“You missed your chance,” I told him. “I think your days of climbing up here unseen are over.”

“Yes,” he said. “But there’s always the suspension bridge.”

“If I have to climb up the suspension bridge,” I told him. “I really will push you off.”

He must not have understood I was serious because he laughed again.

—

So neither of us got arrested for trespassing, though it was, I understand, a near thing. I got Sherwood into Adam’s SUV. The Vanagon’s radiator had developed a leak and I hadn’t found it yet, so Adam had taken a Hauptman Security SUV and left me his. I had to think a bit to get the lights on and the SUV in gear, but I remembered not to swerve to avoid the ghost of the guard who stepped into the road in front of us. But I couldn’t help but mutter, “Sorry, Sorry,” under my breath when the bumper went through him.

Sherwood looked at me and raised a brow in query.

“Ghosts,” I said. “I see dead people.”

“Do you?” he said.

I nodded.

“Sucks to be you,” he said.

“Beats climbing 560 feet up a crane trying to talk down an idiot who couldn’t avoid being seen.”

“True,” he said thoughtfully. “But doesn’t take away from my earlier observation that it sucks to be you.”

I had to drive back to the interstate and over the Blue Bridge to get home. It added fifteen or twenty minutes to the trip. Having the Cable Bridge down was going to get old really fast.

My phone rang through the stereo system, an unfamiliar number. It wasn’t my car, and my purse with my phone in it was tucked under my seat. And then Sherwood helpfully hit the ANSWER button on the stereo’s touch screen—I think he thought I was having trouble reaching it. Any number not in my contacts list I usually let leave a voice mail. It saved me from the guilt of hanging up on someone trying to sell me auto warranties on cars I didn’t own.

“Mercy,” I said.

“Stay away—”

“Pastor?” I said. “Pastor White. Is that you?”

He cried out, and the connection was reset.

I turned on my turn signal, hit the gas, and headed to church. Maybe they were at Pastor White’s house, but I didn’t know where he lived. The best I could do was the church.

“What’s up?” asked Sherwood.

“That’s my pastor,” I told him. Pastor White was new; our last pastor had left to take over his father’s church in California. Pastor White wasn’t quite as engaging or accepting, but his faith was real. “Somebody wants me to go to church,” I said.