than Venus di Milo. Such a shame. I really would have enjoyed watching her get dressed and undressed every day. Ah well, I might as well let her look around. I hadn’t had company for days.
“I’m not sure all this is my style,” she said as she looked over my art collection.
“Go ahead and look around,” Lou plopped himself down on my couch and reach into his pocket for a paperback. He was reading the latest Sue Grafton. The fink. “I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”
I followed her as she walked down the hall and into the bedroom. She was on the balcony looking at the view when I walked in. I wonder if I should give her a little push. Not enough to throw her off. I’m not totally a monster. Just enough to scare her. I was still trying to decide when she turned around. And screamed. And screamed.
“Lady, will you cut that out!” I cried over the noise.
She grabbed a lamp off the end table and waved it in my direction. “Back off you pervert!”
I looked behind me to see who else had come into the room and I realized that she was talking to me. She could see me. Not only that, she was advancing on me with the lamp. I backed towards the door. “You can see me.” I commented lamely.
“Of course I can see you. I can see all of you, you pervert,” she waved the lamp up and down. I looked down and realized that I was in my natural state for relaxing around my home: buck naked. I put my hands over my package and crab walked over to my closet.
“What’s the matter?” Lou, looking like he just woke up, rushed into the room armed with a kitchen knife.
“Can’t you see.…”
“He can’t see me. Only you can see me.”
“See what,” Lou asked right on cue.
The woman looked at Lou then at me. “Are you putting me on?”
“No.” Lou and I said together. “What’s wrong?” Lou added.
She did the look thing again then she pointed to the wall. “It’s that wallpaper! It’s hideous.”
“I’m sure we can get that changed for you. No problem.” Lou must be getting desperate to get someone in here. I’ve never heard him be more helpful. “You just go look at the rest of the place. We’ll paint or whatever. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Okay,” she said, “I need some time to compose myself after that shock.” Lou nodded his understanding nod and went back to his alphabet book. While she’d been busy with Lou I’d grabbed my dressing gown and was now ready to find out what the heck was going on.
“The wallpaper’s not that bad,” I tried for a friendly conversational tone.
“The fucking wallpaper is not the point. Who or what the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in this room?”
“Such language from a lady….”
“Fuck my language! Tell me.”
I put out my hand for her to shake, “I’m Jake Lowry. I live here… still.” Instead of taking my hand she collapsed onto the bed. “And you are?”
“What?” She definitely had that deer in headlights look.
“I usually try to find out a lady’s name before I join her on my bed.” I pointed to a spot beside her.
“Oh. I’m Jade. Jade Black.”
“What the heck kind of name is Jade Black?”
“Look mister, don’t start with me….”
“Or what? You’ll tell Lou you see a naked man? You’ll bop me over the head with a lamp? I’m already dead so I don’t see how that could bother me.” She bent over with her head on her knees and started making strange wheezing noises. Holy shit. The first person I’ve had to talk to in months and she was going to die on me. I’d have rushed off to call 911 but I remembered how well that worked before.
I sat down beside her and started bounding on her back but my fist went straight through her and hit the bed. She straightened up and gave me a hard shove away from her. Of course she pushed right through me and landed face down on the bed. This started the wheezing again with an added bit of shaking. I was getting even more worried when it hit me what was really going on. She was laughing. Laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe so the only sound was a sort of wheezing. “What in hell is so funny?”
After what seemed like forever, she rolled over. Looking at me started her off again and I helplessly watched her huge body jiggle. “Oh get over it!” I demanded as I stood over her.
“This is just too ridiculous.”
“What?”
“Everything. The whole naked ghost haunts luxury penthouse apartment thing.”
“You wouldn’t be so amused if it was you. It’s not easy being dead.” She giggled again. I was beginning to wonder if having someone to talk to was worth putting up with her giggling and jiggling. “Just finding someone I can live with is a complete pain in the ass.”
“That’s what the will was all about. You wanted to keep your stuff.” She nodded her head to herself as she looked around the room. “You wanted to take it with you.”
“If I’m stuck here I might as well have my stuff.”
She got up off the bed and headed back to the living room. Lou had nodded off again so she shook him gently by the shoulder. “I’ll take it,” she told him.
“Really!” he asked.
“Yes, really.”
