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enough. She’d simply vanish if I made any sudden moves.
    How do you bribe a ghost-child? Do you offer to buzz through the drive-in at McDonald’s for a happy meal?
    â€œYou could watch TV,” I said, after searching my brain for any scrap of kid lore. “I have a big one that comes down out of the ceiling when you push a button.”
    She signed something, but I didn’t know what it was.
    â€œShe wants you to buy her a dog,” a voice said.
    I almost fell over, I was so jolted. I got to my feet and turned to see the young guy I’d glimpsed earlier, meditating beside a grave.
    Duh, again. He was dead. The old lady with the flowers probably was, too. I made a mental note to pay more attention to my surroundings and not assume everybody I saw was alive.
    He smiled.
    I hoped he wasn’t planning to follow me home. I had my hands full with one ghost—I didn’t need two.
    I swallowed. Stood up straight. “You’re—”
    â€œDead,” he said cheerfully.
    â€œAnd you understand sign language.”
    He nodded. “I took a couple of special classes at the community college,” he said. “I needed a service project to make Eagle Scout.” He signed something to Gillian, and she eagerly signed back.
    â€œAsk if she knows who killed her,” I said.
    â€œWhoa,” he said, round eyed.
    â€œJust do it, okay? It’s important.”
    â€œI don’t think we covered that in class,” the boy replied. “But I’ll try.”
    His hands moved.
    Gillian’s hands moved.
    â€œShe doesn’t know,” he said. “It happened really fast.”
    â€œDamn,” I muttered. Then I took a closer look at him. He was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt, and he was even younger than I’d first thought. He probably hadn’t even made it through high school before he passed away. “What’s your name and when did you die?” I asked.
    â€œI’m not sure when I croaked,” he said. “I only figured it out the other day. Up till then, I just thought I was having a bad dream.”
    I threw back my head, looked up at heaven. Why did God just allow these people to wander around, not knowing they were dead? Wasn’t there some kind of intake system? Where were the angels? Where were the loving relatives, come to lead the newly deceased into the Light?
    â€œBut my name is Justin Braydaven,” Justin went on. “I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you that much if I hadn’t read it off my headstone.” He shook his head. “I’ve really been spaced lately.”
    â€œYou didn’t remember your name—but you can still communicate in sign language?”
    Justin shrugged. “Maybe it’s like riding a bike,” he said. “You never forget how to do it, even when you’re—” he stopped, swallowed “—dead.”
    I felt sorry for him, for obvious reasons. There was so much he was never going to experience. “I guess your date of death is probably on that headstone, too. Under your name.”
    â€œI was so glad to know who I was, I forgot to look for that.”
    â€œJustin, do you see a big light? If you do, you should go into it.”
    â€œNo big lights,” Justin said, sounding good-naturedly resigned.
    Gillian began to sign again.
    â€œShe’s back to the dog,” Justin told me. “It’s a big thing to her. Maybe there’s one at the pound.”
    I thought about Vince Erland, promising his stepdaughter a pet and then reneging. It would be easy to judge him for that, but the fact is, dogs and cats need a lot of things—shots, food, spaying or neutering, sometimes ongoing veterinary care. Those things aren’t cheap.
    The three of us started walking down a paved, sloping drive, in the general direction of my car. I was musing, Justin and Gillian were signing.
    â€œHey, lady!” one of the groundskeepers