Charlie took a deep breath. “I don’t believe this. I think you’re attached to me.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Garland looked wary. “I like you and everything, Doc, but attached to you? I am—was—attached to my dog. And my Harley. And—”

“No,” Charlie interrupted. “I see this kind of thing happen all the time. You’re attached to me. That’s the only way I know how to describe it. Just like that guy with the knife was attached to the old lady. Sometimes when people die suddenly and violently, like you did, they latch onto someone or something that’s close by at the time of their death. I think it’s kind of a way of not letting go, of hanging on to their lives and the earth, like throwing out a psychic anchor. I was working on you when you died. You latched onto me.”

Garland stared at her. After a moment his mouth twisted. “I got to say, if you’d started spouting off stuff like this a week ago, I would’ve said you were the one who needed to see a shrink. Bad.”

Charlie had gotten used to skepticism, back when she was still trying to enlighten people about the undead in their midst, but the difference here was that Garland had to believe her, because he himself was living (?) proof. It made a nice change, she discovered.

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world.”

“You mean to say I’m, like, tethered to you? Like by a psychic rubber band or something? Because you didn’t save my life?”

“You ever hear the saying ‘No good deed goes unpunished’?”

“Didn’t was the key word there. Didn’t save my life. So if I were you I wouldn’t get too wound up congratulating yourself on your good deed.”

“I don’t want you attached to me,” Charlie told him. “This doesn’t work for me.”

“You think I like it any better than you do? You’re cute, Doc, but you’re not exactly my idea of a rousing good time. Now, if you were a stripper, or a whore …”

“There, you see? You’re disgusting. And crude. And a psychopath. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“You brutally murdered seven women.”

“Did I?”

“The Commonwealth of Virginia says you did. They sentenced you to death for it, if you recall. What, are you going to try to tell me you’re innocent?”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“No.” Charlie thought it over for as long as it took for logic to clench the matter, which wasn’t very long. “And don’t even bother trying to convince me otherwise. The afterlife you described to me—purple twilight, screams, the whole bit—that’s not what most people experience when they die. Most people see the white light. The reason you’re experiencing Spookville, as you call it, is because you’re on your way to hell. And if you’re on your way to hell, then I’m confident there’s a good reason. Like you brutally murdered seven women.”

“You always latch onto the worst in everybody, Doc? Or am I just getting lucky here?”

Charlie started to reply, realized there was no point, and shook her head. “I’m not doing this. Uh-uh.”

“I hear you. But unless I’m missing something, I don’t think you have a choice.”

“You can always let go and embrace the afterlife. Sooner or later, that’s what you’re going to have to do anyway.” She smiled less than sweetly at him. “I’d be glad to help you on your way.”

Garland straightened away from the wall. “You try any more ju-ju on me—”

“And you’ll do what, exactly? Just so we’re clear, I think murder’s out for you now. The spirit may still be willing, but the flesh is—oh, wait: gone.”

The look he shot her said he wasn’t amused. “Are you afraid of me, Doc? Is that it?”

“Afraid of the ghost of a serial killer who’s following me around like a puppy on a leash? How crazy would I have to be to be afraid of something—you notice I don’t say someone—like that?”

“You are. You got no need to be, Doc. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You couldn’t hurt me, Casper.”

“I wouldn’t if I could.”

“That’s actually kind of rich, considering you’ve been threatening me practically since you died.”

“If I’ve been threatening you, it’s only been since you tried to voodoo me out of here. Don’t do that again, and you and I should get along just fine.”

“I don’t want us to get along just fine. I want you gone. Nothing personal, but you’re a complication my life doesn’t need.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Afraid I’m going to cause a speed bump in your love life, Doc?”

“Afraid you’re going to be a total pain in the ass, which obviously you are.”

He gave her a warning look. “You try to get rid of me again, and …” His voice trailed off, but his face said it all.

“And chalk up one more threat.” As his eyes narrowed, Charlie held up her hands in a peacemaking gesture. “Don’t worry, I won’t try to get rid of you again. You know why? Because I don’t have to. The good news is, the state you’re in is a temporary thing. As I may have mentioned before, spirits who linger usually hang on maybe a week. It’s like you need time to get your head around the idea of being dead or something, and once you do you’re ready to go.”

“Without anybody doing anything? I’ll just … go?” Garland looked uneasy.

“You got it. The ones I’ve had experience with—one day they just disappear. According to my calculations, you’ve got at most—probably four or five days.”

Garland looked at her. “Fuck.”

“Who are you talking to?” Kaminsky’s voice made Charlie jump. She’d been so caught up with Garland that she hadn’t even heard the other woman enter the restroom. Now Kaminsky stood just on the other side of the threshold between the lounge and lavatory areas, staring at her. With obviously no idea that she was looking right through the hottest guy she’d probably ever seen in her life, who was large enough and vital enough, at least from Charlie’s perspective, to fill the space to overflowing.

“Myself.” God, I’m getting good at lying. And sick of it. Quickly she tried to recall the part of the conversation that Kaminsky had been most likely to overhear. “If you’re here to use the facilities, you’d best get a move on. We need to get going. Bayley Evans only has about four days left.”

“What’s your name, Sugar Buns?” Garland drawled at Kaminsky, who of course didn’t hear a syllable. Charlie would have been furious, except she suspected the remark had been aimed at riling her rather than hitting on Kaminsky, who he knew perfectly well couldn’t hear him. “Doc here never did introduce us.”

“I just came to get you,” Kaminsky told her. “Bartoli was concerned because you’ve been in here a while.”

“Ooh, Bartoli.” Looking at Charlie, Garland batted his eyes like a love-struck girl. “He was concerned. That’s touching, Doc, it really is.”

“Let’s go, then. Um, I’ll follow you.” Waiting until Kaminsky had turned her back and started for the door, Charlie cast an evil look at Garland.

“If you don’t shut up, I will ju-ju you. First chance I get, I swear to God,” she hissed, hopefully too low for Kaminsky to hear. Then, just to make a point, she marched right through him. The sensation of having plunged into an electromagnetic force field was worth it, she told herself fiercely, even with her skin tingling all over and her hair going all static-y. Even when she heard Garland laughing softly behind her.

In the SUV on the way back to Kill Devil Hills, a thought began to take root in Charlie’s mind. They’d been talking about the case, about various ways they could winnow the pool of suspects—which at that point was about the size of a small town—down to a more manageable number.

“Another characteristic to look for is a history of mental illness in the family.” Charlie was staring abstractedly out the windshield as she spoke. Beach Road was beautiful by night, despite the sizable volume of traffic traveling in each direction. The ocean and the sky above it were both shades of midnight blue, while, hovering just above the horizon, the moon looked as rich and round as a butterscotch candy. “Bipolar, schizophrenia, maybe ECT treatments. Probably the family member will have a record of psychiatric episodes. If not, alcoholism or drug abuse might serve as markers.”