The manager of the Morrisey apartment building gave the stack of papers she held two quick taps on the podium to straighten the edges. The sound of the paper hitting the surface cracked through the lobby like a whip, straightening the spines of my neighbors, who’d been slouching more and more as the meeting dragged on. “Nancy didn’t have a podium before, did she?” my best friend, Ripley, whispered. I shook my head. The podium was definitely new.

He was also the reason I hadn’t dated anyone long-term during my time on the East Coast. I’d tried. A few guys even made me forget about Laurie for a while. But eventually, they would all do something thoughtless or say something crass, and I would think Laurie would never do that.

Let me explain. Ripley was dead. I was the only one who could see or hear her. I’d been able to see ghosts my whole life, though Ripley was the only one who followed me around. She and I were practically inseparable and always had been.

Basically, someone had to die for an apartment to open up at the Morrisey.

Souls had a shine to them that wasn’t truly noticeable until it was gone.

Ripley sidled up to me. “Meg, let’s watch those looks you’re throwing around. We’ve already had one murder today.”

Nancy always seemed at her happiest when she was running building meetings and when she was feeding people.