No Humans Involved

aside and I'd confirm suspicions of collusion.

Damn it, I didn't need this. It was hard enough doing this silly seance, when all I could think about was those child ghosts. It took all I had not to say 'screw it' and walk away from the whole thing. Screw the show. Screw my future in television. I had more important things to do-things I'd rather be doing.

I forced my attention back on task. As Claudia harassed Becky, and Angelique made pointed comments about special treatment, I noticed the cameraman, ten feet away, filming the spat.

'Becky,' I murmured.

'I'm sorry, Claudia, but the positioning has been set-'

I coughed, and nudged Becky toward the cameraman.

She glanced his way, then continued. 'If Mr. Grady has a problem with this shoot, then I'd suggest he go ahead and contact Mr. Simon because…'

I excused myself and walked away.

THE SEANCE did not go well. Suspecting that my information was false, Angelique called Gabrielle's husband a soccer player, then started talking about bullet holes, when the woman had been stabbed. Seeing her failure on Becky's face, she tried to salvage the seance with boring personal details-Gabrielle remembered her mother brushing her hair, Gabrielle liked to walk in bare feet, Gabrielle liked puppies-the sorts of things impossible to confirm or deny.

On to Grady, who probably vaguely remembered the case, but not -well enough to chance it, so he found a Spanish conquistador who'd stumbled on an evil pagan cult and claimed this ghost was so strong he blocked Gabrielle.

Then it was my turn. Becky could scarcely control her excitement. By placing me last, she'd given me the prime spot for using the details she'd provided.

I pulled my nonprescription glasses from my purse, and adjusted my hair from semipinned to a neater do-less sexy, more scholarly. Then I had them film me sitting under the double-D nymph, as I gravely explained the 'challenges' of this seance.

The geographic connection was tenuous at best, which likely explained why no one could contact Gabrielle. Even had we been on the very site of her murder, I doubted our results would have been much better, given the trauma of her passing. While we'd hoped to help lessen her burden by sharing her story with the world, we had to accept that she wasn't yet ready to do that for herself. Perhaps someday, the world would know the truth behind her tragic passing. Cut.

'WHAT THE hell was that?' Becky said as I checked my cell phone for messages from Jeremy.

I closed the phone. 'What's wrong?'

'You didn't contact Gabrielle Langdon, that's what's wrong.' I sighed. 'It's the location. I could have worked it harder, but after Tansy Lane, I thought it best if I didn't try to show up the others.' I returned my phone to my purse, took out a pen, then stopped, staring at it. 'Oh, my god. I'm such a ditz. That release you wanted me to sign. I forgot all about it. I'm so sorry. After you left, I got a call and walked out without grabbing that folder. I'll do that as soon as I get back to the house.'

'No,' she said, words clipped. 'That won't be necessary.' I asked if she minded if I walked back to the house while she finished up. She waved what I took for a 'yes' and strode back to the set.

THE STREET was empty. The houses, pushed back from the road, peeked out from curtains of trees and evergreens. The rumble of the distant highway was only white noise. Even the lawn crew I passed worked in silence as they clipped bushes into submission. Across the road, a pool-cleaning truck idled in a drive, the fumes harsh against the smell of fresh-cut grass.

There was nothing to see, nothing to listen to, nothing to distract me from burrowing deep in my thoughts and staying there. I wanted to say 'to hell with this shoot' and walk off before it got worse, but I'd earned my own TV show and I was damned well going to get it.

A throat cleared behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of a blond woman.

'Nice to see someone walking,' she said as she fell into step beside me. 'Around here, people drive to the corner store.'

I nodded, torn between wanting to be polite and wanting to be left alone. We continued on, the woman staying beside me in silence.

'I hope I'm going the right way,' I said finally.

'You are. Just another block and a half.'

'Oh?' I glanced at her. 'How-? Ah, there's not likely to be more than one TV special filming in Brentwood right now, is there? We're probably the subject of much discussion.'

A small laugh. 'Probably. But that's not why… I mean, that's not how I know…'

The sentence trailed off. I took a better look at her. Any other time, I'd have pegged her as a stereotypical Hollywood housewife, but considering where I'd just been and what I'd been doing, I recognized her.

I stopped walking. 'Gabrielle, I didn't- Yes, they were calling you, but I didn't-'

'I know. Better keep walking. Bad enough you're talking to yourself. You don't want to be caught doing it in the middle of the road.'

I resumed walking, my heart thumping. I pulled out my cell phone-an invention that made 'talking to myself' much more socially acceptable. 'I'm sorry. I'm so-'

'-sorry. But you shouldn't be. Like you said, you didn't call me. Some of us have been… catching your show, so to speak.'

I glanced around, imagining ghosts, hidden on the other side of the veil, watching me, waiting for an excuse to make contact and ask for help I couldn't give.

'We don't get many of your kind around here, so it was big news. We're the ones who told Tansy you were calling her and, well, seeing you talking to her, being so nice, it gave us hope.'

'Hope.' The word echoed down the empty street, as hollow and empty as its promise. And it reminded me of an obligation I'd been trying to avoid-my promise to speak to Tansy. A double shot of guilt. I took a deep breath. 'I don't blame you for wanting revenge against whoever killed you, but telling me who it was isn't going to help.'

'Revenge?' She met my gaze. 'I dont' want revenge. I just want answers.'

'Answers?'

'I don't know who killed me. I don't remember.'

'That's normal-'

'Normal?' A bitter laugh. 'I don't think 'normal' has anything to do with my case. Everyone knows how I died. Everyone has an opinion about who did it. Everyone thinks they know the truth. Everyone except me.'

I didn't know what to say.

'All I know is who was accused. The man I married, the father of my children. A criminal court finds him innocent. A civil court finds him guilty. And I don't know. I still don't know.' Her voice rose, then she steadied herself and rubbed her face on her sleeve. 'How am I supposed to spend eternity not knowing?'

If I opened my mouth, I was going to throw up. It's happened before. Just last spring, I almost lost my dinner on the scuffed shoes of a very straightlaced old man who'd cried as he begged me to contact his dead granddaughter and find out who'd raped and murdered her.

That's the price I pay-for every hundred people I console with fake reassurances, there's one whose heart I break by saying no. I used to think the balance was in my favor, that I helped more than I harmed. But lately, I've come to question that.

'I-I don't know what to tell you,' I said finally. 'I can't solve your murder.'

'I know, but isn't there someone you can ask? Some… higher power who can tell me the truth?'

'If there is, I have no way to make that contact. 'With the afterlife, I'm restricted to talking to ghosts like you.'

She reached to take my arm, frustration and despair filling her eyes as her fingers passed through me. She met my gaze. 'Then just tell me what you think. Did he kill me?'