Shelly slips the tape into her pocket. Joseph isn’t as old as most ghosts she’s met. She wonders about that, but another thing about ghosts is that it’s rude to ask how they died. Most of the time Shelly and Grandma don’t even ask ghosts why they’re still hanging around when they meet them. Most of the time ghosts don’t even know they’re ghosts.

Joseph does. He sits on his grave and hums as music starts playing from his headphones. It sounds angry to Shelly—angry and sad. Joseph smiles like he likes it.

“What is that?” Shelly asks, pointing to the box. “It plays tapes?”

“It’s a tape deck,” Joseph says, his voice filled with pride echoing between the notes of the song. “It’s top of the line—the best portable tape deck money can buy. Always wanted one of these when I was alive. This tape was a good choice, Old Lady. You’ve got depths.”

Grandma laughs and takes a seat across from Joseph. She pats the grass beside her for Shelly to sit, too. “I like to think so. You said something about people roaming?”

Joseph makes a face. “Always business,” he says. “Yeah, we got some new ghosts. John Francis German over on the north side is confused. Doesn’t want to talk much. Estelle K. J. Park called me a punk kid and told me to get off her lawn.”

Shelly can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her.

Joseph turns to her, smiling. “Little Shell gets me. Old Lady never laughs at my jokes.”

“I’ll laugh at your jokes when you get funnier,” Grandma says. “Do you think they want to move on? Do you think they need help?”

Joseph shrugs. “They don’t seem to like it here much.”

They talk to John Francis German first. He’s old, but not old-old—in between Shelly’s mom and grandma in age. He’s dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. He flickers in and out of focus as he wanders the north side of the graveyard, looking around like he’s lost.

He smiles when they get his attention.

“Hello,” he says politely. “I’m sorry. Could you give me directions? I’m not sure where I am.”

“Oh yes,” Grandma says, as she lets her hair out of its braid to catch him. “We can show you where you need to go.”

John comes with them to find Estelle K. J. Park. She isn’t as nice.

“Do you know how much I paid to be here?” Estelle asks, her voice croaky like a frog’s. She’s wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and big slippers. The lenses of her glasses are fogged over and Shelly can’t see her eyes. “I’ve got a big headstone coming. I ordered one with an angel on it—life-size. I’m not going anywhere until I see my angel.”