I was one of the believers in the theory. No one would want to kill David Blackburn. The man had cheated on me, and I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t know anyone with a stronger motive.

The funeral was well-attended, with or without David’s former lover. The priest didn’t know David, but did the best he could to say generically comforting words. My family tried to brace me up, and succeeded in large degree. David’s parents were long dead, but his sister sent a wreath; she had wanted to come to the funeral but couldn’t manage the airfare from Maine to California, and refused my offer to buy the ticket.

There were neighbors and old friends, and a large contingent from Emery amp; Walden. David was the Vice President of Human Resources for Emery amp; Walden, a local manufacturing firm that employed about twenty-five hundred people. Many of the employees had contact with him, and trusted him as someone who would treat them fairly, as someone who had concern for their well-being. He often acted as a buffer between them and Mr. Winslow Emery III, the self-involved young man who was now at the helm of the company.

Today Winslow Emery looked tired and worn. It was understandable-he had attended a lot of funerals lately. Five days earlier, an acid tank at Emery amp; Walden had ruptured, causing the deaths of three workers. OSHA was investigating. David had been troubled by the deaths, as he was by the suicide of the plant manager, who apparently blamed himself for not responding to worker complaints about the tank.

I thought about David championing that troubled soul. His name, if I recalled, was Devereaux. I watched Emery walk away from David’s grave with the gait of a man twice his age. A good-looking blonde walked next to him. She had introduced herself to me as Mr. Emery’s secretary, Louise. Emery didn’t seem to notice her.

I noticed her, as I did two other women, Lucy Osborne and Annette Mayes, who lingered longer than most of the others. Both were at least fifteen years younger than I, and gorgeous. Lucy was a brunette, Annette a redhead. I wondered if David had stayed with my type or looked for something different when he chose a lover. Something in the way Annette looked at me made me decide he had tried something different. Oddly, I didn’t feel the animosity I thought I would feel towards her. I really didn’t care. David had come back to me. Fifteen weeks was not twenty-one years.

I sat next to the open grave longer than my sister, Lisa, thought I should, but I refused to be steered away. My father told her to let me be and then gave me a hug and said they’d be waiting for me at the car, to take my time.

“I guess this is goodbye, David,” I said aloud, and was startled to feel a warm hand on my shoulder. I looked up into the eyes of the ghost.

This time, I was angry. This was my private moment with David, and I didn’t want living or dead intruding on it. At the time, the man seemed to be among the living. I couldn’t see through him and his hand was warm. “Can’t a person have a moment’s peace?” I said, trying to remove his hand, but only touching my own shoulder. That frightened me.

He shook his head sadly and removed his hand.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said.

He shrugged.

“Are you David?” I asked, thinking maybe I was seeing him transformed somehow.

But the ghost shook his head.

“Could I please have a little time to say goodbye to my husband? Would that be too much to ask?”

He gave a little bow and vanished.

I was shaking. “David,” I said, when I had calmed down, “Why isn’t it you? If I’m going to go crazy and see ghosts, why isn’t it your ghost? Show up, David. Materialize, or whatever it is you do. I want you back.”

I waited. Nothing.

“Goodbye, David,” I said, giving up. “I’ll miss you. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. Be very sad for a very long time, I suppose.”

I looked up and saw a man walking toward me. I knew this one was among the living. There was nothing extraordinary about Detective Russo’s appearance. He was a plain-faced man, neither handsome nor ugly. He was of medium height, had mouse-brown hair that was cut short. His eyes, his voice, and his face usually reflected very little of what he was thinking or feeling. If you talked to him for a while, there was no mistaking his intelligence, but he didn’t walk around with his IQ embroidered on his sleeve. An ocean of calm, he seemed to me. I could use it.

“Hello, Detective Russo,” I said as he approached.

“Hello, Dr. Blackburn,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you. Just wanted to make sure you were all right. I’ll leave-”

“No,” I said, standing up. “Don’t worry about it. I need to walk to the car; I’m keeping everyone waiting.”

He surprised me by offering me his arm, but I took it and we walked in silence toward the limo. When we reached it, I invited him to join us at the house, but he politely declined.

“Were you watching me the whole time I sat there?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I was,” he said, not seeming in the least embarrassed about it.

“Did you see anyone else?”

“While you sat there?”

“Yes.”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t. Why?”

“Nothing, really. Nothing at all. I don’t suppose you’ve learned anything more about what happened?”

“No, I’m sorry, Dr. Blackburn. But we’re still working on it.”

“It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I got into the car and let Lisa’s chatter roll over me as my father held my hand.

Back at the house, the ghost became rather nervy. I would see him standing among groups of people, watching me. Everyone excused my vacant stares as widow’s grief, which was fine with me. I wasn’t in the mood to be entertaining.

The gathering thinned out quickly. Lisa left only after I reassured her for the fifty-third time that I wanted to be by myself. Only I knew I wasn’t going to be able to be by myself. The ghost was growing as eager as I was to have her leave.

“Okay,” I said, after I saw her drive off. “Let’s talk.”

He looked even sadder than before.

“What? Did I say something?”

He didn’t reply.

I decided that even if he was a figment of my imagination, I needed to play this out. Avoiding him obviously wouldn’t work. “Let’s sit down,” I said.

He followed me into the living room, and we sat on opposite ends of the couch.

“Who are you?” I asked.

No answer, just gestures that I couldn’t make anything out of.

“Can’t you talk?”

He shook his head, pointing at his mouth.

“If I gave you a pen and paper could you write a note?”

He shook his head again.

“I thought ghosts were supposed to be cold. When you touched me today you were warm.”

He shrugged.

“Perhaps you haven’t been dead long?”

He nodded, and held up four fingers.

“Four days?”

He nodded again.

“Most people would be cold.”

He waited.

“Why me?” I asked.

He walked over to the mantel over the fireplace and pointed to a photograph.

“Because of David?”

He nodded.

“Is something wrong with him?” It immediately seemed like a stupid question. The man was dead. Things don’t go too much more wrong, unless-“He’s not in some sort of eternal torment is he? I don’t believe it. That can’t be true.”

The ghost made a frantic gesture to get me to stop talking, then looked up.

“Are you looking in the direction David traveled?”

He nodded.

“Thank you,” I said. I found myself crying. I had felt in my heart that David, for all his weaknesses, was a good man, but it was nice to have confirmation. I suddenly felt a sense of relief. I decided I owed the ghost a favor.

“What can I do for you?”

He got up and paced, tried to gesture, couldn’t get through to “Wait, settle down.”

He sat down again.

“You know David, right?”