Page 2 of You'll Be the Death of Me

He was sweating with nerves, despite being dead. That poor woman. He couldn’t bear the thought of having accidentally ended her life. “Yes. I know. But perhaps you could make an exception?” He gave her a charming smile. At least he thought it was charming. Had he been a charming man on earth? Based on the way Beatrice seemed to soften, he liked to think maybe he had been.

Beatrice scrutinized him with another narrowed gaze and then let out a sigh. “Listen, I like you. And I appreciate you showing a little of that backbone I’ve been trying to foster by coming to me to confess. Normally I’d say no to this, but we need to keep our numbers up, and you are a solid employee for the most part.”

That’s generous, Cole thought. He hated his job. He’d taken it only to pass the time in the DAD while he waited to move on to whatever came next. But if she was going to give him a chance to fix his mistake, he’d let her shower him with whatever praise she wanted, deserved or not.

“Name?” Beatrice asked. She turned to her computer screen and clicked a mouse.

“Um... Verdella Rodgers,” he said, thrown she was willing to help. “The young one,” he clarified.

“Obviously,” Beatrice muttered. Cole watched her eyes dart back and forth as she scanned her screen. He had to assume she was reading Ms. Rodgers’s file.

“Hmm,” she hummed, and Cole held his nonexistent breath, hoping whatever she was deciding would land in his favor.

“What?” he asked.

Beatrice squinted at her screen. “Interesting case. Verdella Rodgers—the young one—is the chef de cuisine at her own restaurant; member of a powerful, prominent family; a philanthropist.”

Cole winced at each descriptor, feeling like every good thing about her was more salt on a wound. Why couldn’t he have accidentally offed some immoral narcissist who had it coming?

“Oh. Well, that’s interesting,” Beatrice said.

“What is?” Cole asked, and leaned forward to see. He knew supervisors had access to more information than transition specialists did. He really only knew the woman’s name, location, and occupation.

Beatrice cut him off with a glare and angled her screen away.

He recoiled in shame.

She went back to reading the file, and Cole thought he might faint from anticipation. “Huh. Now that’sveryinteresting...” she nearly purred, clearly enjoying torturing him.

Instead of asking “What?” again, he counted the pens lined on her desk. Thirteen. Who needed thirteen pens?

Beatrice tapped her nails on her desk and looked up at him with a mischievous smile. “I think we have an opportunity here. I’d like to see your problem-solving skills in action, so I am goingto give you a chance. This woman was a good person but took a wrong turn. This is against protocol, but I’ll give you three days on earth to set her on the rightpath, and we’ll forgive this little mistake of yours. It’ll be like it never happened. Succeed, and I might even put you in line for a promotion.”

“Yes,” he said without even thinking.What a relief.“I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Beatrice said, and typed something on her keyboard. “I’ll put a pause on her transition for now, but you’ll find her in an in-between state, like yourself.”

“You mean as a—?”

“Ghost? Yes. Now, let me just give you clearance here, and you can be on your way.”

“Wait, rightnow?” he balked.

“You said it was urgent,” she said with a feline smile.

“I did. Yes,” he said, flustered, and not sure he was ready to return to earth.

“Good. You’ve got an uphill battle in front of you, Mr. Lewis. She’s a good person, but she’s type A, ultracompetitive, and downright stubborn. Getting her to turn things around will be good practice in assertiveness for you.”

Cole nervously gulped. Type As were his worst nightmare. Well, perhaps other than being stuck in a corporate void for all eternity with only the fading memory of his life and the knowledge he was responsible for someone’s untimely death. That was pretty bad. But dealing with a type A person—especially if he had to get her to see the err in her ways—sounded pretty bad too. He was the polar and alphabetical opposite of type A. More like type Q. As inquiet. Go with the flow. Follow all the rules and don’t make waves.

But that poor woman. She didn’t deserve it. He had to go. He had no choice.

“Oh... and, Mr. Lewis?” Beatrice said as she yanked open a low desk drawer. “Take this with you.” She unearthed an ancient-looking leather-bound book and thrust it at him.

“What is it?” he asked as he took the slim but dense tome.

“The rule book.”