The Ghost and Mrs. McClure

The Ghost . . .

When Jack had been alive . . . the very blood in his veins pulsed to the beat of the city streets (when he’d had blood—and veins, that is).

Why couldn’t he have spent eternity in a place like that?

Instead he got eternity in cornpone alley.

Now the only excitement Jack ever had was scaring the crap out of small-town operators . . .

and Mrs. McClure

Her name was Penelope Thornton-McClure. And he had to admit she showed more moxie than a lot of grown men he’d pranked in the past fifty years.

Certainly, she was the first living entity he’d even considered shifting himself toward since he’d crossed over, which was hilarious because, if he’d read her thoughts right, she didn’t even believe in ghosts.

Well, he hadn’t believed in them either . . .