Innuendo!
“He says his name is Chauncy. He doesn’t remember anything else, not even a last name.” She handed me a sketch. “I’ve drawn him several times, and this is as good a likeness of his face as I can manage, sorry.”
The sketch wasn’t bad, actually; Green was shaping up to be a woman of many competencies. ‘Chauncy’ had been male and young when he died, with regular features, a short-cut mass of curly hair and a short beard. Ghosts manifest in various shades of gray, but from the shape of the face and the hair I was guessing he had probably been African-American in life. It was the kind of face that could easily set a woman’s heart a-flutter, and I hoped that wasn’t part of an act. Ghosts manifest for mortals for reasons, and they’re not always great ones.
“Amnesia?” I said, putting down my mug. “That happens with ghosts sometimes. They have to be really new or really old, though. Does Chauncy have an accent? And how does he manifest? What clothes is he wearing?”
“I think he’s American. From around here. He doesn’t talk old-timey or anything. And,” — she looked down for a second — “I don’t know what clothes he wore when he was alive.”