The first pair of eyes I met in the station belonged to a still-seething Officer Taft. He stood reading an open file at his desk and glared at me as we walked past. So did Strawberry Shortcake. At least she didn’t attack me. That was a plus.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself. I whipped out my best smirk for Taft, and said while barely slowing my stride, “When you figure out what’s really going on and you need help, don’t come to me.”

“I’m not the one who needs help,” he shot back.

Uncle Bob quickened his step to catch up with me. “What was that about?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

“The Hell Spawn of Satan, remember? She’s making her presence known, and he can’t deal—so he’s mad at me.”

He turned back with a thoughtful expression. “I could send him on a doughnut run to cool his jets.”

Sounded like a plan. After we finished giving our statements, which were remarkably similarly worded, we all grabbed a bite; then Uncle Bob and I dropped off Garrett and headed to Yucca High. Like a kid being left at home on a Saturday night, Garrett begged to go. Even whined a little.

“Please,” he’d said.

“No means no.” He had to learn that sometime.

Yucca High sat deep in the southern heart of Albuquerque, an old school with a sordid past and an excellent reputation. We drove up during a late-afternoon class change. Kids were taking advantage of the five minutes they had by talking and flirting and roughhousing the freshmen. Before we arrived, I hadn’t particularly missed high school. When we got there, I still didn’t particularly miss it.

The aftereffects of the morning still weighted down my limbs. Things weren’t moving at a normal speed. Everything felt slow, lethargic as I swam through the reality that the world did not come to a screeching halt after a near-death experience. It remained in motion, a never-ending cycle of those episodic adventures called life. The minutes pressed forward. The sun slid across the sky. The heel of my boot had a tack in it.

We walked into the Yucca High School office and found a frazzled administrative assistant. There were no fewer than seven people vying for her attention. Two wanted tardy passes. One had a note from his dad saying that if the school didn’t let his child take his medicine to school, he was going to sue the fancy new uniforms off their athletes’ backs. Another was a teacher who’d had her keys stolen off her desk during lunch. Two were office aides waiting for instructions. And the last was a beautiful young girl with a dark ponytail, cat-eye glasses, and bobby socks, who looked to have passed away in the fifties.

She sat in a corner with her books clutched to her breast and her ankles crossed. I sat down beside her and waited for the chaos to filter down. Uncle Bob took the opportunity to step out and make a call. As always. Bobby Socks kept staring at me, so I did my cell phone trick and looked directly at her as I talked.

“Hi,” I said.

Her eyes widened before she batted her lashes in surprise, wondering if I was talking to her.

“Come here often?” I asked, chuckling at my astounding sense of humor.

“Me?” she asked at last.

“You,” I said.

“You can see me?”

I never figured out why they always asked me that when I was looking directly at them. “Sure can.” Her mouth slid open a notch, so I explained. “I’m a grim reaper, but in a good, nongrouchy kind of way. You can cross through me if you’d like.”

“You’re beautiful,” she said, gazing at me in awe. I did that to people. “You’re like a swimming pool on a sunny day.”

Wow, that was different. A quick glance told me the crowd was thinning. “How long have you been here?”

“About two years, I think.” When my brows creased in doubt, she said, “Oh, my clothes. Homecoming week. Fifties Day.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well you certainly look the part.”

She bowed her head bashfully. “Thanks.”

Only one tardy kid to go. Apparently the principal was dealing with the lawsuit threat, and maintenance was dealing with the stolen keys.

“Why haven’t you crossed?” I asked.

Another kid walking down the hall called out to his friend. “Hey, Westfield, you gonna get spanked again?”

The boy waiting for the tardy pass, clearly a jock, flipped him off behind his back, incognito style. I tried really hard not to giggle.

The girl next to me shrugged, then indicated the administrative assistant with a nod of her head. “That’s my grandma. She got really upset when I died.”

I looked up at the woman. He name tag read MS. TARPLEY. She had stylishly messy hair, dark with red highlights, and a killer pair of green eyes. “Wow, she looks great for a grandma.”

Bobby Socks giggled. “I just have to tell her something.”

Was it not mere moments ago I went on a stark-raving rant in front of Garrett about this very thing? How’d I put it? Tired of tying up loose ends? I could be such a bitch.

“Would you like me to help?”

The girl’s face brightened. “You can do that?”

“Sure can.”

After chewing on her bottom lip a moment, she said, “Can you tell her that I didn’t use all her mousse?”

“Seriously?” I asked with a smile. “That’s why you’re still here?”

“Well, I mean, I did use all her mousse, but I don’t want her to think badly of me.”