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called to me, loading tools into the back of a battered pickup truck. “We’re closing up for the night!”
    I nodded. “On my way,” I called back.
    We passed the old lady, fussing happily with her bouquet. She didn’t seem to notice us.
    â€œShe’s been in a good mood since the flowers came,” Justin informed me.
    I drew up at the headstone where I’d first seen him, peered at the lettering.
    He’d been dead for six years.
    Where had he been all that time?
    â€œCan I drop you off somewhere?” I asked, because I couldn’t just leave him there.
    After giving the matter some serious thought, Justin came up with an address, and we all piled into the Volvo—Justin, Gillian and me. I recall a few curious glances from the groundskeepers when I opened the passenger door, flipped the seat forward so Gillian could climb in back and waited until Justin was settled up front.
    I smiled and waved to the spectators.
    The smile faded as I drove out of the cemetery, though.
    I was busy trying to solve the great cosmic mysteries—life, death, the time-space continuum.
    No Damn Fool’s Guide on that.
    As it turned out, Justin lived—or had lived—in a modest, one-story rancher in one of the city’s many housing developments. I swear, every time I leave town, another one springs up. There were lights in the windows of the stucco house with the requisite red tile roof, though the shades were drawn, and an old collie lay curled up on the small concrete porch.
    When we came to a stop at the curb, the dog got up and gave a halfhearted woof.
    â€œJustin?” I said.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œThis is your folks’ place, right?”
    â€œIt’s home,” he answered affably. Instead of opening the car door and getting out, he’d simply teleported himself to the sidewalk, leaning to speak to me through the open window on my side. The collie tottered slowly down the front steps. Its coat was thinning, and I saw lots of gray in it. “My mom lives here. My dad left a long time ago.”
    Hope stirred. If his dad was dead, he might come looking for Justin, show him the way to the other side. He was sure taking his sweet time doing it, though.
    â€œYour dad passed away?”
    Justin shook his head. “No. He just decided he didn’t want to support a family.”
    My spirits, already low, plummeted. I blinked a couple of times.
    â€œYour mom…” I paused, swallowed, wanting to cry. Was the kid expecting a welcome-home party? “She probably won’t be able to see you, Justin.”
    Justin nodded. “I know,” he said. “I just want to be where she is. See my old room and stuff. I couldn’t figure out how to get back here, that’s all.”
    The dog was near now, and it made a little whimpering sound that must have been recognition, then toddled over to nuzzle the back of Justin’s hand.
    â€œHey,” he said. “Pepper can see me.”
    â€œNot uncommon,” I told him, drawing on my enormous store of knowledge about the ins and outs of the afterlife. “Animals have special sensitivities.” I paused, gulped. “You’ll be okay, then?”
    Justin grinned, and I had a sudden, piercing awareness of just how much his mother probably missed him. If I’d had the guts, I’d have knocked on her front door and told her straight out that her son was still around. That he still cared, still wanted to be close to her.
    But I didn’t.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Justin asked after leaning down to pet the dog. “In case I need to contact you, or something?”
    â€œMojo Sheepshanks,” I said after briefly considering, I’m ashamed to admit, making up an alias.
    â€œNo shit?” he marveled. He stooped again, signed what was most likely a goodbye to Gillian and turned to walk away.
    I sat at the curb watching as he and the dog, Pepper, headed for the