Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,100

Stan squarely in the nose. He reeled in shock, and Sheyenne drew herself up. “There’s more where that came from. If you try to terrorize our clients, you’ll have to come through me.” She raised both fists now. “You’ve done enough harm. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Uncle Stan started blubbering. “They’re my family, my only family. You can’t keep me away from them! It’s cruel and unusual.”

“You’re the one who’s cruel and unusual,” muttered the boy Joshua, who then tried to concentrate on his game. Uncle Stan disrupted the game’s circuits, and the unit died with an electronic sigh of doom.

But Sheyenne was on a tear of her own. “Ghosts like you give apparitions everywhere a bad name! I’ve had to accept my situation—now do the same. Just because you don’t have a life anymore, it doesn’t give you the right to ruin somebody else’s life.”

“We loved you when you were alive, Uncle Stan,” Jackie said with a sniffle. “But you’re dead now. Please move on.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the ghost said, then his expression fell. “I’ve got no place to go. I just wanted to be noticed and not forgotten.”

“Well, this isn’t the way to go about it,” Sheyenne scolded. “It’s tough enough for unnaturals to be accepted in this world. We’re fighting for our right to be treated as regular citizens, so we try to get along, be good neighbors, and not eat or attack one another. But you know what you are, with your spectral terrorism? A roadblock for all unnaturals trying to gain acceptance!”

Tears welled up in the ghost’s red-rimmed eyes, and he grew maudlin in the way only a long-term drunk can. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Jackie Dorset was emotional as well. “It’s not that we don’t love you, Uncle Stan, but we need our own space.”

Brad added, “After all, how can we miss you when you’re always there?”

“But I’m lonely!”

Robin pulled her chair closer to the table, put her elbows on the surface, and assumed her professional mediating-lawyer position. “Now that we’ve finally opened a genuine dialogue, maybe we can find a middle ground? You don’t need to be at opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“We’ve always been willing to talk,” Brad said. “If Uncle Stan would agree to a cease-fire.”

Sheyenne hovered by Uncle Stan like a tough enforcer, ready to punch him in the nose again. She had knocked some sense into him already.

“Maybe . . . we can pick one night a week when we’ll be glad to see you, and we can all be good company to one another,” Jackie said.

“You mean, like Sundays used to be?” Uncle Stan brightened. “And Wednesdays, and—”

“One day a week,” Brad said sternly.

Stan looked crestfallen, then lifted his eyes. “And holidays. How about holidays? Those should be family times.”

“Christmas and Thanksgiving only,” Brad conceded.

“And Easter. We have to get together for Easter.”

Jackie looked at her husband and grudgingly said, “Okay, Easter too.”

“And Arbor Day was always my favorite—”

“No,” Brad said.

Robin added, “Perhaps you’re going too far, sir.”

Uncle Stan let out a long sigh. “All right. Every Sunday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.”

“But you have to agree to leave them in peace for the rest of the year,” Robin said.

The ghost blinked mournfully at the Dorsets. “You could still invite me over at other times, if you like. I mean . . . if we get along.”

“Your own behavior will dictate that,” Robin said. “This is a trial period.”

“I’ll change. I promise.”

“I have resources for you,” Robin added. “We can even line up some ghostly counseling services.”

The office was quiet for a few days, which gave us time to wrap up the cases we’d been working on. Sheyenne was happy to close several files: the emancipation of Ramen Ho-Tep, the Wannovich sisters’ lawsuit, the case of poor Sheldon Fennerman, and Miranda Jekyll’s divorce.

Miranda paid us a hefty bonus. In addition, the Chambeaux & Deyer share of the proceeds from the Alvin Ricketts art auction arrived, and Ramen Ho-Tep paid his bill with a golden scarab brooch from his private collection. With the welcome influx of cash, we were able to clear all of our overdue bills and pay off the remainder of my funeral expenses. (They had been weighing on me like a bunch of old student loans.)

We also had more than enough to buy a new company car, though Robin spent the money on getting the Pro Bono Mobile fixed instead. I could have bought a whole wardrobe of expensive tailored suits, but I had