5

I settled behind my desk, stared at Eleanor. “What did you think of Maggie, darling? Should I be your basic opportunist? Go for it even if she is older than me?”

Eleanor doesn’t say much but I manage by putting words in her mouth. “Yeah, I know. I went for you. A ghost.” Picture that. I’ve been infatuated a few thousand times but hopelessly in love only twice, most recently with a woman who died when I was four. “So what’s the big deal she’s a few years older, eh?”

Weird things happen to me. Vampires. Dead gods trying to resurrect themselves. Killer zombies. Serial murderers who keep right on killing after you find them and send them off to the happy hunting ground. So why consider a love affair with a ghost outrageous?

“Yeah. I know. It would be cynical of me. What? Sure, she plans to use me, too. I know. But what a way to be used.”

From the hall, I heard, “Yo, Garrett. I’m getting gray hairs hanging around up here.”

Winger. Damn! I can’t remember everything, can I? I rose slowly, still distracted. Maggie Jenn had cast a spell on me, no doubt about it. I’d almost forgotten my disappointment over Linda Lee.

I found Winger sitting on the stairs. “What are you doing, Garrett? The old broad left fifteen minutes ago.” She didn’t mention Linda Lee’s hollering.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s dangerous for a guy in your condition.”

“Huh?” I didn’t have a comeback. For only about the ten thousandth time in my life. The perfect response would spawn sometime as I lay tossing and turning an hour before dawn.

Winger strode to the Dead Man’s door, stuck her nose in. His room takes up half the ground floor. I looked over her shoulder. All 450 pounds of him remained planted in his chair, still as death. The Loghyr’s elephantlike snout dangled down a foot to his chest. Dust had begun to collect on him, but the vermin hadn’t found him yet. No point cleaning until they did. Maybe Dean would come home first and save me the trouble.

Winger backed out of there, grabbed my elbow. “He’s out of it.” She knew because he hadn’t reacted to her. He has no use for females in general and less use for Winger. Once, I threatened to boot Dean out and move her in.

“What did she say?” Winger asked as we headed upstairs. “Who’s the target?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know squat. All I know is I’m getting paid a shitpot full to find out.”

Money was important to Winger. It is to all of us, in a palsy sort of way: nice to have around, fun to be with. But for Winger, it was like a patron saint.

“She wants me to find her daughter. The girl’s been missing for six days.”

“Say what? I’ll be damned. I was sure it was going to be a hit.”

“Why?”

“No special reason. I guess I added the cues up wrong. Looking for her kid? You take the job?”

“I’m thinking about it. I’m supposed to go up to her place, check out the kid’s stuff, before I decide.”

“But you’ll take it, right? Make yourself some of that old double money?”

“An intriguing idea. Only I haven’t seen single money from anybody yet.”

“You sly bastard. You’re thinking about topping the old broad. You’re here with me and you’re thinking about that. You’re a regular villain.”

“Winger! The woman is old enough to be my mother.”

“Then you or mom is lying about their age.”

“You’re the one that went on about what an old hag she was.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? Hell. I forgive you, Garrett. Like I said, you’re here. And she’s not.”

Arguing with Winger is like spitting into a whirlwind. Not much profit in it.

Only through a supreme effort did I get away in time to join Maggie Jenn for dinner.