Heaven Only Knows

Prologue

“And what the hell does ‘prove myself’ mean?” Gwen Truax snapped, her hands on her slender hips in as haughty a statement of defiance as her green eyes, now blazing with venomous anger at the man she’d met only twenty minutes ago.
“Shall we run the video for her again, sir?” the squeaky voiced assistant named Mr. Pimms spoke up from the corner where he’d obediently planted himself ever since her arrival.
Before Michael could reply to his question, Gwen strode forward and leaned across the marble desk, nearly toppling the closest statuary of what looked to be the Virgin Mary. “Look, I don’t know what kind of head-game you two clowns are playing here, but do you have any idea how late you’re making me for my board meeting?”
Michael’s eyes of electric blue met hers without any sign of flinching or guilt. His bold stare of assessment, in fact, had just enough maddening arrogance to it to be a sensual turn-on. Well, under different circumstances, of course. At the moment, she could only see him as a silver-haired, cleft-chinned chauvinist who was being a royal pain in the ass.
“Well?” she said, in case he hadn’t heard her.
“I’m afraid that it’s later than you think, Mrs. Truax,” he calmly answered.
“That’s Ms. Truax to you,” she corrected him.
“As you wish,” he replied.
Gwen couldn’t help but notice that his glance darted briefly to her diamond wedding band as if to affirm that he’d really seen it. “What I wish,” she said, “is to knock off all this screwing around and get to my meeting. Do you think you can handle that?”
Michael shook his head. “That’s not within my purview,” he informed her. “Now if you’ll just have a seat--”
“Then who the hell’s purview is it?” Gwen demanded.
Behind her, Mr. Pimms was nervously clearing his throat.
“If I might ask you to refrain from the use of expletives while you’re with us,” Michael said, “it would be greatly appreciated.”
Gwen had reached for her purse and was now withdrawing a cellular phone.
“What are you doing?” Michael inquired.
Gwen didn’t miss that the corner of his well defined mouth had a quirk of amusement. Well, she’d fix that soon enough. When she was through, he’d be lucky to get a job in the mail room. “I’m going to make a call to your supervisor,” she said. “What’s his name and number?”
“He doesn’t take calls,” Michael informed her.
Was she mistaken or had she just heard a faint squeak of laughter from that idiot Pimms? “Well he’d better by God take a call from me,” she retorted. “We’re talking serious money on the line with this merger and, believe me, heads are going to roll if I’m not there to put it together.” For the first time, she noticed that her adversary had no name plate on his fancy desk, no means to identify him to a higher authority other than the moniker “Michael” by which he had introduced himself.
“I’m afraid they’ll have to manage without you this time, Ms. Truax,” Michael quietly said.
“And why, praytell, is that?”
Michael folded his hands atop his desk. Was it a trick of the light, Gwen wondered, or was his skin tone golden? Maybe he’d just come back from a vacation in the tropics, she decided. Some people tanned that color naturally. Golden and glowing, just like an ad for suntan lotion. Not the way she did, of course, with skin as fair and delicate as her best china. Besides, who had time for vacations anyway, when there were deals to be done and profits to be boosted?
“Well?” she said again when no explanation was forthcoming. How on earth had a man with such drop-dead good looks gotten a desk job by being so completely witless and unresponsive? Was he sleeping with the boss’ daughter or what?
Michael looked up at her with an expression so galvanizing that Gwen thought for a second she’d melt through the floor.
“Apparently you didn’t hear it the first time I told you,” he spoke at last. “That’s certainly understandable.”
“Hear what?” What was he talking about? Did this have anything to do with that dumb tape he tried to show her?
“The truth of the matter is, Ms. Truax...you’re no longer among the living.”