Lou jumped up and wrapped her in a big bear hug. He was bouncing for joy. He never hugged me. He never bounced for joy with me. Unless it was after I left. I was beginning to think my lawyer didn’t really like me. “Let’s go back to my office and finish off the paperwork. You don’t know how pleased I am that you’re going to live here.” Lou chattered on as he walked her out the door. She never even turned to wave goodbye.

5.
Six days after meeting Jade my death went to hell. It was barely nine in the morning, I was lying on the couch sleeping off last night’s dinner when she came in followed by half a dozen people in blue coveralls. I watched them with half open eyes until I noticed that each of them carried cardboard boxes. She was getting rid of my stuff!
I jumped off the couch only to fall back on it when I was hit by a hangover that would have killed me if I wasn’t already dead. I had to take deep breaths until the room stopped spinning. By the time I dragged myself into a vertical position she was already in the bedroom.
“Everything in here goes,” she told two of the people in blue. “And everything in the bathroom too.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled at her making myself wince. She ignored me. “You can’t do this! You can’t have my apartment unless you keep my stuff.”
She walked out of the room. I knew she could hear me. Dammit, she was going to be sorry she messed with me. After stopping to give instructions to more movers she headed for the kitchen. “You can’t get away from me. Ignoring me isn’t going to get you anywhere.” I stood in the kitchen doorway but she walked right through me. There are moments I really hate being dead.
Once in the kitchen she reached into her bag and pulled out a cell phone. She dialed a number and put it up to her ear before turning to face me. “Hello,” she said looking straight at me. When I didn’t reply she continued. “Say whatever it is you have to say.”
Clever girl. She could now talk to me and the movers would think she was talking to someone on the phone. I was so impressed that I forgot I was mad until I saw a mover carrying my stuff to the door out of the corner of my eye. “You have to keep my things. It’s in the contract you signed.”
“Nothing in the contract says I have to keep this stuff here.” She stuck her chin out at me in a gesture of what I supposed was defiance. It galled me that she had found a loophole in my brilliant plan.
“But how am I going to live without my stuff?”
“I’ve rented the top half of a nice warehouse over in Coal Harbour. You can visit anytime you want.”
“You’ve moved me to the docks? How dare you! I’ll have you out of my apartment…”
“It’s not your apartment any more.”
That stopped me for a second then I realized that I wasn’t going anywhere. I could make her life hell. She’d never get any peace here. I had hundreds of years of hauntings to reference. How hard could it be to get her out?
“Just so you know, I’ve got an exorcist and a professional ghostbuster on call. If you’re thinking of becoming a pain in my ass, think again.”
Oh. I wasn’t sure either of those would do me any harm but then again I didn’t want to risk it until I knew more. Man has spent millennia trying to figure out the true nature of existence. I don’t think anyone added existence after death to the equation.
While I was leaning up against the counter trying to figure out what to do next, she grabbed the garbage pail and started throwing food from the cupboard into it. I was rescuing my Chicken in a Mug when there was a knock on the apartment door. As she bawled “Come in,” at the door, it dawned on me that not only was I going to have to get use to her being in my apartment but I also had to get used to her friends hanging around. This day was getting more depressing by the minute.
We continued our comedy act of her throwing things out and me putting them back on the counter until a big black monster invaded the kitchen. “Pavlov!” she cooed throwing her arms around the beast’s neck. “Did my baby have a good walk?”
Baby? This two hundred pound hunk of fur was her pet? “That’s not going to live here is it?”
“Of course he is.”
“Hey, Sugar. It’s a good thing you’re getting rid of all this stuff. This place has some seriously bad Feng Shui.” A male voice called from the living room. I followed her out to see what the dog had dragged in.
“I know. I can’t stand the medieval brothel look either. This whole place is a shrine to serious bad taste.” I was beginning to seriously dislike this woman.
I had no doubts about the man standing beside her. I hated him on sight. He was one of those guys I always saw jogging on the seawall just after dawn. At least I’d see them when I was up all night. Anyway, he had a designer tracksuit in designer black. As a matter of fact everything was black. Black $300 running shoes. Black fanny pack, black water bottle. He even had a black cell phone clipped to his fanny pack. I bet he was one of those guys who were always colour coordinated. He probably had his closets and drawers separated into colour groups. Of course everything would be expensive. He probably charged an arm and a leg for whatever it was he did. I was betting he was an interior decorator.
