"Ian, really, can't we have this conversation later?" she complained. "I'm trying to sleep here."

He slipped the window open and reached out to the sill and window box filled with snow. "Ach, sorry, but I think it's only fair we have the discussion now," he replied, packing a large s...o...b..ll between his hands.

She sighed and snuggled further into her pillow. "Fine," she grumbled. "No, I never saw the whole movie, only the part where Mel Gibson... well, you know."

"Aye, that was a good part," he agreed, walking back over to her bed, s...o...b..ll in hand. "But I'm afraid you missed the most important part of the movie. The part that might have saved you a bit of grief today."

He stood over her, his hands inches over her head.

"What?" she asked impatiently, turning towards him.

"Don't mess with a Scotsman," he said, dropping the snow on her upturned face.

"Ian!" she screamed, sitting upright in the bed and wiping melting snow from her face. "I can't believe you did that!"

Grinning, he wiped his cold hands on his sweat pants. "Oh, you cannae? Well, perhaps I'm not quite myself being awakened in the middle of the night."

Mary turned and scooped the remaining pile of snow into her hands. "It wasn't the middle of the night!" she yelled, whipping the small s...o...b..ll at him and hitting him in his bare stomach.

"Cripes, that's cold!" he yelled, wiping it off.

"You think?" she asked, jumping from her bed and running to the open window.

"Mary... no," Ian called out.

But it was too late. Mary, hands filled with snow, was already lobbing s...o...b..a.l.l.s at him.

Ian dodged the first two attempts, then jumped across her bed and headed to the window on the other side of the room. He lifted it up and started to pack a new s...o...b..ll, when he was. .h.i.t on the side of the head and dropped it on the floor. He picked it up and threw it at her, catching her mid-toss. Ian's s...o...b..ll hit the one Mary was going to throw and the two exploded all over her.

She reached back and scooped more snow.

"Yeah, I knew you were a fighter," the ghost from the day before, appeared in the middle of the room.

Startled, Ian turned toward the man. Mary whipped her s...o...b..ll at Ian and caught him in the middle of the chest.

"And you're a dirty fighter too," the ghost chuckled.

Mary grinned. "I'm not a dirty fighter," she replied. "I'm just a fighter who takes advantage of every opportunity."

"Um, Mary, would you mind introducing me to your friend?" Ian asked, wiping the snow from his body.

Shaking her head, Mary turned to the ghost. "I don't think we've actually been properly introduced."

"I'm Ernie," the ghost said, his face breaking into a wide smile. "And I have to a.s.sume you're her boyfriend."

"Ach, no," Ian said. "I'm just here to study paranormal phenomenon with her. So, you know you're a ghost?"

"What is it with you people?" he asked. "Do you run into a lot of ghosts who think they're house plants?"

Mary laughed, "No, but we run into a lot of ghosts who don't know they're dead," she said. "It makes it difficult to help them when they don't think they need help."

Ernie nodded. "Okay, that makes sense," he said. "So, how are you studying paranormal phenomenon by running around her bedroom half-dressed?"

"We were having a cultural discussion," Mary answered. "He was demonstrating that the Scots were dirty fighters and I was establishing that the Irish could kick their b.u.t.ts in any fight."

"Ah, darling, I don't think you'd really proven your point," Ian argued calmly. "Unless your point was the Irish were insensitive clods who cheat at every chance they get."

She stepped back toward the window. "Would you like to continue our discussion?"

"Yeah, well, you ain't got time for any more discussion, sister," Ernie interrupted. "You and me got a date with some weights. We gotta get you in shape and the sooner the better."

"But it's not seven yet," she argued. "And it's snowing outside."

"Yeah, and it looks like it's snowing inside too," he agreed. "What's that got to do with it?"

"I can't drive in this weather."

"Aye, *tis the truth," Ian said. "She can't drive in most weather."

Mary put her hand out the window. "Keep it up, Braveheart."

"However, I have a set of weights down in her bas.e.m.e.nt I'd be happy to let you use," Ian continued. "So you can get started getting her in shape."

"Hey, you're a good sport, Scotty," Ernie said. "Yeah, that'll work."

"But I was going to sleep in," Mary grumbled.

"Aye, darling, and so was I," Ian responded. "And I suppose neither of us will get our wish today."

Chapter Eight.

Mary lay on the weight bench staring up at the bas.e.m.e.nt ceiling, sweat dripping from her face. "Enough," she said, panting. "I can't lift another pound. My arms feel like rubber."