Chapter 1

“Present company included?” she quipped. “Okay, okay, so your friend Pimms here is a little on the pasty side but I can’t say that you look like you’ve seen the inside of a coffin. Not with that golden boy tan anyway.” Gwen folded her arms across the front of her designer suit jacket. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Let’s jump back on that nice train to reality, shall we?”
“Excuse me?”
Gwen rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Do I have to draw you people a picture? I want you to take it from the top and tell me what’s going on and who put you up to this.”
Michael gravely shook his head. “The facts are straightforward and exactly as they’ve been presented. You’re not alive anymore, Ms. Truax. The sooner you get used to the idea, the easier your transition is going to be.”
The man was truly impossible!
“Transition to what?” she asked.
“Your final destination.”
“Yes, well, my only destination right now is the Financial District.” For emphasis, Gwen expertly turned back her cuff to tap the face of her Rolex. “For your information, some very important people are expecting me.”
“You’ve been expected here as well, Ms. Truax.”
“Then obviously my secretary screwed up my appointment calendar, didn’t she? I’ll speak to her about it when I get back to my office.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Says who?”
“Please forgive any slight to your intelligence, Ms. Truax,” Michael said, “but what part of ‘no longer among the living’ didn’t you understand?”
“Oh I understood it. I just don’t buy it.”
“No?”
Gwen smirked. “Do I honestly look as if my IQ is three-below-plant-life? Why should I believe that I’m dead as a doornail?”
“Because it’s true.”
“Just for the sake of argument, then, I suppose you can prove that?”
Mr. Pimms started to move forward but The Golden One silently halted his advance by raising his index finger. “Why don’t you go see to the others?” Michael suggested to him. “I’ll handle this myself.”
As if grateful for the reprieve, Pimms beat a most hasty exit.
“Fine,” Gwen said in satisfaction. “Now that your underling’s gone, let’s get down to brass tacks. I don’t know who put you up to this stupid hoax and all this organ music and dry ice swirling around my ankles, but believe me, I’m going to find out. And when I do--”
“I think a review of your current situation is in order,” Michael firmly interrupted.
“Oh really? Well, no offense, but I think that a nice trip to a shrink is in order for you, Mikey. Now if you’ll just excuse me--”
“Where are you going?” he inquired.
“I’m showing myself to the front door. Don’t bother to get up.”
Michael watched her vanish into the lavender mist, the no-nonsense click of her high heels echoing the entire length of the marble gateway.
Why were doctors and accountants always the most difficult cases to deal with? he reflected. Sometimes, in fact, he wondered how the ones like the heartless Gwen Truax even made it this far.
Well, it wasn’t his to question why, only to walk the new arrivals through Orientation and give them their assignments. The final decision on whether they got their heavenly wings was left to The Boss.
Gwen Truax, unfortunately, was the kind who’d probably drive the most patient of saints to drink before she earned so much as a feather.
This wasn’t going to be easy by any means.
He picked up the VCR’s remote to replay the tape of Gwen’s demise at the foot of San Francisco’s Lombard Street. At least the end had come quickly for her. No pain. No suffering. Like most people for whom the final curtain dropped without any warning, their adjustment to the Hereafter was always a rocky one. Rockier even moreso in cases where The Boss had decided to put them on assignment immediately.
“Not to question Your judgment,” Michael had delicately broached the subject with Him at breakfast that morning, “but I really don’t think that sending Mrs. Truax back to Earth so soon is a very good idea.”
“To the contrary, Michael, “ He replied. “She’s the only one properly qualified to handle this.”
“But the tape, sir--” Michael protested.
For as long as he’d been processing new arrivals, he couldn’t think of a single case that had disturbed him more than witnessing the final hour of the Truax woman’s life. Most particularly, the last conversation she’d had with her husband, Dan.
“Everyone deserves a second chance for happiness, Michael,” The Boss quietly reminded him. “Not to mention that a man as honorable and generous as Daniel Truax deserves to have a new wife.”
###
Gwen Truax furiously punched the number pad on her cellular phone without any result.
Had to be the damn batteries, she thought. Obviously she’d screwed up at the store last time and not bought the kind endorsed by the stupid pink bunny that kept going and going and going.
Either that, or she was simply out of transmitting range.
She paused to look around and try to figure out where she was.
Well, it had to be somewhere in San Francisco, she determined. Only her beloved hometown could generate thick enough fog banks that there were days when you couldn’t see your nose even if you looked cross-eyed at it.
The funny thing was, though, that it had been an unseasonably clear morning when she’d left the house for her meeting....
###
He was sitting at the marble desk exactly where she’d left him, a scenario that only heightened Gwen’s vexation at being detained.
“All right, who the hell are you and what do you want?” she demanded, tossing her leather purse into the nearest chair as if to physically punctuate her anger.
“My name is still Michael,” he replied with a serene smile that displayed his perfect, pearly teeth. “Did you have a nice walk?”
Cocky twit. “Michael what?”
“We don’t have last names here,” he said. “May I call you Gwen?”
“No, but you may call me a cab and I suggest that you do that before I call the police.”
Again, that enigmatic smile as if he were holding a secret.
“Look,” she tried to reason with him, “I’m an hour late as it is but I’m willing to forget this little inconvenience if you call me a cab right now, okay? We’re not on the agenda anyway until after Wells and Rynearson do their computer thing so if we can just--”
Michael’s resonant voice once more cut her off. “I’m afraid that your meeting’s been over for some time now,” he said.
“Oh really? You’re trying to tell me that a corporation like Merlitec could wrap up a full, two day agenda in less than fifty-eight minutes?”
“No,” he calmly replied, “I’m trying to tell you that you’ve been with us for four months as of yesterday.”