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whether it was a matter of walking toward the light, or putting to rest matters in the present, or resolving murders, but the confusion rampant in the ghost world was disheartening.
    “What are you wearing?” he said.
    “You’ve seen how I dress. We went through that when you were alive, remember? What are you doing?”
    “I need to call my mom and let her know I’m gonna be late.”
    “Adam, I’m so sorry. So very sorry, but you have to understand . . . you aren’t going to be able to go home. You’re dead.”
    He looked at me blankly.
    “You’re stuck here in Spooner House for the meantime, but I hope soon I can help figure things out and you can move on.”
    “Move on to what?”
    “I have no idea, but I’m thinking it’s better than haunting this house forever.”
    I thought I saw light dawning. “I’m
haunting
this house?”
    “Sort of. I’m so sorry, Adam. Did you . . . did you kill yourself?”
    “No!”
    “Are you sure . . . ? Can you remember what happened?”
    “No,” he said, shoulders slumping.
    “Maybe you were upset that night, you drank too much, and . . .”
    “I would never do something like that. Suicide’s a coward’s way out. And besides, what did I have to be upset about? School’s going well, I landed the lead role in our holiday musical, and I’m in love with a beautiful girl who’s in love with me. We’re the real deal.”
    I nodded. Young people could be impulsive and overly dramatic, but he was right: He didn’t seem like a candidate for suicide.
    “I would never. . . . Could it have been some sort of accident?”
    “You can’t remember anything toward the end of that night?”
    “Just drinking with the gang, and Preston and Duff helped me break in through the window, and . . . I feel like I had a dream where the mannequins were talking to me. Is that possible?”
    Ugh
. I hoped it wasn’t possible.
    “Do you remember what they said?”
    He shook his head. “My mom’s gonna be so upset.”
    I nodded. “Do you . . . do you want me to get a message to your mom? Or anyone else?”
    He looked at me now with tears in his eyes. He shrugged, his lower lip quivered, and I remembered how young he was.
    “Yeah,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “Just . . . tell her I love her.”
    ***
    “You okay, Mel?” asked Maya.
    I nodded as she came into the room. Tears stung the back of my eyes, and I had to swallow hard to keep from crying. I felt the warmth of her hand on my shoulder. She squeezed lightly, then hugged me.
    “Did you see him?” she asked me.
    I nodded.
    “It’s so sad. First, his death, and now . . . he’s still here?” Maya said.
    “He was asking about his mom. I have a stepson, and I just can’t imagine . . .” I blew out a long breath. “Anyway, I guess I should go see her and give her the message that he loves her.”
    “It might be hard to hear that sort of thing. Depending on her belief system, she might think you’re just playing a cruel joke.”
    “I thought of that. But I wouldn’t feel right to withhold.”
    “Maybe we should figure it out first.”
    “What would you suggest?”
    “I was thinking about what you thought you saw before, with the mannequins moving. What if . . . what if we accidentally dressed one of those dolls in a serial killer’s clothes, or something, and then it went after Adam? Or is that too out of left field?”
    “That’s . . . wow. I have no idea. I may see ghosts from time to time, but serial killer clothes are a little out of my league.”
    “My boss, Lily, can sometimes ‘read’ clothes.”
    “Read them how?”
    “She senses their vibrations.”
    “This is a witch thing?”
    “Like I said, I don’t ask too many questions, but I was thinking—”
    Maya stopped short as we heard a loud thumping overhead. We both froze and rolled our eyes upward.
    Footsteps. In the attic. The formerly unoccupied attic.
    “At the risk of repeating myself,” whispered