The Frighteners by Michael Jahn Page A

the Judge replied. “And when you get to your first hundredth birthday you can call others that, too.”
    “I hope I die before I get to be as old and as decayed as you.”
    “You’re already dead,” Stuart added.
    “I don’t feel dead,” Cyrus argued.
    “You smell it,” the Judge offered.
    “I’d like to get my feet on a dance floor, that’s what I’d like. Y’dig? Pump up the volume on a little dance music, set me off a little disco inferno or something. Do you dig where I’m comin’ from?”
    “Yeah,” Stuart said, “And I dig where you’re goin’ to—back to the cemetery if we don’t help Frank bring in some business.” With that, he led the way up the gallery. Cyrus and the Judge followed him, and to anyone who happened to be looking—no one, at that point—a batch of Frank Bannister’s business cards appeared to float merrily through the air, autumn leaves wafted on a gentle breeze.
    Back at Bellisimo’s, Lucy was staring dreamily, at times into space, at times toward the apparently empty chair next to her, and also at Frank. Off in a far corner, a trio was playing “Misty.”
    “I wonder if someday I’ll be able to talk to Ray,” she said.
    “I’m here now, honey,” Lynskey replied. “Just talk and I’ll listen. Here . . . take my hand.”
    He tried to hold her hand again, and one more time grabbed nothing but air. Frustrated, he said, “Dammit!”
    The waiter returned with a bottle of Chablis, which he uncorked and poured for Bannister to sample. “Excellent,” Frank said.
    “As if you would know,” Ray commented.
    The waiter poured glasses for Frank and Lucy, then asked, “Do you need more time to decide?”
    “Yes, please,” she replied.
    He left. Lucy sipped her wine, then leaned toward Bannister and said nervously, “I have an important question for Ray.”
    “Go ahead,” Frank said. “He can hear you.”
    She turned toward what looked, to her, like an empty chair, and said, “Ray . . . I need to know where you invested my money. You know, the sixteen thousand dollars I’d saved? The attorneys can’t find it.”
    There was silence as Ray sat, biting his fingernails, and sweating nervous ectoplasm.
    “Well?” Bannister asked after a time.
    “Oh, shit,” Ray said. “I blew it on a bad investment. I lost every dime. But, hang on, don’t tell her that. I’ll think of something.”
    Bannister looked uncomfortable, then sighed and said to Lucy, “He says he blew it on a bad investment.”
    “Asshole!” Ray spat.
    Lucy was shocked. “What kind of investment?”
    Again Ray was silent, straining to think. At last he said, “Remember that opportunity I had to get in on the ground floor of the company making flatten-your-tummy machines?”
    “He blew it on the tummy-flattener company,” Frank reported.
    “I told him that was crazy,” Lucy said.
    “Tell her everything’s gonna be okay,” Ray said. “I’ll look after her. I’m moving back into the house.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Frank said.
    Lucy looked up. “What idea?” she asked.
    “He wants to move back into the house.”
    “I just buried him. And I already had the house de-ghosted once.”
    Bannister turned to Ray. “She doesn’t want you hanging around the house.”
    “Bannister! This has nothing to do with you.”
    “What is Ray saying?” Lucy asked.
    Bannister hesitated for a moment, then said, “Nothing. He just left. He said he was sorry and wants to leave you alone to get on with your life.”
    Seething, Ray said, “I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
    “That’s just like Ray,” Lucy said. “Take the money and run.” Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. “Can I be honest with you?” she asked.
    “I wish you would.” Bannister reached across the table and touched her hand.
    “Ray and I weren’t honest with each other for a long time. It wasn’t a good marriage, Frank. I realize that now.”
    Ray leaned on the table and, yelling into