Amanda sank back into her chair and covered her face with her hands. Insane as it sounded, this must really be Charley's ghost. Surely her imagination couldn't create a conversation so totally
Charley
.
She withdrew her hands from her eyes and stared at him. He now hovered a couple of inches above the bed,
looking
pleased with himself.
"Did you not hear what happened this evening when I tried to tell that cop about somebody stealing my gun?"
"Yeah, I heard, but you were trying to tell him I wasn't dead. You have to admit, Amanda, you sounded a little crazy. I'm not surprised the man didn't believe you. You tell him the whole story, and everything will be just fine."
"Why, of course! All I have to do is tell the cops that the Mayor of Silver Creek, a respected man running for governor, killed his former girlfriend, then killed you and stole my gun because he thought it was the gun he used to kill his former girlfriend, but it isn't." She waved a hand through the air. "No problem making that story believable, especially if I tell him the ghost of my ex-husband swears it's true!"
Charley grimaced, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Okay, maybe there are still a couple of things you'll have to work out, but I've done my part. I'm outta here." He looked around the room expectantly. "Yep. I did my good deed, redeemed myself. Time for me to move on, get my wings."
Amanda followed his gaze, half expecting to see a bright light of some sort, even if it came from a blazing fire accompanied by the smell of brimstone.
No light. And Charley didn't vanish, didn't even dim.
His smile became a little strained. "I don't see any tunnel of light."
"And I don't see any less of you."
He shifted, sinking a couple of inches into the bed. "I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."
Amanda threw up her hands. "Great! Just freaking great! How am I ever supposed to get rid of you? I can't even threaten to kill you now because you're already dead."
Charley clutched his heart. "Amanda, you wound me. Here I am, staying around just to help you, and you don't appreciate it."
"You're staying around because you can't leave." She rose and strode across the room. "At least get out of my bedroom. This may be my last chance to sleep in my own bed for the next twenty-five years to life."
Charley shrugged, then walked dejectedly into the living room. Actually, his feet remained about six inches above the floor, but the motion of movement vaguely resembled walking.
Amanda turned away, making a conscious effort to also turn away from all the insanity of the last few days.
Not surprisingly, sleep was elusive, but finally she felt herself begin to relax. Her dream self was riding her Harley over amazingly smooth brick streets, dodging pop-up Charleys, when someone shouting in the next room brought her to full consciousness.
Kimball? Come back to kill her?
She grabbed her kitchen knife and dashed into the living room to find the television blaring with Charley sitting on the sofa, beaming happily. "I turned it on!" he declared.
Amanda held her hands over her ears. "Turn it off!" She dashed across the room and hit
the control
button. Silence filled the room.
"I was bored," Charley said. "I tried to turn on the TV, but my hand just went right through the remote control, and I got so frustrated with this whole situation, I thought I was going to explode. I didn't, but the TV did. Pretty cool, huh?"
"No, it is not cool." Amanda turned to go back to bed.
"Hey, come on! At least turn it on low so I can have something to do."
"No!"
"I'll turn it on myself," he threatened.
Amanda grabbed the remote and turned on the television, adjusting the sound to low. Death with Charley wasn't going to be any easier than life had been.
***
An insistent chiming woke Amanda to bright sunlight streaming through her bedroom window. She had somehow managed to get a few hours of sleep, but now her cell phone was pulling her back to reality.
She retrieved it from the night stand and checked the name. Her father.
S
he felt a chill of anxiety. "Dad?"
"Good morning, Mandy."
"What's up?"
"I just talked to Brian."
Amanda's heart clenched. Last night she'd made a smart-mouthed crack about going to prison for twenty-five to life, but suddenly it wasn't funny.
"What's going on?"
"I'm sorry, Mandy. The police found evidence that your bike had been tampered with. Your accident was no accident. Somebody almost killed you."
"I'll call you right back, Dad." She snapped her phone closed. "Charley!"
Chapter Eight
"I swear I didn't do it!" Charley came down the stairs behind Amanda, his movement a simulation of walking though producing no sound on the wooden steps.
Amanda continued her clattering descent from her apartment, on her way to meet with Brian Edwards to talk about this latest development. "I know, I know," she tossed over her shoulder. "It was Kimball. Kimball killed you. Kimball stole my gun. Kimball jacked up my bike. Kimball's responsible for global warming. Does Kimball
actually
exist? I can't believe you'd really do something to my motorcycle. That's low, even for you, Charley Randolph, lowest of the low!"
"It
was
Kimball!"
"
And you know that because you have special knowledge now. It's a ghost thing.
Fine. I'm going to Silver Creek to meet this Kimball and confront him and demand to know why he jacked with my bike!"
"
No
!"
The genuine panic in Charley's voice stopped Amanda on the last step. She turned to look at him, a wry smile moving onto her lips. "So I was right. He doesn't exist." She shook her head. "You almost had me believing you last night."
"
Amanda!
"
The
new
voice came from behind her. She whirled to see a slim, dark-haired man standing in the open door at the side of her shop.
"You're back."
Dawson smiled up at her. The sunlight bouncing off the lenses of his glasses added to the impression of
benign
happiness her assistant exuded.
You
'
re back?
Was he talking about Charley's return?
Amanda cast a quick glance up the stairs
behind her
. Charley was nowhere to be seen. Dawson must be referring
to
her
return, not Charley's. H
is expression should have told her that.
Dawson
had neve
r been fond of Charley. While h
e was too polite to say anything derogatory, he was too open to be able to mask his reactions.
She'd seen
Dawson
obviously distressed because a
stripe in a motorcycle paint job was one millimeter longer than the same stripe on the other side. Charley's presence had always upset him far more.
No, he wouldn't be smiling if he'd seen Charley.
"
Dawson, hi. Yes, yes, I am. Back. Sort of. I
'
m sorry, I have to meet with my lawyer this morning, but I
'
ll be at work this afternoon. I hate to ask you to keep holding down the fort
, but would you mind just one more morning?"
"
It
'
s okay. I don
'
t mind. But—well, can you spare just a few minutes? There
'
s somebody here to see you.
"
"
Som
ebody to see me?" H
er heart triple-timed. The culpable Kimball?
Did he exist
after all
? Had he come to finish
her
off
, just as Charley warned
?
A short, frumpy woman with a cap of silvery hair stepped out of the shop from behind
Dawson
. She wore a s
imple cotton dress of small whit
e polka dots on a dark blue background. The style made her small, slightly-overweight fr
ame look stocky, solid and capable
. She clutched a square black purse in both hands, and her exp
ression was even more
joyous
than
Dawson
's.
"
You must
be Amanda," she said with a wide
smile.
"Let's go, Amanda."
Amanda
gasped at the sudden sound of Charley's voice in her ear. His tone held an edge of hysteria.
"
Appointment with your lawyer. Remember?
"
Nobody seemed surprised to see him. Amanda looked from the woman to
Dawson
to Charley then back to
Dawson
.
"
Let
'
s go!
"
Charley urged. "Now!"
"
No!
"
Both Dawson and the woman looked confused.
"
Yes, you are,
"
Dawson
said.
"
I
'm
what?
"
"
You
're
Amanda. Are you all right?
"
Concern fl
ickered across Dawson's guileless features
.
"
They can
'
t see me,
"
Charley said.
"
Let
'
s go.
"
Cold shivered through Amanda
'
s arm as Charley tried to take it.