“We’ll get this place fixed up. Don’t worry about a thing Sugar.” The designer made tsk-tsk noises as he looked around. He looked in my direction and stopped. “Um… Sugar?” he leaned over to whisper to her. “There’s a naked man in your living room.” Holy Hannah another one!
“That’s Jake,” she whispered back. “He used to live here.”
“He’s the one who….”
“Uh-huh.”
“Cool.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who can see him.” She led the way onto the balcony. “I wonder why Pavlov isn’t growling. I thought animals were supposed to be able to sense ghosts.”
“Some dogs just aren’t good….”
“Pavlov’s a good dog!”
“I know that Sugar, Pav’s the best. He’s just not that bright.” He leaned over to give the animal in question a scratch on the head.
“Oh. Well he can’t help it if his breed has the intellectual capacity of a mentally challenged four year old.”
“Even for Akitas, Pav is a little slow.”
Great I was now sharing my home with a huge retarded dog. I bet he drools too. Damn it! I was beginning to think Lou really did hate me. You really learn who your friends are after you’re dead. If I still had a Christmas list Lou’s name would be scratched off it.

6.
You know that old song that goes ‘free is just another word for nothing left to lose’? I was beginning to feel like that. All my time was free. I could do anything I wanted except interact with other human beings. I never thought that would bother me. I’ve always been a loner. Lone Wolf Lowry that’s me. When I was alive I took for granted all those casual interactions. Talking to grocery clerks or bus drivers or even strangers waiting for the bus. They all take on new meaning when you can’t have them any more.
Jade redecorated my entire apartment. Within a month it wasn’t mine any more. I was stuck there but it didn’t feel like home. The place looked like it could be in a magazine. Everything color coordinated and stylish. The furniture was over stuffed and comfortable. It all suited Jade’s big body. And her big dog. Pavlov was right at home on the huge couch and there was still room for Jade. My couch wouldn’t have held the two of them.
I was jealous of the way Jade had settled in. She and Mel got along from the moment they met. I could tell she was a sucker for an accent. Mel’s Scottish brogue got a little more pronounced in her presence. If I had to listen to him call Pavlov the “wee doggie” one more time I might just commit murder myself.
Mel never seemed happy to see me. He barely said hello and goodbye if I was home when he came to clean. Then again, I was usually working and barely looked up from my computer screen. I certainly didn’t offer him coffee and homemade scones. I didn’t know he had fourteen nieces and nephews back in Scotland. I wouldn’t have cared. Jade learned more about Mel in a half hour than I’d bothered to find out in five years. I was too busy working.
Listening to the two of them laugh and joke while they worked was depressing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed in this apartment. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d had company other then the occasional roll in the sack. I just didn’t think about it. I always had a book I was working on. I was always turned on by writing. Nothing else seemed important. Now that I’m dead my life seems pretty pathetic.
To hell with it. I pulled on my favorite trench coat and stomped out the door. They probably didn’t even notice the door opening and closing by itself. Phooey. Now that I was outside in the rain I realized I had no idea where to go. Great. Nowhere to go and all day to get there. My life had been reduced to a bunch of saccharine pop song lyrics.
I figured I might as well go see how the TV cop is doing with my case. Maybe I could help. They should have come up with something by now. There can’t be a very long list of suspects. I could tag along on interrogations. Never know when an invisible partner might be useful.
I’d never actually been to the police station before. It was in a bad part of town and I really didn’t like spending time there. As I walked up Hastings towards Main Street I wondered what happened to all the street people when they died. Did they just wake up back on the street? Did they move along from person to person asking for money and being ignored? Did they even know they were dead? As aggravating as my unlife is at times, it could have been much worse.
“Hey buddy can you spare a twenty?” a dirty hand waved in front of my nose. I was so shocked I stopped. Never a good thing to do on East Hastings. The dirty hand belonged to a dirty man wearing three coats and a pair of earmuffs. His watery eyes looked right at me.
“You can see me…”
“Of course I can see you,” he yelled in my face. “You think you’re invisible? Ha!” He tossed his head back and laughed. “The invisible ones are a heck of a lot sneakier than you buddy I tell ya that for one thing. Ya got to be really careful with those invisible ones. They’ll get you in trouble.” He looked around quickly, head swivelling from side to side. “Ya. They’ll get you in trouble just for the fun of it.”
“I see…”
“No! You can’t see! They’re invisible. Don’tcha know nothin’?”
