“There’s nothing wrong with Gracie—except for being dead. And she’s kind of cold to be around when the temperature drops, but that doesn’t happen often here, thank goodness.”
It was fortunate he had to stop at a traffic light. Because she’d done it again. He gripped the steering wheel. Hard. Counted to ten. And kept going. At one hundred and ten he managed to choke out, “Dead?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “I really thought you’d notice—what with all your experience with dead people.”
“You—” He choked a couple of times, then snapped out, “The dead people I deal with don’t walk and talk!”
“You noticed right away she wasn’t like any living Seymour.”
“I said she was normal!”
“I suspect that dead is as normal as we can get.”
He choked some more, then settled for glaring at her unti
