Dying For You by MaryJanice Davidson Page B

stricken.
    “Stingray.”
    “Stingray?”
he repeated, in spite of trying to spare the Carrolls’ feelings. “How’d you manage that?”
    For the first time, the dead woman laughed. “Chum, it was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I’m not really prone to that sort of thing.”
    “Once was the charm.”
    “Yeah,” she said, laughing again. “It was the dumbest thing. You wouldn’t believe.”
    “Try me,” he said.
    “Maybe later,” she replied. “You really need a shower.”

Chapter 8
    Nikki sat awkwardly on the bed, listening to the shower. Not that she had to stay out in the small bedroom/ living room/sitting area; she could have popped into Tom’s bathroom anytime she wanted. But being dead hadn’t made her ruder. Much.
    It was oddly comforting, this ritual. Pretending there were important things to do like waiting for guests to clean up. But what else was there to do? She’d assumed he’d wave his hands over her and she’d
poof!
to heaven or whatever. But nothing had happened. He and Cathy and Jack had just stood around, looking at each other. They couldn’t even talk, because only Tom could see her.
    The shower shut off. She again resisted the urge to take advantage of her ghost powers and stick her head through the door to check out his ass.
    It was just about the most difficult thing she’d ever done;it wasn’t like she had a lot of other ways to get her kicks these days. Oh, and it’d be morally wrong.
    Speaking of morals, she was trying to keep them in mind as he opened the door and came out, damp and clean and wearing a pair of cutoffs. He grinned when he saw her. “Thanks for waiting.”
    “What am I supposed to say to that?” she almost snapped, then was sorry, then was annoyed she was sorry. “It’s not like I had a choice,” she said instead.
    The smile fell away. “Right. Sorry.”
    “Me, too. Being dead makes me grumpy,” she joked.
    They looked at each other. “I’ve, uh, this has never happened before.”
    She blinked, which was interesting. It had to be pure force of habit—what did she need to blink, sweat, pee for? Finally, something good about being dead: no more bathroom worries. “ ‘This’?”
    “I don’t—I mean, I show up, find out what the d—the spirit needs, the spirit goes away, I go away. I mean, this…” He looked around the cabin. “It’s almost…social.”
    “Believe me, I’d leave if I could. I think I’m stuck here. Here, the island,” she added, “not here, your cabin.”
    “But you’re not,” he said, going to his bag and rummaging in it. “You’ve created this—You’re here only because you think you—because you need to be.”
    Because I think I need to be?
She decided to let the dig at her sanity pass. She was sure he didn’t know how annoying he came off.
Gee, we’ve got so much in common.
“I don’t
need
to bein the Caymans,” she pointed out. “It’s just a really nice bonus, being stuck in paradise.”
    “Obviously, part of you does need to be here.” Annoyingly, he paused. “So what do you need?”
    “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men?”
    “ ‘We’re the United States government. We don’t do that,’ ” he quoted.
    “Oh!” She nearly jumped through the floor. “Greatest! Movie! Ever!”
    He laughed. “You’re in love with Robert Redford?”
    “No, Dan Aykroyd.”
    “I’ve probably seen that movie a hundred times,” he commented, gesturing her to move over so he could lie down on the bed. She almost cried; it was so nice to have someone interact with her. Him being a
Sneakers
fan was gravy on the roast. “Two hundred.”
    “Great concept, great script, great actors,” she agreed. “And funny! One of the funniest movies I’ve seen.”
    “It was pretty funny.”
    “ ‘Pretty funny’? Why, what’s the funniest movie you’ve ever seen?”
    “The Sixth Sense.”
    “Oh, boy. You’re not serious.” She peered more closely at him. “You’re