“Why are you just standing there?”

Ghost Detective looked down at his shoes. They were comfortable but not stylish.

“Well?” The woman continued. She was carrying an umbrella. It was not raining.

Ghost replied, “It’s not raining.” He was a connoisseur of weather, especially rain. It was a valued asset for a detective. Or at least for his kind of detection.

The woman didn’t reply.

Ghost folded his arms about his chest and decided to wait. A black cat appeared from the direction of the river. She was completely unimpressed by the surroundings.

“Well?” the woman said, nothing if not persistent.

“I’m waiting.” He said.

“No one comes here,” she said and then noticed the cat. “Whose is that?”

The cat, who was moving towards Ghost veered toward the woman, her tail held high, eyes shining and raised.

Neither the cat nor Ghost answered.

“I’m of a mind to call attention to this trespass!” She twirled her umbrella.

“This is a private cemetery,” Ghost said. “Are you a relative?”

“No.”

“Then who is trespassing?”

The woman folded the umbrella, shook out non-existent rain drops, and pointed it toward Ghost Detective. She said, “Who are you?”

“Ghost Detective, ” he said.

“What’s been keeping you!” She waved the umbrella at him, as if it were a magical sword.

“I’ve always been here.” The cat now sat at Ghost’s feet, her tail twitching as if some overly hyper garden snake.

“How can that be so?”

Ghost said, “Ms Trellis, I presume.”

“Yes. How can that be so?”

“You have a ghost, and called me. What more is there?”

“All right we’ll talk about it later. What’s with the cat?”

The cat, who was now entwining about Ghost’s feet, ignored the ill mannered comment. He answered, “What cat?” He chuckled almost silently.

She stabbed the umbrella into the soft earth savagely and almost hissed, saying, “We’re not playing here!” The umbrella quivered, as if some Arthurian challenge.

“We are playing. You’re just not very good.” Ghost tossed his hand at the cat as if throwing invisible magic dust, and said “Be off.” The cat, who had a name but kept it to herself, came to attention, glanced dismissively at the Ms Trellis and marched off after her own typically mischievous feline pursuits.

“Can we please get down to business.” Ms Trellis barked. She looked after the cat and knew it would be back.

“The ghost is here with us now.” He said..

“What? How do you …”

He did not reply. Simply stared fixedly ahead at seemingly empty space.

“Oh.” Ms Trellis said. “Why can’t we see him or her?”

“Ghosts are not normally exhibitionists.” Ghost replied. “They are usually scared and, of course, dead.”

“So I’m really dead,” announced a mostly disembodied female voice.

“We can only see your bottom half,” said Ghost. “It’s a very nice half though,” he added.

“Jeez!” the girl ghost replied. “I’m not very good at this.”

“Just give it time,” said Ms Trellis. Ghost glanced warily at her.

“There. Am I all here now?”

“Yes,” Ghost and Ms Trellis harmonized.

“Well, I mean, I knew deep down that I was dead, but this is the first official confirmation.” She probably had been in her late teens or early twenties. More cute than pretty.

“I’m hardly official!” Ghost asserted.

The two women shared a look and both said, “Yes, you are.”

Ghost nodded as if he had confirmation of something he had suspected.

Ms Trellis asked, “Girl, do you remember your name?”

“Of course,” she responded and then hesitated. “My first name is Olivia, but my last name … it’s gone!”

“It happens,” said Ghost.

“How long have I been dead?” the girl ghost asked.

“Two years, 7 months, and 3 days,” answered Ms Trellis.

“My God!” Said Olivia. “What have I been doing all this time?”

“Don’t you remember?” asked Ms Trellis.

“Some of it. But mostly I’ve just been. Here.”

“Why here?” Asked Ghost.

“I don’t know. Obviously I was buried here. But New York City is my home. I’ve never been out of it. Why would anyone bury me here? It seems about as far from New York as you can get.”

“Yes.” Ms Trellis continued, “Do you remember how you died?”

“No. The last thing I remember from my life was walking in the rain. I wasn’t wearing a raincoat or carrying an umbrella, so I was soaked almost to the bone. And there was something following me. It didn’t seem like a person. And not an animal like a dog. But it scared me. It was dangerous.” She paused and gazed down the hill to the cemetery gate. “I’m buried down close to the gate. I don’t go there anymore.” If only ghosts could cry.

