I go to the valet station first and stow away inside a minivan as the carload of kids stand at the curbside, excited about their cruise tomorrow. The mother removes junk food wrappers from the floor while the dad pulls a large suitcase from the back of the van. Seemingly satisfied to have what they need from the car, the father drops keys into the valet driver's hand and head inside, wheeling the suitcase behind him as the mother ushers their children through the sliding glass door.

The valet drives to the attached parking garage, singing "Feliz Navidad" along the way. He parks the car and carefully notes the spot number on an envelope where he places the keys. As he walks down the slope of the garage, I step out of the van and search for Lanie's Volvo. I find it parked near the top, no heat emanating from the hood. Wherever she is, she didn't use this car to get there, and without her purse, she can't be far.

I run through my mental list of places she might have gone. I rule out my apartment because it isn't within walking distance. Her place is a possibility, but Adam's is the most likely, especially if he could convince her to talk to him.

I close my eyes and will myself to his condo. They open to the glow of light coming from appliances and electronics. The condo is silent. I creep through the foyer, past the kitchen and living room, and turn to the hallway.

Moonlight filters into the bedroom, illuminating the knife protruding from the pillow. A mess of feathers and cotton stuffing covers the ebony duvet. From the looks of it, he hasn't been home and Lanie hasn't been back.

I hesitate in going to her apartment, thinking it more likely that she got hungry and decided to eat at one of the numerous restaurants downtown. Surely she would have returned by now.

I zap myself to her hotel room, and again there is no sign of her. After popping into every restaurant within walking distance, Channelside is where I continue my search. I start with the Thai restaurant.

Janine flips the "Open" sign to "closed," but it doesn't stop me. I walk through the restaurant, searching the sparse customers for Lanie, and am met with the same. I also check the tapas restaurant, Hooters, Howl at the Moon, and The Dirty Pelican. Again and again, Lanie is not there.

Stymied, I settle in the courtyard. She isn't here, either, but under a palm tree lit with Christmas lights, Grant sits with a woman at a table for two. They are nibbling ice cream, his nearly gone, hers melting over the side and dribbling through the wrought-iron table onto the mosaic flooring beneath. She is pretty, though her pillow-y lips are twisted into a scowl. She pushes the ice cream away and gazes at the Christmas tree. A strand of her long, sugary-brown hair coils around her finger as she seems to focus on anything that is not Grant.

I don't understand how she could avoid looking at him. He's gotten a haircut since I last saw him and it's gelled into a messy metrosexual style. And his eyes! The steel blue of his sweater matches them perfectly, and I swoon looking at him. He is by far the most beautiful thing out here.

"Sarah, will you tell me what's wrong?" Grant pleads. He reaches for her hand, but she balks, pulling it away before he can touch her.

She sighs. "Things aren't working between us. Your work's always going to be a problem. I don't wanna play second fiddle to every corpse found in Tampa." Her butterscotch cheeks redden and she turns to look at a commotion outside of Howl, apparently a drunk being tossed by a bouncer. "I'm surprised you don't leave right now to arrest him."

His attention flickers to the man but quickly returns to Sarah. He seems to brood and the silence is awkward for both of them.

"I love you, but perhaps you're right. Maybe we need time apart, time to gain clarity."

In a huff, she rises from the table. "Clarity? It's clear I have to compete with a ghost. Benitez told me you were removed from the case, yet you're still investigating it."

"Benitez should keep his mouth closed." His voice is cold enough to freeze me in my spot.

Sarah shakes her head. "Benitez did me a huge favor. Then again, if you keep interfering with the case, you're going to lose your job. I think that's the only chance we have of making this work." And with that, she stalks off to the parking garage.

Grant stares after her but does not say anything, makes no attempt at stopping her from leaving. He gathers the trash from the table and discards it into the bin, saying, "Since I'm already in the neighborhood, might as well check things out."

I follow him past Wet Willies and Hooters to the curbside. As he walks through the parking lot toward Palma D'Oro, a drawling voice catches my attention.

"Well, what do we have here?" Oliver says from a row over. He hovers above a black Landrover. I could swear it's the same one he drove occasionally to work.

"Stalking the widow tonight?" I gesture to the SUV.

Oliver gives a sheepish grin. "Well, you know."

I scoff. Sadly, I do. "She's at the arena with this guy named Tony. I've seen them together a few times since I died."

"Tony?" He seems perplexed. "Maybe I've gotten it wrong." He rubs his hand through his hair.

"What did you get wrong?"

"It's nothing, I'm sure." He perches himself on the hood of the car. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"I'm looking for Lanie. Is there any chance you've seen her?"

"She's the pretty blonde, right? Your best friend?"

I nod. Everyone always thinks of Lanie as pretty.

He shakes his head in response.

A crowd of well-dressed people files through the row of cars toward Channelside. "Awesome skating," "What a performance," and "Let's check out Howl" are amongst what is being said as they walk past us.

"Where is Jose this evening?"

Oliver shudders. "We saw a reaper coming out of John's a few hours ago. Jose figures he should lay low the next few days. John wasn't too happy with him when we visited the other night."

