Mabel

“Maurice, is that you?” I kept my voice to a whisper for no reason in particular except that it seemed appropriate to talk quietly to the dead. “If it is…flicker the lights three times.”

I didn’t want to be seeing ghosts. I especially didn’t want to be seeing the ghost of my least favorite colleague. But apparently that was happening, and I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t keep wondering if I was losing my mind or if what I was seeing was true. I held my breath and waited. The lights crackled again and flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Oh shit.

Before I could so much as blink, Maurice appeared before me. To my credit, I didn’t scream this time, I just gaped at him, wondering how this could be real.

Clara rounded the corner into the bathroom with the EMT at her tail. “Here she is,” she was saying, gesturing to me. “See what I mean? She’s traumatized, and her nerves are shattered.”

The EMT gave me a quick assessing glance and nodded. “Are you feeling dizzy?” he asked.

I could only shrug in response. It was impossible to take my eyes off of Maurice, standing there staring back at me. The EMT had me hold out an arm as he put a blood pressure cuff on me.

My chest rose and fell while I tried to breathe normally, but he still clucked his tongue. “Your blood pressure is high.” He put a hand to my forehead. “You feel clammy.”

“Of course she’s sweaty with high blood pressure!” Clara shot back. “The police keep trying to question her, and no one will let her rest. Mabel needs a pill or something.”

She was probably right. Not that I thought medication would make these hallucinations go away—I was pretty sure Maurice was here to stay, unless this was an elaborate trauma response from my brain—but the constant questions weren’t helping. As the EMT packed up his emergency kit, the restroom lights flickered.

“Not the lights again,” Clara groaned. “They just do that sometimes,” she told the room at large. “Ignore it. We do.”

My eyes went back to Maurice where he stood unnoticed by anyone else in the corner of the restroom. He wore the same uptight expression he’d always worn in life, and he shook his head at me. I couldn’t deal with it. Was he seriously criticizing me from the afterlife too?

Standing up from the bench, I looked at both Clara and the EMT. “I think I do need a shot or a pill or something. And I really, really want to get out of this bathroom.”

I followed Clara and the EMT out into the lobby, which was filling up with residents. They were wandering around, looking lost without Maurice to organize all the normal morning errands. I wondered how much, if anything, they knew about the murder.

Maurice was an asshole, but there was no doubt that he kept The Ivy in tip-top shape. He would arrange dry cleaning pickups for some of them, among other frivolous things like ordering their groceries and picking up mail. He’d even walk the dogs if they asked. Without him, The Ivy was in disarray.

Swallowing, I walked over to where Detective Anaya was talking to Mr. Witherspoon. The two of them looked like they were arguing, and Witherspoon was frantically waving his hands in the air as he talked.

“Maurice would never want us to lower our standards, even in the wake of his death. He’d want things to go on as normal at The Ivy, which is what I need to do,” Witherspoon was saying.

“You,” Witherspoon barked hoarsely at Clara. “Call in whatever favors you can. We need all hands on deck to keep things running smoothly.”

Clara scampered off as Witherspoon glared at Santiago. “How soon can you and your police friends be out of my building?”

Santiago’s face barely shifted, but I could sense his irritation at the question. “I’ll just remind you that this is an active investigation we’re dealing with here. It will take as long as it takes. Cooperation will help things move along faster.”

He held up a hand when Witherspoon opened his mouth to argue. “How about this,” Santiago said, “we’ll move the investigation upstairs to the penthouse.” He looked at me. “Mabel, I’ll take your statement upstairs.”

I gaped at him. “What?” I asked, my voice high. “At the scene of the crime?!”