“Mr. Drake! Mr. Drake!” I tapped his cheek with my fingers even though I knew he wouldn’t feel it. “Wake up, Mr. Drake!”
His eyelids fluttered and he groaned. “You’re only a figment of my imagination, so no need for formality. Call me Nolan.”
“Now I’m a figment of your imagination? My goodness, you are stubborn! Why won’t you just accept that I’m a ghost?”
“Because”— he struggled to push himself up to a sitting position— “it’s too weird and I might write weird, but I don’t want to live it. Ow!” Clutching the back of his head, he grimaced in pain.
“Look me in the eye,” I instructed.
“No way!” He pushed his spectacles, which were askew thanks to his fall, back up his nose and averted his gaze. “I’m not going to let you put the ghost whammy on me.”
“I’m not a ghost, remember? And a figment of your imagination cannot put a whammy, whatever that is, on you. You might have incurred a serious injury when your occipital bone struck the floor, but I can’t determine that without further examination.”
“Occipital—what’s with you and all the fancy, medical terms?” He asked, turning back toward me. “You said asphyxial earlier.”
“My father was a physician. I spent a great deal of time at his office and sometimes assisted him with patients, so I have a good deal of medical knowledge.”
I leaned in so that I could stare into his eyes, which were a lovely shade of hazel with green on the outer portion of the iris and a ring of golden brown around the pupil. Something about their color struck me as being familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“Your pupils are the same size, and they aren’t dilated,” I announced, “so that’s a good sign. Do you feel nauseated or have ringing in your ears?”
“No, but I think I’ve lost my sense of smell because I’m not gagging on Eau de Dead Real Estate Agent anymore. She’s still over there, right?” He inclined his head to the left but didn’t glance in that direction.
“I’m afraid so. Your nose has probably just adjusted to the scent of her decompo—”
“Please stop,” he requested, looking very green around the gills, “or I’ll have to change my answer about being nauseated.”
“You’re quite squeamish for someone in your line of work. It’s not like Miss Charles’ death was as gruesome as the ones you write about, and her body is still in the first stage of decomposition. It hasn’t even started to bloat ye—”
“I’m out!” Nolan declared, standing up so fast that he swayed precariously and had to grab onto the rocking horse to steady himself.
Thanks so much for the wonderful review, Susan! I'm thrilled to know you enjoyed the book and the Gwen/Nolan partnership. And I appreciate you doing a giveaway of That's the Spirit--that's so generous!
ReplyDeleteWould love to read your new book. I also find gravesite interesting.
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