SPIRIT OF CONSEQUENCE (A Spirit Walking Mystery Book 1) Read Free

hallucinations, especially in my dreams.”
    “What!” I jumped up. Nobody insults me! I fisted my hands and placed them squarely on my hips. “What’s wrong with me?”
    He started at my toes and inspected every inch of me. My anger subsided as my skin tingled with a rush of warmth. By the time he got to my face, I could barely catch my breath.
    “Well,” he held up his hand and his jaw slacked a bit. “You’re almost as tall as I am but too thin. I guess you’re not bad looking, but look at you.”
    I knew what I had on -- a green sweatsuit, white shirt, and tennis shoes. It was what I had on when I died. How dare he criticize my attire? “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
    “It’s so --,” he stuttered, his face contorted into a grimace.
    “What?” I glared at him.
    He shrugged, and mumbled to himself. “If you’re my hallucination, I’d like to see you in a tight red strapless dress, red stiletto heels, and that red mop called your hair put up.”
    “I don’t know if I can do that.” It was the truth, I never thought about my attire. I had been wearing the sweats for five years. There never had been a reason to change.
    “Let me see if I can.” He closed his eyes, put his index fingers on his temples and squinted. He looked ridiculous. When he opened his eyes, he frowned.
    I looked down, still dressed in green.
    His frown intensified. “You’re a very stubborn hallucination.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Oh well,” he shrugged, picked up the photo frame and his gun again, and turned away from me.
    “No,” I shouted.
    He glanced over his shoulder at me, raised his eyebrows, and frowned again. “I’m going to put it away in its locked cabinet.”
    “Oh, okay.” I let out a long sigh, releasing the breath I had been holding since he picked up the gun the second time.
    As he left the room, I flopped down on the couch. Wow, that was close. It had felt good to do something. I had certainly stopped him from killing himself, even if he thought I was just a poorly dressed drunken hallucination. At least this time. Would he try again? That would defeat all the good I had done tonight.
    Maybe I had better stick around and make sure he didn’t do it again. I heard the shower running, then the bed squeak. He was turning in for the night. Good.
    I went into the hall bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, and stared at my reflection. Ghastly. My crumpled, ripped olive green sweatsuit hung droopily on my five-foot-ten frame. Had I lost weight? Was that even possible for a ghost? All those years of fad diets and the “Death Diet” had finally rid me of those stubborn ten pounds. My pale face with black mascara shadows under both blue eyes went so nicely with my shoulder length red hair that was tangled and sticking out in several places. I tried to comb it with my fingers, but my hand went right through. Touching or holding things wasn’t an option for me. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my hair and how I wanted it to look. When I opened my eyes, it was nicely combed and shiny.
    Well, then.
    Now for my attire.
    For the next few hours, I thought myself into every outfit and hairstyle imaginable. It was just like my virtual-reality platform at home, back when I was alive. There I spent hours virtually trying on outfits, then pushed a button and they would be delivered to my house. This was even better. Now, I had them immediately. First I wore a long black evening gown, with my hair expertly piled up, then cowboy boots, hat, and a western outfit. I tried hot pants with knee length boots, and then a skimpy bikini and strapless sandals. I changed the color and style of my hair with each outfit. I giggled and laughed as the outfits and hairstyles got more and more bizarre. It was more fun than I’d had in a very long time.
    A few minutes later the man walked by the bathroom door, muttering. “I can’t believe I’m dreaming that you’re keeping me awake.”
    What? He could still hear me? He must still