"The sex was great. I know women aren’t supposed to care about such things, but damn I just couldn’t help it. He was so good.

We first did it at our office’s Christmas party. It was weird because I didn’t know he worked there, but who pays attention to people, right?”

“Right, Holly. So you were never a missing person. You just didn't answer the phone or the door. Now can you tell me what kind of lover Norman was exactly?”

“Wonderful! Oh my God, he was like Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and a porn star all in one. Just thinking about him makes me...” she grabbed both her thighs and shivered. “Are you married Agent Boulder?”

“I’ve been sworn to celibacy.”

“Is that Greek?”

“Um…yes. So, tell me about Norman. You said he was the greatest sexual partner you’ve ever had. How large in inches, would you say his penis is?”

For the first time in the interview Holly froze, and a confused looked replaced the euphoric satisfaction she had displayed all day. She briefly turned her head and looked at Agent Schoolie opening her windows.

“Holly?”

“Oh, sorry, I….I think,” she raised both hands and began slowly bringing them together, “maybe, four….no, three inches long…like a baby.”

“And, Holly, you’ve described Norman as a mixture of Brad Pitt and George Clooney; so is he tall and athletic?”

The woman began closing buttons on her sweater as if she suddenly noticed her breasts were spilling out, which they had been for over an hour. She looked at the female FBI agent opening the last of her windows. A warm Florida breeze washed across her face, and she blinked as if she were just waking from a dream.

“Holly,” Agent Boulder snapped his fingers, and then pulled out a photo of a short, middle-aged, fat man with a receding hairline, “is this Norman? Is this the man you've been having sex with for the past two weeks?”

The woman stared at the photo and then gasped. “Oh my God, oh my God, what have I done? What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday, January the 7th.”
****

As the two agents left Holly Madison to take multiple showers in whatever peace she could find, they compared notes.

“So, Schoolie, what do you think?” She looked down at her pad and then shook her head.

“I see a lonely woman who got drunk at an office party, had sex with a married co-worker, and now she’s lying to cover-up her shame and regret. It happens every year at Christmas parties all over the world.”

“She identified Norman Krupp and he’s been dead for fifty years. This is the seventh woman to positively ID him as her perfect lover.”

“Sorry partner, I don’t buy your super pheromone ghost theory. It’s alcohol and infidelity, perfectly explainable.”

****

Back in Holly’s apartment all the windows suddenly shut, and from the bathroom a woman’s voice softly moaned in ecstasy, “Oh, Norman, do it again.”