A shiver works its way up my spine. Surely John wouldn't have summoned it for me after I helped him with Lanie.

"So there really is a reaper?" I ask, to which Oliver nods. "And they really can force us to cross over?"

"John summoned one a month ago on Billy Mays. Poor guy got tired of listening to Billy's sales pitches at three in the morning."

"Are you serious? Billy Mays?"

Billy Mays was a staple on the Home Shopping Network, pitching everything from household cleaners, to tools, to kitchen gadgets. In the early 2000s, if you saw it on TV, chances are it was being promoted by Billy. Sadly, he died in Tampa in 2009, before I even moved here.

"The one and only."

"And you didn't help him escape?"

"Would you help out the guy in commercials when that's all you have to listen to night after night for a month?"

My silence speaks volumes. Point taken. But, still, Billy Mays. "And he's gone now?"

"The reaper had to drag him kicking and screaming through the veil, but Billy hasn't been back since. He's gone."

I feel like a cultural icon has died all over again. Just wow.

"What does the reaper look like? Does it wear a cloak, have a blinking sign over its head that says 'reaper'?"

He smiles. "They look just like us, but are dressed all in black. No cloaks, no signs, though they do carry chains that can stretch to about twenty feet. Once a link touches you, it's over. You can fight, but that chain won't release until you cross over."

Yikes. Maybe I need to lay low too, but how can I when Lanie is missing? Why can't life...er...death be a little easier for me? Just when I think I'm getting the hang of this, death has to throw me a huge curve.

"Thanks for the info," I say. "I need to find Lanie."

Oliver kisses my hand and I will myself to the seventh floor of Palma D'Oro.

I reappear in front of the elevator to the sensation of a gray blazer slicing through my body. I wobble for a moment as Adam steps into the elevator. His hair is disheveled, he reeks of alcohol, and his face is pale. His keys jingle as they slide into his right pocket. He inhales deeply and the door closes.

I leap inside the elevator, curious about what he's been up to for the past couple of hours.

"Idiot to get involved with them," he mutters as he wipes a sweaty palm across his forehead. "Never going to get Lanie back. And that whore, she wrecked everything for me."

Adam leans against the wall then slumps onto the floor before the elevator reaches the bottom.

I will myself back to the seventh floor, this time landing in front of John's apartment. I shudder at the possibility of a reaper discovering me in the hallway and make a beeline toward Lanie's apartment, passing Margaret's along the way.

Her door is slightly ajar and I consider entering, but Lanie isn't there. And the thought of seeing Margaret's boobs bouncing every which way sends me vibes of bile rising through my throat. A naked Clive, I can handle. A naked Margaret, well, that gives me the heebie-jeebies. I continue on my path to Lanie's.

In front of Lanie's door, I sigh, relieved that she is not with Adam. I dive inside. The lock is engaged and the apartment is dark. I walk to the window I fell through and gaze at the empty street, wishing that Lanie and I were staggering down it, on our way here from a raucous night on the town.

A noise from the bedroom interrupts my fantasy of meeting Grant or even Tony at Channelside and living it up.

Lanie...she is here! I breathe a huge sigh of relief that she is safe and in her apartment. If she can get over her fear of being here after my death, it will be a step in the right direction on her road to healing.

Another noise, a muffled voice, comes from the room. She might be talking in her sleep, but the voice puts me on edge. I decide to check on her.

The fully made bed is the first thing I see as I enter her room. Disheartened, I look toward the closet.

In front of the mirrored door, Margaret twists from side to side, like she's checking whether her butt is too big for the dress she's wearing. It is.

I take in her whole appearance and notice it is my evening gown that she has on, and it probably fits her better than it ever fit me. My hands ball into fists, but I wait, watching her, wondering what she's going to steal this time.

She stands in place, just staring at the mirror.

Good God! Is this what the lady does all night? I've seen enough of her selfies on Facebook and the pictures on her wall to know she never tires of looking at herself.

Finally, she moves away from the mirror and reaches into the closet.

At my wit's end with her, I rush at her, not caring that my fist will plunge into her body like a hot knife through butter. My need for revenge is too strong to allow her another transgression against my friend.

Seemingly distracted, she shifts to the side and my hand misses her completely, going into a hanger instead. I scramble up as she heads to Lanie's dresser that holds a jewelry box and hover directly behind her.

"I don't know what you're trying to pull, Margaret, but I will see you in hell before you steal from Lanie again!" My voice is shrill with anger.

She whips around and I pummel her, each fist cracking as it jabs her abdomen. Her eyes widen in surprise and she falls through the dresser.

"Omigod!" I scream as she hovers just above the floor, her head covered by the dresser. She's dead!

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Author's note: Apologies for the late update. I have had company the past few days and I'm trying (and failing miserably) to write for NaNoWriMo. My hope is to finish this story by month's end, though I will only post at most two chapters per week because of the time it takes to edit/proofread them.

Thank you for still being here. I appreciate all of your reads, votes and comments!