Big Ghouls Don't Cry - a Jodi Collister, Ghoul Detective Mystery

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

            I followed Mel across the street. I had to talk to her—she was my safe place, the one constant person in my life. I had often thanked heaven for Mel’s unwavering friendship. If anyone could help me sort through this, she could.

            There was just one problem—she probably wouldn’t be able to hear me either.

            I was ignored by the doorman, by the other people in the elevator, by the lady watering plants in the hallway, by the receptionist in the office next door. It didn’t matter how many times I said hello or waved, they didn’t respond. I even—and this is the truth—did a little tap dance in front of the stern-looking businessman who was walking down the hall in front of my office door. Yeah, nothing.

            I walked into the office I shared with Mel. “Crawford and Collister Investigations,” it read on the door. We’d been in business two whole years and loved every minute of it. We had solved several cases, met some amazing people, and actually got paid once in a while—we were living a dream we’d both had since we were little. I admit—I’d watched Remington Steele in syndication over and over again until I had every episode memorized. I’m not sure if it was the detective life or Pierce Brosnan I’d fallen in love with, but whatever it was, I’d managed to turn my obsession into a career.

            I paused in the reception area when I heard Mel talking to someone. I edged closer and peeked around the corner to see that she was on the phone.

            “I will, Granny. I promise. Yes, I’ll be sure to eat lunch. No, I don’t know what yet—I’ll probably call for pizza. Yeah, you bet. As soon as I know anything. Love you.” Mel hung up and buried her face in her arms on the desk.

            Grandma Vilda was hands down the best grandma in the entire world. I never knew my grandparents—my parents were loners, pretty much, and when they both died in a car accident my freshman year of college, I was on my own, not knowing if I even had other family. I could find no evidence anywhere in my parents’ house. I got a job, kept going to school, adjusted to the solitary life, and thought I was destined to be alone—until the day I met Mel and she in turn introduced me to her grandma. It was like all the love I’d been denied had been saved up for me and held in reserve until just the right time.

            Mel’s shoulders were heaving. I stepped into the room, hating to see her so upset, wishing there was something I could do to help her, but I didn’t even know how to help myself. I leaned against the wall and watched.

            After a moment, she straightened, sniffed, and grabbed a tissue from the box on the corner of the desk. Then she glanced up, did a double-take, and jumped, her hand flying to her throat.

            “Jodi! What . . . what are you doing here? I just saw . . . you’re dead.” She stood, holding the edge of the desk for support.

            “Wait. You can see me?” Could she really? Oh, thank goodness.

            “Of course I can see you—you’re standing right there. But what on earth is going on? The coroner took you away—I watched him bag you up. I . . .” Mel took a staggering step toward me. “It was all a mistake, wasn’t it? That was someone else.” She reached out to give me a hug, but at the moment when we would have touched, her arms went right through me and she fell forward. I wasn’t there to catch her. I tried to—I really tried—but it was like she’d walked through mist. I felt a rush of air just like I had when the bus hit me.

            Mel stumbled forward a few steps and caught herself on the wall, then whirled around to look at me. “You’re not real,” she muttered. “I’m hallucinating. Grief and shock can do that. And I probably need to eat. Granny was right.” She moved back to her desk and grabbed her phone, calling Chenzo’s and ordering her usual, his signature supreme deep-dish.