Blend

28:00 | three suspects

GHOSTS ARE experts in denial. Most of the ones I've seen haunt the living by accident while pretending to be alive. And Peewee is no exception. The drive to solve her own murder is what keeps her from collapsing into a depressive heap. And yes, she's dead, but I've never met anyone more alive.

Truth be told, she puts me to shame. She had her whole life ripe for success: grad school acceptance, a summer White House internship, top of her class. Meanwhile, I can't even summon enough passion to pick a major.

"Okay. So. There are only three white guys who may have wanted me dead." She paces from the foldable table to the front door.

Ace is beside me on the couch and although he can't see her, he watches my eyes trail the invisible entity. I type the first note into my phone and then show him. 

"The first is my ex: Jackson Barnes." Peewee makes a deep throated gurgle. "I swear if he did this, I will spend the rest of my days haunting him and his children's children."

I snort. "How long were you guys together?"

"Three months."

"That's it?"

Peewee stops pacing. "He was a complete ass, Devy. He became controlling—asking me where I was like all the time, telling me not to talk to certain people. I wasn't about that, so I told him to go fuck himself."

"I bet he took that well," I say dryly.

"About as well as Donald Trump leaving the White House."

"Okay, so Jackson Barnes: the embittered, controlling ex." I type the note.

"Embittered?" Ace squints. "Now that sounds like a murderer."

I shrug. "Maybe. Except..."

"What?" Ace and Peewee say together.

I blink at them both. "Oh, come on. It's never the most obvious guy."

Ace sighs in agreement while Peewee resumes her erratic pacing.

"Next?" I prompt.

"Next is someone who truly gives me the creeps: my TA in Intro to Criminal Justice. Anakin Phelps."

"And this TA was at the party?"

"Yes. I remember him stalking me with his eyes."

"Creep alert, indeed. Spell his first name."

Peewee spells while I type.

"Who the hell names their kid after Darth Vader?" Ace asks, peering over my shoulder. "You're begging him to grow up a freak."

"Is that why that name sounds familiar?"

Ace hisses judgmentally. "Lemme guess. You've never seen a Star Wars movie to save your life."

I shake my head without shame.

Peewee gasps in horror. "Devy!"

"Called it."

"What? I don't watch white people shit."

"The franchise has stepped up their diversity," Peewee informs.

"They could feature Madea and I still wouldn't watch it, Peewee."

Ace hoots into his fist. "Not a Tyler Perry fan, either? Damn."

"No, it ain't that. I just don't do sci-fi."

Ace hisses again, turning his attention to Peewee. Except he's way off, looking at literal empty space. "Aye, Penelope? How did Anakin EyeStalker give you the creeps?"

"She prefers Peewee," I correct, softly turning his chin to where she's actually standing.

"Oops, I remember her telling me that last year." He releases a smile and dammit if my hormones don't behave.

Peewee suddenly plops to the floor, as if exhausted by all the pacing, and pulls her knees up to her chest. "Tell Ace I caught him ogling me during lectures. Oh, and one time he asked me to come to his office hours to 'discuss my paper' but spent the whole time telling me how pretty I was—that if I ever needed anything to let him know, wink wink. And then he tried to hug me."

I repeat this to Ace and his forehead creases. "My money's on that dude."

"Oh so now Darth Vader killed her? What happened to the embittered ex?" I challenge.

Ace shrugs. "I changed my mind."

"Mhm." I roll my eyes with a smile.

"Hey, I'm allowed to do that. Aren't I, Peewee?"

"You sure are, Ace Jones," Peewee says, grinning from ear to ear.

I fight a smile of my own while Ace studies my silence.

"She agreed with me, huh?" He smirks.

"I will neither confirm nor deny Ms. Adams' response."

"Hey!" Peewee exclaims. "Not fair."

"That ain't fair," Ace echoes, crossing his arms. "I bet she's cussing you out."

Peewee leans forward. "Fuck you, Devyn Brooks. Fuck. You."

"Hush, the both of you." After typing additional details, I return my attention to the ghost. "Wait, you said three suspects. Who's the third?"

Peewee parts her shoulder-length blonde hair and begins to finger it into three sections. She works the first side into a double dutch braid with a forlorn sigh. "The last guy is one I'm hoping I'm wrong about." She briefly closes her eyes like it's too painful to say his name. "I'm afraid it might be my dad."