I smiled at her. “Yes, you would think the Department was used to this type of thing, wouldn’t you? But…well, it’s several things, really.”

“Like what?”

I stopped futzing and turned to face her. She deserved my full attention. “You’re different, Irene. The Department is used to all kinds of weirdness, but you don’t really pigeonhole for them neatly. You seem too alive to be dead.”

Irene’s solid shape began to go semitransparent as she became agitated. I could make out one of the night shifters coming on duty straight through her.

“Well, Iam dead,” she said with a bit of angry sarcasm. “Doesn’t that count for something with you people?”

“Please, let me explain,” I said, and without thinking, I attempted to take her less-than-solid hand. My gesture made her more solid, and I felt that electric charge again when my hand passed through her. “The directors and agents here deal with the deceased in an almost entirely bureaucratic way, and nine times out of ten, most ghosts are far less…living than you. Far less interesting and far less alive.”

“I see,” Irene said.

“Dealing with you, as an apparition who is still clinging to human emotions and feelings, well…they’re not up to it.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “Why are you up for it?”

“Maybe because I’m still new here,” I offered. “Maybe I’m too dumb to know any better yet.”

I wanted to take it back as soon as I said it and say something more reassuring.

The silence grew between us as the sounds of the office coming to life with the arrival of the late shift rose up around us. As the silence began its journey into unbearable, I snapped out of it.

“Would you like to get out of here?” I asked and grabbed my bag.

She looked relieved and nodded. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

I led the way out of the Department, past the oblivious moviegoers in the theater who were watchingThe Thin Man, and into the coffeehouse proper. Mrs. Teasley was still there, her cat softly purring on her lap and her fingers deep in a pile of still steaming coffee grounds. She smiled as we walked past, and then Irene and I were out on the street.

I wondered about how Irene would fare walking all the way to SoHo given her less-than-corporeal form. Would other people move out of the way for her, or was there a danger of them accidentally walking through her and setting off widespread panic in the streets?

“You’d better stay close,” I said, and moved directly in front of her so she could follow me safely. But in fact, people naturally avoided her on the street, as if some untapped part of their minds knew something extraordinary was at hand, and wanted to get the hell away. Animals, however, noticed her. Before we hit the end of the block, four dogs had looked at us oddly and started barking. As we turned left onto Broadway heading downtown, the crowds thinned, and the rest of our trip went without incident.

I fumbled with the lock like a nervous teen bringing a new girlfriend home when his parents were out of town. I told myself to stop being ridiculous and finally managed to get the key in, then lead Irene down the main hall to the charming wrought iron elevator.

“It’s beautiful,” she said as she entered it. “So turn of the century.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I love it, too.

“I’m always reminded of a simpler age,” I continued, “of times gone by.”

Irene smiled. “That’s a very romantic notion, Mr. Canderous.”

As we rode the rest of the way up to the slow rhythmic clanking of the elevator, I couldn’t help but check her out. The curve of her mouth was adorable. God, was my love life so messed up that I was finding any woman-even a dead one-attractive? Color me necro-curious.

Few people visited my home, and I had never knowingly had a ghost in my apartment before-certainly not one as intriguing as Irene. She possessed what my father had referred to as “carriage”-a special way of presenting herself that spoke of worldliness, a personal grace that seemed innate. I hadn’t run across many women who pulled it off these days.

Irene caught me staring and smiled. My face flushed. “Sorry,” I said. Few things in my experience were worse than being caught checking someone out. Thankfully, the elevator stopped and I quickly slid the accordion doors aside and gestured for Irene to step out.

“You’d think I’d never dealt with the dead before,” I said apologetically.

She whirled around, looking upset-and once again I was able to see straight through her. I could make out my apartment door through her down the hall. “Please don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Please don’t refer to me asthat.” She sighed. “The dead. I’m afraid I’m not quite used to the idea yet and I’d prefer it if you’d just call me Irene.”

“I’m sorry, Irene.”

Stupid, real stupid. I excused myself and headed down the hall toward my apartment door. I had to make a better effort tonight to think before I spoke. I opened the door and flicked on the light.

“You’ll have to excuse the place,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to clean.”

Usually I was quite proud of my apartment, but not with the way I had left it. The main living space was still cluttered with crates, hiding the normally impressive Clue conservatory atmosphere I had been working so hard to cultivate.

“It’s absolutely marvelous,” she said.

“You think?” I asked, surprised by her reaction. “I’ve always wanted to live in a Nick and Nora film. I’m afraid my current look isn’t quite doing it.”

Irene walked across the living room, blithely passing through several unopened crates and boxes of every possible size. She stopped inside the middle of one of my brass-tacked leather sofas and looked around. I was surprised to realize that I desperately wanted her to be impressed. I watched as Irene crossed to the room’s focal point-towering bookcases full of the finds I had recovered over the years. Last night’s bag with the Intellevision and games was still there. I didn’t know what she had expected, but as she marveled over the shelves, I could tell it wasn’t this.

“You’re certainly well-read,” she said, looking at all my books and grinning.

“It’s all lies,” I said.

She turned, puzzled. “How so?”

“Well, none of this space is really me,” I said. “I’ve developed a space for the type of guy Ihope to be-a man who wants space to think, to be cultured, and to be able to do it in comfort and style. It still feels a little like a ruse to me, though. I never feel quite at ease with the finer things I surround myself with.”

Still, I wanted Irene to appreciate it, and it looked like she did. I felt a rush of pride.

I cleared boxes from one of the leather Catalina sofas and stuffed handfuls of scattered packing materials into a tall wooden crate from which a Tiffany floor lamp poked out precariously.

“I’ve been meaning to get to all this,” I said. I straightened the lamp and secured it with a few handfuls of the packing material. “Really. It’s kind of gotten out of control lately with my caseload at the Department.”

Irene laughed, covering her mouth with one hand as she did so. “I completely understand your appreciation.”

“You do?” I asked. “How’s that?” I muscled a painting-shaped crate to the floor and shoved it toward the row of bay windows that ran down the other side of the room.

Irene started to answer, but paused instead and sat down in the space I had cleared. “You know, I’m not quite surewhy I said that.”

I stopped what I was doing and sat down next to her on the sofa. “Maybe you remembered something…?”

“It’s possible,” she said with a frown of concentration. “I’m really not sure.”

She was agitated by her lack of memory. I couldn’t imagine how I’d handle missing my entire memory. Hell, I got agitated when I couldn’t remember where my keys were, and Irene’s situation was worse to then th degree.