Jesse nodded. I got what he was driving at, but only after a minute or so.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Are you saying you think Michael purposely loosened that section of guardrail so that he could run Josh and the others over the cliff?"

"Someone certainly did," Jesse said. "It might well have been your Michael."

I took umbrage at that. Not at the suggestion that Michael might have done something so heinous, but at Jesse calling him my Michael.

"Wait just a minute – " I began. But Father Dominic rather uncharacteristically interrupted me.

"I have to agree with Susannah, Jesse," Father Dominic said. "Certainly it appears that the rail did not perform the function it was intended to. In fact, a rather serious flaw in its design seems to have occurred. But to suggest that someone might have purposefully tampered with it …"

"Susannah," Jesse said. "Didn't you say that Michael seems to dislike the people who died in the accident?"

"Well," I said, "he did tell me he thought that they were a waste of space. But honestly, Jesse, in order for what you're suggesting to work, Michael would have had to know Josh and those guys were coming. How could he have known that? And he'd have had to wait for them, and then when they started to round the corner, he'd have had to purposefully put down the gas …"

"Well," Jesse said with a shrug. "Yes."

"Impossible." Father Dominic straightened up, brushing dirt from the knees of his trousers. "I refuse even to consider such a possibility. That boy, a cold-blooded murderer? You don't know what you're saying, Jesse. Why, he's got the highest GPA in school. He's a member of the Chess Club."

I patted Father Dominic on the shoulder. "Hate to break it to you, Father D," I said, "but chess players can kill people, just like anyone else." Then I looked down at the gouge mark in the earth where the guardrail had lain. "The real question is why?" I asked. "I mean, why would he do something like that?"

"I think," Jesse said, "if we hurry, we might be able to find out."

He pointed. We looked. The clouds overhead had parted enough to allow us to see the tiny slice of beach at the bottom of the cliff. The moonlight picked out four ghostly forms huddled in a circle around a pitiful little campfire.

"Oh, God," I said as the clouds closed in again, quickly obscuring the sight. "All the way down there? I know I'm going to get bitten."

Father Dominic had already started hurrying down the rest of the trail. Jesse, behind me, asked curiously, "Bitten by what, Susannah?"

"A snake, of course," I said, avoiding a root that had looked a bit snakelike in the beam from my flashlight.

"Snakes," Jesse said – and I could tell by his voice that he was restraining an urge to laugh, "don't come out at night."

This was news to me. "They don't?"

"Not usually. And particularly not on cold, wet nights like this. They like the sun."

Well, that was a relief. Still, I couldn't help wondering about ticks. Did ticks come out at night?

It seemed to take forever – and I was sure that I'd wake up with shin splints – but we eventually reached the bottom of the path, though the last fifty feet or so were so steep, I practically sprinted down them, and not on purpose, either.

There on the beach, the sound of the waves was much, much louder – loud enough to completely drown out the sound of our approach. The smell of salt was heavy in the air. I realized, as our feet sank into the wet sand – well, except for Jesse's – why it was I hadn't seen any gulls earlier in the evening: animals, including birds, don't like ghosts.

And there were a lot of ghosts on this particular beach.

They were singing. I am not kidding you. They were singing around their sulky little fire. You won't believe what they were singing, either. "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Seriously. They were on fifty-seven.

I tell you, if that's how I end up spending eternity when I die, I hope some mediator comes along and puts me out of my misery. I really do.

"Okay," I said, slipping off my gloves and jamming them in my pockets. "Jesse, you take the guys. I'll take the girls. Father D, you just make sure none of them make a run for the waves, all right? I've already been swimming once today, and believe me, that water's cold. I am not going in after them."

Father Dominic caught my arm as I started striding toward the firelit group.

"Susannah!" he cried, looking genuinely shocked. "Surely you can't … you aren't seriously suggesting that we – "

"Father D." I gawked up at him. "Earlier this afternoon, those jerks over there tried to drown me. Pardon me if I feel that sauntering up to them and asking them if they'd like to join us for root beer floats isn't such a good idea. Let's go kick some supernatural butt."

Father Dominic only clutched my arm tighter. "Susannah, how many times do I have to tell you? We are mediators. Our job is to intercede on behalf of troubled souls, not cause them more pain and grief by committing acts of violence upon them – "

"I'll tell you what," I said. "Jesse and I will hold them down while you do the interceding. Because, believe me, that's the only way they're going to listen. They aren't real communicative."

"Susannah," Father Dom said again.

But this time, he didn't get to finish whatever it was he was going to say. That's because all of a sudden, Jesse went, "Stay here, both of you, until I say it's all right to move."

And then he started striding across the beach toward the ghosts.

Huh. I guess he'd gotten sick of listening to the two of us arguing. Well, you couldn't really blame him.

Father Dominic looked worriedly after Jesse. "Oh, dear," he said. "You don't think he's going to do anything … rash, do you, Susannah?"

I sighed. Jesse never did anything rash.

"No," I said. "He's probably just going to try to talk to them. It's better this way, I guess. I mean, he's a ghost, they're ghosts … they've got a lot of stuff in common."

"Ah," Father Dominic said, nodding. "Yes, I see. Very wise. Very wise indeed."

The Angels were at seventeen bottles of beer on the wall by the time they noticed Jesse.