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found four boxes of those Ginseng knives. The ones on the TV? I couldn’t believe it! Who needs four boxes of steak knives? We always knew we would have to make this decision one day, but I, for one, thought we were many years away . . .”
    Arie let her mother prattle on. It would be a good five minutes before Evelyn stopped circling the conversational airport and landed the plane. Meanwhile, icy foreboding seeped into Arie’s heart.
    She had always wanted a grandpa to love. Her father’s parents had died before Arie was even born, and she’d always been jealous that Brant had known them, even if he’d only been four when first Bapa, then Nana had passed. When Arie had died and gone to the Other Side, she’d looked for them, but she’d been forced back into her body before she’d had a chance.
    Grumpa, though. He was a grandparent of another color. Gray, mostly. Maybe a little murky brown thrown in.
    It explained a lot about her mother, though at the moment, Arie wasn’t able to feel sorry for her. She was too busy resenting the continuous machinations her mother went through to arrange Arie’s life. Maybe she just didn’t have the energy.
    “And so I said to your father, something has to be done. We can’t just ignore the problem.”
    “ I’m the problem?” Arie said.
    “I never said that. We’re discussing your grandfather and his living arrangement.”
    It was no use. Arie could feel herself being sucked in as usual.
    “What about his living arrangement?”
    Evelyn sighed and rubbed her forehead. “His living arrangement is now your living arrangement. We’re going to move you in with Grandpa Wilston and kill two birds with one stone. Perfect. Like I said.”
    Perfect.

CHAPTER NINE
    “Dude, you’re creeping me out!”
    Grady’s voice cut through the home movie version of Agnes Weaver’s life that had been playing in Arie’s head. It had been so beautiful.
    She struggled to erase the silly grin from her face. “Sorry,” Arie stuttered. “I was only—”
    “I don’t wanna know. Get busy. We’re only contracted for eight man hours. Guts doesn’t pay overtime if we go over the estimate.”
    Arie struggled to pay attention to the task at hand. They hadn’t had a job in over a week, and Arie was desperate not to screw this one up. No matter how she dreaded the situation, she’d about resigned herself to an eighty-three-year-old roommate with telemarketer issues. Not that he had agreed to the arrangement yet; her mother was still working on him. But even that couldn’t spoil her current mood.
    Death had gotten it right for Agnes—a pleasant surprise for both her and Arie. Even though her left-behind body had remained undiscovered for three long summer days, the actual leaving of it had been welcomed, by Agnes, anyway—or so her visions told Arie. The dead woman’s relatives were far less sanguine about the event, and after several days of the body left untended, were understandably squeamish about doing the cleanup themselves.
    Grady’s phone rang, startling Arie all over again. He went outside to answer it. Despite her good intentions, Arie hurried back to the small spot of blood caught in the grout of the kitchen tile. Agnes must have hit her head when she’d fallen. Arie stared at it.
    The mist swirled—green this time, like apples and springtime and a new love. Joy rose in her chest like a bubble, and the most profound sense of peace she’d experienced since her visit to the Other Side settled over her.
    Flash.
    Pat Boone’s on the jukebox singing “Ain’t That a Shame,” makin’ my foot tap. Well, now. Who’s that fellow headin’ my way? He’s a tall one, ain’t he? A curl of black hair falls over his face, and I laugh when he brushes it back. He actually blushed! And oh my . . . them eyes. Hazel, maybe. A girl could get lost in them eyes.
    Flash.
    Smoke is rollin’ from the oven. Burns my eyes. Oh, lordy! The roast! Bennie’s laughing so hard he can’t hardly