I shrugged. "You don't have to try to make me feel better. It's okay. I've come to accept it. There are some things you just can't change."
"Like being dead," Jesse said, quietly.
Well, that certainly put a damper on things. I was feeling kind of depressed about everything - the fact that Jesse was dead, and that in spite of this, Spike still liked him better than me, and stuff like that - when all of a sudden Jesse reached out and took hold of my chin - almost exactly the way Tad had that night in his car - between his index finger and thumb and turned my face toward his.
And things suddenly started looking up.
Instead of collapsing in shock - my first instinct - I lifted my gaze to his face. The moonlight that had been filtering into my room through the bay windows was reflected in Jesse's soft dark eyes, and I could feel the heat from his fingers coursing through me.
That's when I realized that in spite of how hard I'd been trying to not to fall in love with Jesse, I wasn't doing a very good job. I could tell this by the way my heart started thudding very hard against my T-shirt when he touched me. It hadn't done that when Tad had touched me in the exact same way.
And I could also tell by the way I instantly started worrying about the fact that he had chosen this particular moment to kiss me, the middle of the night, when it had been hours since I'd brushed my teeth and I was sure I probably had morning breath. How appetizing was that?
But I never discovered whether or not Jesse would have been grossed out by my morning breath - or even if he'd really been going to kiss me at all - because at that moment, that crazy woman who kept insisting Red hadn't killed her suddenly showed up again, shrieking her head off.
I swear I nearly jumped a foot. She was the last person I'd been expecting to see.
"Oh, my God," I cried, slapping my hands over my ears as she let loose like some kind of smoke detector. "What's the matter?"
The woman had been wearing the hood of her gray sweatshirt. Now she pushed it back, and in the moonlight, I could see the tears that had made tracks down her thin, pale cheeks. I couldn't believe I had mistaken her for Mrs. Fiske. This woman was years and years younger, and a heck of a lot prettier.
"You didn't tell him," she said, between sobbing wails.
I blinked. "Yes, I did."
"You didn't!"
"No, I did, I really did." I was shocked by this unfair accusation. "I told him a couple of days ago. Jesse, tell her."
"She told him," Jesse assured the dead woman.
You would think one ghost would take the word of another. But she wasn't having any of it. She cried, "You didn't! And you've got to tell him. You've just got to. It's tearing him up inside."
"Wait a minute," I said. "Red Beaumont is the Red you're talking about, right? Isn't he the one who killed you?"
She shook her head so hard, her hair smacked her cheeks and then stuck there, glued to her skin by her tears. "No," she said. "No! I told you Red didn't do it."
"Marcus, I mean," I amended, quickly. "I know Red didn't do it. He just blames himself for it, right? That's what you want me to tell him. That it wasn't his fault. It was his brother, Marcus Beaumont, who killed you, wasn't it?"
"No!" She looked at me like I was a moron. And I was starting to feel like one. "Not Red Beaumont. Red. Red! You know him."
I know him? I know someone named Red? Not in this life.
"Look," I said. "I need a little more info than that. Why don't we start with introductions. I'm Susannah Simon, okay? And you are … ?"
The look she gave me would have broken the heart of even the coldest mediator.
"You know," she said, with an expression so wounded, I had to look away. "You know...."
And then, when I risked another glance in her direction, she was gone again.
"Um," I said, uncomfortably, to Jesse. "I guess I got the wrong Red."
CHAPTER 17
Okay, I admit it: I wasn't happy.
I mean, seriously. I had invested all that time and effort in Red Beaumont, and he hadn't even been the right guy.
Okay, yeah, so he - or his brother; my money was on his brother - had apparently killed a bunch of people, but I'd stumbled over this fact completely by accident. The ghost who'd originally come to me for help didn't have anything to do with Red Beaumont or even with his brother, Marcus. Her message remained undelivered because I couldn't figure out who she was, even though, apparently, I knew her.
And meanwhile, Mrs. Fiske's killer was still walking around free.
And as if all of that weren't enough, my midnight caller showing up the way she did had completely killed the mood between Jesse and me. He so totally did not kiss me after that. In fact, he acted like he'd never intended to kiss me in the first place, which, considering my luck, is probably the truth. Instead, he asked how my poison oak was progressing.
My poison oak! Yeah, thanks, it's great.
God, I am such a loser.
But you know, I pretended like I didn't care. I got up the next morning and acted like nothing had happened. I put on my best butt-kicking outfit - my black Betsey Johnson miniskirt with black ribbed tights, side-zip Batgirl boots, and purple Armani sweater set - and strutted around my room like all I was thinking about was how I was going to bring Marcus Beaumont to justice. The last thing on my mind, I pretended, was Jesse.
Not like he noticed. He wasn't even around.
But all my strutting around had made me late, and Sleepy was standing at the bottom of the stairs bellowing my name, so even if he'd wanted to, it wouldn't have been such a good thing for Jesse to materialize just then, anyway.
I grabbed my leather jacket and came pounding down the stairs to where Andy was standing shelling out lunch money to each of us as we came by.
"My goodness, Suze," he said when he saw me.
"What?" I demanded, defensively.
"Nothing," he said, quickly. "Here."
I plucked the five-dollar bill from his hand and, casting him one last, curious glance, followed Doc down to the car. When I got there, Dopey took one look at me and let out a howl.
"Oh, my God," he cried, pointing at me. "Run for your lives!"
I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Do you have a problem?" I asked him, coldly.
"Yeah, I do," he sneered at me. "I didn't know it was Halloween."
Doc said, knowingly, "It isn't Halloween, Brad. Halloween isn't for another two hundred and seventy-nine days."
"Tell that to the Queen of the Undead," Dopey said.
I don't know what made me do it. I was in a bad mood, I guess. Everything that had happened the night before, from stabbing Mr. Beaumont to finding out I'd had the wrong man all along - not to mention my discovery that my feelings about Jesse weren't exactly what I'd have liked them to be - came back to me.
And the next thing I knew, I'd turned around and sunk my fist into Dopey's stomach.
He let out a groan and pitched forward, then sprawled out into the grass, gasping for air.
Okay, I admit it. I felt bad. I shouldn't have done it.
But still. What a baby. I mean, seriously. He's on the wrestling team. What are they teaching these wrestlers, anyway? Clearly not how to take a punch.
"Whoa," Sleepy said when he noticed that Dopey was on the ground. "What the hell happened to you?"
Dopey pointed at me, trying to say my name. But all that came out were gasps.
"Aw, Jesus," Sleepy said, looking at me disgustedly.
"He called me," I said, with all the dignity I could muster, "the Queen of the Undead."
Sleepy said, "Well, what do you expect him to say? You look like a hooker. Sister Ernestine's going to send you home if she sees you in that skirt."
I sucked in my breath, outraged. "This skirt," I said, "happens to be by Betsey Johnson."