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or anything. “Yes, your stepmother had me go see Dr. Ferrin. He does the mayor, too,” he added, because he couldn’t help himself.
    Like Sinclair or Jessica cared…or needed it themselves. I looked at him but, as usual, Sinclair didn’t take the hint. In fact, he was—oh, Lord!—sitting down at the table and making himself comfortable.
    â€œI see you got the announcement,” Dad said, glancing down at my mail, scattered across the counter. I’d always assumed being dead cut down on junk mail, but like so many things I’d assumed about death, I was wrong.
    â€œInvitation,” Jessica piped up, also sitting down. “Not announcement. Invitation.”
    â€œWell…but you can’t come…because it’s…you know…”
    â€œI would be happy to go instead,” Sinclair said with all the warmth of a rutting cobra. “In fact, it would be appropriate if I did. Why…” He grinned, which was horrifying, but also kind of funny. “I’m practically a member of your family.”
    I actually felt sorry for my dad; for a second I thought he was going to faint, just do a header into my mail pile. Sinclair, as an ancient dead guy, could walk around during the day, provided he stayed inside. Maybe he could borrow a fire blanket for going to and from the taxi.
    A mental image of big-shouldered Sinclair in one of his sober suits, sitting primly on one of the Ant’s over-stuffed couches, a pink ribboned gift in his lap…it was too much.
    I was annoyed with the big goober, as usual, but it was kind of cute the way he stuck it to my dad on my behalf. Talk about the son-in-law from hell.
    â€œYou gonna be okay?” I asked Dad, fighting a grin. Jessica, I noticed, had given up that fight.
    â€œI—I—I—”
    â€œYou could wear the black Gucci,” Jessica told Sinclair. “I picked it up from the cleaner’s yesterday, so it’s all set to go.”
    â€œKind of you, dear, but I have told you many times, you are not an errand runner.”
    â€œI—I—I—”
    â€œI was there anyway, getting my own stuff.” She shrugged. “No trouble.”
    â€œI—I—I—”
    â€œYou are too kind, Jessica.”
    â€œI—I—I—”
    â€œIt’s all right, Dad,” I said, forcing myself to pat his shoulder. “I won’t let him come if you don’t want him there.”
    â€œBut I adore baby showers!” Sinclair protested, having the gall to sound wounded. “I find them scrumptious.”
    â€œI just…” My dad took a deep gulp of air and tried to steady himself. I stopped patting. “I just wanted to make sure you got the…the announcement. But I also wanted to remind you…your stepmother is very delicate…very…under a lot of stress, you know…the baby…and the spring carnival…she’s chairwoman…and I don’t think…don’t think…”
    â€œStress.” Jessica snorted. “Yeah, that’s the problem. What’s the shrink du jour say?”
    â€œDr. Brennan comes highly recommended,” my father said and, because he couldn’t help it, added, “He’s very exclusive and expensive, but he made room on his calendar for Antonia. He feels she should avoid stress and…and unpleasantness.”
    â€œMaybe she should stop looking in the mirror,” Jessica suggested, and I chewed on my lower lip, hard, so I wouldn’t laugh. I had to admit, I was getting more yuks out of this predawn meeting than I’d had in about a month. Maybe it was a good thing Sinclair was back.
    What was I thinking?
    My father turned his back on Jess but said nothing. She was black, which meant he had a hard time taking her seriously: but she was also the richest woman in the state, so he couldn’t afford to totally blow her off. It was a tricky balancing act, one he