“Right. Well okay. Good to know. Thanks for the tip.” I was backing away as fast as I could. I’d learned something. Nutcases could see me. Don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Or what that said about Jade and her friend.
Once inside the police station I had no idea where to go. I’d never been there. All my stories about murder investigations were completely made up. I’d never so much as talked to a homicide cop. I had no idea where to find my TV cop. For all I new he never came into the station. There was no one I could ask. Being dead can be very annoying. I stood in the reception area for a while trying to figure out where to go. They don’t even have a directory. A big sign saying “Homicide This Way” would have been helpful. I wondered what would happen if I brought that nutcase from the street in to ask. Probably way more trouble than it’s worth. I had to do this the old fashioned way. Room by room. As I climbed the stairs behind the front desk I began to feel sorry for every beat cop I’d assigned to a house to house search.
I had no idea how many people were in a police station at any given time. Cops starting a shift, cops ending a shift, victims, suspects, lawyers, family members, support staff. One of the first rooms I stumbled into was the woman’s locker room. It was empty. If it hadn’t been I might have spent a lot of time there. I made a mental note to come back. I may be dead but I’m still a man. I was never much of a voyeur, preferred doing to watching, but there’s got to be some advantages to being non-corporeal or whatever the heck I was.
It took me more than a half an hour to finally find the homicide division. Of course it had to be one the top floor way at the back. I should have just followed the smell of burnt coffee. Why is it in a city as java mad as Vancouver that cops can’t seem to have decent coffee? I heard a rumour that Starbucks had an office service. Maybe I should leave these guys a note. I must say that homicide wasn’t that impressive. Just a collection of desks pushed together. From the first glance I could tell that neatness didn’t count to any of these cops. Files were scattered over desks and file cabinets. I wondered how they ever found anything. Heaven help them if a fire ever started. With all the paper lying around the place would go up in seconds.
The TV cop was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he even kept regular hours. I might have to wait all day for him to show up. That idea didn’t appeal to me at all. I was calculating the odds of finding my own file in the mess when the TV cop showed up. He looked tired. His face was shadowed by that kind of stubble some women found attractive. He still looked too young to be entrusted with finding my killer. My detectives were always mid-forties at least. I’ve always believed that age equalled experience. I figured TV cop was going to need my help.
He walked over to a desk by the window. There was a nameplate with the name Richardson on it. I’d have to remember his name from now on. While Richardson was busy checking his messages I searched through the files on his desk until I found my own. There’s something very depressing about seeing your life boiled down to a few pages of ink. I glanced at the interview summaries. Richardson had talked to almost everyone I’d ever known. No one had a clue who would want me dead.
My financial statements were boring. Regular money in. Regular money out. Safe investments. They showed a man who had money but didn’t spend it in big splashy ways. I never bought a sports car. I never bought a private jet. Hell, I never even bought a hooker. Boring. I was boring. All my life I’d been too busy working to have a life.
My phone LUD’s were equally unsettling. I rarely spoke at length to anyone other then my agent and my lawyer. The other calls were usually a couple of minutes long. Me arranging meetings or services. Nothing personal. I was beginning to wonder if this was one of those Dicken’s Christmas things. Soon I’d wake up and realize that it was a dream and I could change my life. Too bad that only happens in novels.
Richardson finished with his calls and grabbed his keys. I had no reason to stay so I followed him out to his car. I was a bit disappointed. TV cop drove a 2000 Honda Insight. It must have gotten great gas mileage because it was funny looking. He obviously wasn’t a family man. Two-seater hatchbacks scream singleton. Hybrid screamed tree hugger. I was liking this guy less and less. He probably lived in some ultra-hip Yaletown condo. Probably not too high up. I didn’t think Vancouver homicide dicks made enough for an upper floor condo. I decided I might as well see where he was going so I climbed into the passenger seat.

7.
We headed for Kitsilano. I tried to think of anyone I knew who would live there and drew a blank. When TV cop turned the car into the underground parkade of a highrise on West 4th Ave I realized he was going home. We rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. TV cop turned left and walked down the hall to a door at the end.
The Spartan apartment was neat as a pin. A huge black leather couch dominated the living room. I’d thought Jade’s couch was extra big but I was beginning to think it was a normal size these days. Bigger is better seems to hold for furnishings too. Over the fireplace was a huge abstract painting. It was full of bright colors, squiggles and lines. I stood and stared at it trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. Give me trees by a lake with mountains in the background any day.
