Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

anything like that. She’d talked about ghosts, those who were aware, preferring—or feeling compelled—to stay close to their place of death. They could leave, but if they lost focus (Mom’s words) they snapped back to the place where they died. Sometimes they attached to a person rather than a place. That happened to Mom a lot, and it was messy. Ghosts ended up following her everywhere. Even the bathroom. However, I was certain she’d never talked about any of them being held in a place by a barrier.
    I decided to be up front with Farley about this, because, honestly, I couldn’t even figure out how to fake it.
    “I’m not sure how to do that.”
    “Oh.” His features tightened. “So, I’m stuck in here.”
    “I guess so.”
    I desperately tried to remember what else Mom had told me, hoping for something that would calm him down. Nothing came. What was I going to do?
    “Okay, so you can’t get me out,” Farley said. “Good enough. Can you help me figure out who killed me, then?” His eyes brightened and he leaned forward. “You could do that, right?”
    Oh. My answer to this particular question wasn’t going to calm him down. Probably the exact opposite.
    “I don’t think anyone killed you, Farley.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the newspaper article I’d found. “It says here the police think your death was an accident.”
    “I know,” he barked. “I told you that. I also told you they’re wrong!” He shoved at the paper on the desk, growling when his hand skidded through it without moving one sheet. “That would have meant me screwing up somehow, and I didn’t screw up . . . at least I don’t think I did. I really don’t remember too much about the actual event. But I was always careful—”
    “You can’t remember your death?” I felt my heart drop into my shoes. Literally. I could feel it, beating away, in my stupid shoes. This was so much worse than him being trapped in the building.
    He shook his head and snuffled, still perched on the edge of my desk. “All I get is dead air when I try to remember the accident, and two whole days before. There’s something—I’m sure there is—but I can’t for the life of me remember what.”
    He had to remember what happened to him. Mom had been very clear on that.
    “It’s up to us to help them work through the fog to the light,” she’d said. “To the light and through.”
    Memory loss meant Farley was stuck in the fog. It explained why he hadn’t yet moved on. It also meant I was going to spend a bunch more time dealing with him, doing this.
    “Do you think I can’t remember because I was electrocuted?” he asked.
    “Maybe. I don’t know.” I felt like crying. He was stuck. And I was stuck with him.
    “Well, what about me being dead? Does that screw with memory?”
    “No.” I shook my head. “Not usually.”
    “Well, there has to be a reason I can’t remember. Right?”
    Right. Probably something traumatic. Something he really didn’t want to remember.
    “You said someone killed you.” My voice sounded desperate, but I couldn’t stop it. “Why did you say that if you can’t remember your death?”
    “Because the cops did a really crappy job investigating,” he said. “That I do remember.” His voice sounded hollow. “Carruthers pushed them so he could get the crime scene tape down quicker. Told them I was depressed. A drunk. That it was probably my fault . . . And they bought it.”
    Carruthers. The name of the man Mr. Latterson had been talking to. “Who is that?”
    “Owner of the building,” Farley said shortly. He looked at me. “Did you know this place is nearly 100 years old?”
    I had no idea what he was talking about, but decided to let him rattle on while I tried to figure out what to do. Electrocution was fairly traumatic. Maybe Farley was right. Maybe the electricity had knocked out his memories.
    “Before I—died—Carruthers was getting me to do some work around here,” Farley