"No pain, no gain, sister," Ernie said.

Summoning up enough energy to turn her head, Mary glared at him. "n.o.body likes a smart-mouth ghost," she said and then she exhaled sharply, blowing her sweaty bangs off her forehead.

Ernie laughed. "Hey, you did good, kid. I didn't think you'd have the strength to last this long. Those skinny arms actually have some muscle in them."

"Thanks a lot," she replied sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm not going to sugar-coat things for you, sister," he said. "You got to get in shape and I'm supposed to do it."

Mary used the bar to pull herself up into a sitting position, grabbed the towel lying on the bench and mopped up some of the sweat. "You still haven't told me why I need to get in shape."

"No, I haven't, have I?" he replied.

Mary waited for Ernie to continue. "And?" she finally asked.

"And I'll see you tomorrow at the gym," he replied as he started to fade out. "Don't be late."

"But...," she started, and found herself staring at an empty room.

"d.a.m.n, you're hot when you're sweaty," Mike said, appearing behind her.

She would have jumped, but she was just too tired. "Hi Mike," she said wearily.

"But you're not much fun," he added.

"Did you ever hear of a gym in downtown Freeport?" she asked. "Owned by a guy named Ernie?"

"No, but I grew up in Lena and only came to Freeport when we had major shopping," he said. "Why? What's up?"

"Well, Ernie, the s.a.d.i.s.tic gym manager, came to me yesterday and had me follow him to his old gym on Spring Street," she explained. "Actually, it's pretty cool. It's got a boxing ring and a bunch of equipment for training. He told me he had to train me. He needs me to be the champ he never trained."

"So, are you giving up being a private eye to start a boxing career?" Mike asked, raising his hands into fighting position and floating around the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"I really don't think so," Mary said drily. "But, if this is what he needs to move on, I guess it won't hurt."

Mike grinned. "Oh, yeah, it's gonna hurt," he said. "But, really, I think it will be good for you in the long run."

She stood up, winced and slowly moved toward the staircase. "How is it going to be good for me?" she asked.

"Mary, honey, I love you. But you've really let yourself go lately."

"What?" she asked, more than a little miffed. "Let myself go?"

He raised his hands in a defensive manner. "Okay, before you kill the messenger, let me ask you. When was the last time you went running?" he asked, and as she opened her mouth added, "and that jaunt in the park with Bradley doesn't count."

She closed her mouth and thought for a moment. "Well, it's been cold," she said.

"Yeah, and really, there are no places in Freeport where you could work out, right?" he replied sarcastically.

"Well, I've been busy on cases," she argued.

"Yes you have," he agreed. "And on more than one case you've had the c.r.a.p kicked out of you. But..."

She sighed. "But?"

"But, if you were still on the force, you'd be doing daily physical training and keeping your skills at their best," he said.

"Not everyone on the force does daily PT," she argued.

He grinned at her. "Yeah, but I bet Mary O'Reilly did."

"Who are you, my mother?" she grumbled.

He hovered close to her, his expression now serious. "No, I guess I'm just another dead guy in your life."

"Wait... Mike," she said, but it was too late. He had already faded away.

"Well, c.r.a.p," she muttered, and climbed the stairs to go take a shower.

Chapter Nine.

"You're moving a little slow, Mary," Ian taunted. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed?"

As Mary pulled her sled back up the hill at Lake Le-Aqua-Na, her leg muscles screamed in pain. "You're a cruel man, Ian," she said.

Laughing, he ran past her, dragging his own sled quickly. "Only when someone interrupts me sleep."

"Hey Mary, want to go down on the toboggan?" Andy asked. "There's lots of room."

Seated in the bright red plastic toboggan was Bradley at the back, Andy in the center and Maggie at the very front. Bradley's long legs were shielding both children from any dangers on the sides.

"No, you go on without me," she called. "I'll just watch."

Bradley smiled at her. "We'll be back up in a few minutes and then you and I can go for a ride."

He pushed off and the sled started down the hill.

"Faster, faster," Maggie called from the front.

"It can't go faster," Andy yelled. "Chief Alden is making it go slow."

"What?" Bradley asked.

Andy turned back to him and grinned. "You're making the sled go slow because you're heavy."

"Are you calling me fat?" he asked in mock outrage.

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around both of the children and the toboggan started to accelerate. "How's that for speed?" he yelled into the wind as they whipped down the hill.