While I wasn’t appreciating his artwork, TV cop wandered away. I found him in the bedroom where he was changing. I averted my eyes to his close closet while he slid himself into a pair of jogging shorts. I’d never seen such as schizophrenic closet. One side was full of expensive suits and casual clothes. The other side was stacked with jeans and t-shirts and the occasional sport jacket. I stood there trying to get my around TV cop’s dress sense while he wandered off again. I stuck my head out the door and saw him disappear into a room I suspected was the kitchen. I took one last look at the closet and followed him.
There in the kitchen chopping carrots was every detective I’d written. Black Irish. In his late forties. Black hair in a neat and stylish cut. Blue eyes that could cut you like razor sharp icicles. His face looked slightly weathered and full of character. He was exactly what I thought a detective should look like. Hell, put him in a pea coat and he was my last protagonist. I was so fascinated I forgot all about the TV cop until he grabbed Mr. Perfect Detective and kissed him full on the lips.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” TV cop said as he grabbed a piece of carrot from the cutting board.
“I see that. Is this the part where I’m supposed to hand you a martini and ask about how work was?” I wasn’t surprised to hear a slight Irish lilt to his voice.
“Nah, I hate martinis.”
“I guess that leaves the work part then.”
“God,” TV cop threw himself onto a stool on the opposite side of the island. “This Lowry case is driving me nuts. I can’t find anyone who cared enough about him to kill him.”
“How sad.” I was beginning to like Mr. Perfect Detective. “How could anyone live like that.”
“He spent most of his time working. I looked him up. He published a book a year for the last twenty years.”
“That’s a lot of books.”
“Too bad quantity doesn’t guarantee quality.”
“Opinions and assholes buddy.” I searched for a pillow to throw at him but there weren’t any seeing as we were in the kitchen. I’d just have to remember to throw one at him the next chance I got.
“Do you think it could have been a random killing? Maybe someone just had it in for guys living in penthouses.” Mr. Perfect Detective was really reaching. I was not going to go down due to random violence. I had to be dead for a better reason than that.
“I suppose some nutcase could have targeted him because he was rich.”
“Could it have been a crazed fan?”
“He had one of those services that handled all the fan mail. He just signed a bunch of photos every couple of months and the service mailed them out to whoever wrote. He never answered a single fan letter in his life. Hell, the guy I talked to said he didn’t even read them.”
“Maybe someone was pissed off that they never got a personal letter.”
It was a good theory. I’m sure there was some lonely gal out there thinking I was meant to marry her. Now all TV cop had to do is go through the millions of letters to find her.
“We have to look at that angle. Good thing there’s not that many letters to go through. We’ve already been through all the ones that said something negative. Then there are people who wrote multiple times. There’s only a handful of those but we’re looking at each of them.”
Negative? People were sending me negative comments? Maybe I should have read some of those letters after all. I’d have to think of a way to get my hands on some of that mail.
The phone rang and TV cop went to answer it. I watched Mr. Perfect Detective put together a casserole of some sort and pop it into the oven.
“Todd, it’s your office.” TV cop yelled from the living room. I followed Todd out the door.
“I just put dinner in the oven. We’ve got an hour to kill. I’ll get rid of this right away.”
“Ya wanna watch TV? Maybe there’s a Brady Bunch rerun on.” Todd threw a pillow from the couch at his retreating back. Good to know I wasn’t the only one who had that urge.
“Anderson here.” He listened for a while and started shaking his head. “I’ll say one thing for defence attorneys, they’re creative. Doesn’t matter. The judge will never go for it and I’m not in any mood to strike a deal.”
So he was a lawyer. A prosecutor. That explained the dichotomy of the bedroom closet. The expensive side belonged to Todd. So a homicide dick was shacking up with a prosecuting attorney. Law and Order the home game.

8.
Jade was making pizza from scratch when I got home. She was an excellent cook. Almost every night there was a scrumptious aroma wafting through the apartment. Early on, I’d snatched a sample of something that looked and smelled delicious only to find that for me it had no taste at all. After that, I tried almost every edible in the house. The only things that had any flavour for me were liquids and Jade wasn’t into making soups. It was a good thing I was dead or I’d have starved to death.
“Having company?” I was hoping the answer was no but since the pizza was a large one I figured the answer was yes.
“Eric is coming over. We’re going to catch up on the episodes of Medium that we missed.”