“Would you like my umbrella?” Ms Trellis asked.

“I don’t need one. The rain doesn’t affect me now.”

“I know. But umbrellas are good for more than just keeping the rain off. Please accept it.”

Olivia reached out her hand tentatively, knowing that her hand would pass right through the umbrella. But it didn’t! She grasped it like a life jacket. Or a lover’s hand. Her face exploded in amazement. “How?”

“Don’t you know?”

Olivia felt as if the umbrella was somehow hers … as if … “This is my umbrella.”

“Yes, ” said Ms Trellis. “You will find that umbrellas make good companions.”

Ghost thought that it was about time that things got back on track. He asked, “I think it’s about time you told us who you really are, Ms Trellis?”

“Rebecca,” she said, and smiled. With the smile ten years vanished.

Olivia laughed and twirled her umbrella. And then she looked hard at Ghost, and said, “I don’t know your name.” Then she looked even harder, his black fedora hat, dark brown raincoat, and his eyes, dark deep endlessly deep eyes. She said,” No, I know you, you’re a ghost, no, you’re Ghost Detective. You …”

“I divine ghosts. Like a dowser finding water. I find ghosts or more accurately they fine me.”

“And then what?” Olive said, frowning.

“And then what?” Ghost said, turning to Rebecca.

“Back to me, I see! It’s almost like a dance isn’t it.” Somehow she had an umbrella spinning upon her shoulder and, yes, was almost dancing.

Olivia now had her umbrella open, spinning, almost perfectly choreographed to Rebecca. They could be sisters. Olivia said with little surprise, “Oh, you have another umbrella.”

“I always have an umbrella! By the way Mr. Ghost I play the game very well.”

Ghost bowed. For she did. He waited.

Rebecca said, “I’m a kind of guide or guardian. I help people who have died uncover things buried.”

“Like what’s in the rain.” Olivia said.

“Or the last name on the grave stone by the gate.” Ghost added.

“But, why can’t you just tell me?” Olivia said.

“Because buried secrets are buried for a reason, and you must dig them up yourself. But you need someone at your back, and that’s where I come in. Plus two umbrellas are always better than one.” Rebecca said.

“Maybe we should go down to my grave now?”

“I think we should take a more circuitous route. Maybe all the way round the world. Are you with me?” Rebecca reached out her hand.

The two women clasped hands firmly and warmly without any spectral complications. Olivia asked, “Are you a ghost too?”

“That’s a long story, but I think we’ll have plenty of time.”

Olivia looked back at Ghost and said, “Oh, there’s a Kitty Cat!” She was sitting just in front of Ghost and her black fur was all on end, as if she was about to meet her match.

“Yes, the cat with no name.” Said Ms Trellis. “Should I tell?”

“Yes, do!” Said Olivia.

There was a hair raising hiss from the cat.

“Myrtle. It suits you.”

“Too a T.” Added Olivia.

And from the cat, not a hiss, not a meow. She sat straight, tall, and it was as if she represented the very Sphinx itself. And there arose such a purr that it promptly levitated half the cats in Egypt.

“Well, I’m afraid we must be off.” Said Ms Trellis.

“Yes. We’re off to see the Wizard!” Timed in Olivia.

And so they were. Their umbrellas seemed to lead the way. At times walking sticks, at times pointers, and sometimes wands of companionship. As they descended from his view they wavered, shimmered, and were seen no more.

“Quite an exit, wouldn’t you say. Thus begins a beautiful friendship. Don’t you think, Myrtle?” And he reached down to pet her. And she let him, for the first time in their travels together.

“Don’t worry your secret is safe with me.” He said, standing, his gaze off into the coming twilight.

“Well, it’s our turn now. It’s been a while for me. But for cats this is second nature.”

Ghost strode off after the women, his stride long and steady. First his feet, then his legs disappeared, until there was only the fedora, and then not even that.

Lewis Carroll had it all wrong. The grin is not last. Cats don’t grin. It’s always the tail. Myrtle’s tail was last, and then the tip of her tail, and then not even that. Just the twilight. And the anticipation.