Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,22

bay along the esplanade. The hotel specialized in fine dining, afternoon teas, and a cooking school, alongside luxury accommodation. Philip had hired Ben to run a background check on his daughter’s new boyfriend.

“Seriously?” I said, more to myself than to Ben, who was hovering behind me and reading over my shoulder. “He wanted you to dig up the dirt on his daughter’s boyfriend? What’s up with that?”

“He’s an overprotective dad. Sophie’s mom died when she was a toddler and it’s been just the two of them ever since.”

“But a background check?” I scoffed. “Overkill, don’t you think?”

I clicked through the files on Ben’s computer. “Errr.” I paused and leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “Gone a bit out of the boundaries of the brief, don’t ya think, Delaney?” On the screen was a diagram linking Philip and his daughter, Sophie, Sophie’s boyfriend, Logan Crane, and two of Philip’s employees, Brett Baxter and Steven Armstrong. I tapped on Brett and Steven’s names. “Why are they here?”

When Ben didn’t answer I swiveled in my chair only to find him running a hand over his chin in apparent thought. “You know…” He paused, drifting off as his thought processes whirled.

After a solid sixty seconds of silence, I finally prompted, “What?”

“What?” He shook his head, snapping out of his stupor.

“The Drake case?” I prompted. “Why are these two individuals in your file?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged and I knew today was going to be a level five caffeine consumption day.

“As in, you don’t remember?” I sighed, the heavy weight of the truth settling over me like a wet blanket. It looked like Ben didn’t recall the details of his cases. How handy.

He rested a hand on my shoulder, giving me immediate frostbite. “Sorry.” And I knew he meant it. Hell, it must be frustrating for him, not remembering what had happened, nor what he’d been working on. Not to mention being dead. I imagined that would suck big time too.

Shrugging his icy hand away, I grinned. “Never mind. Looks like you’ve already done some work here.” I opened up another file and read it aloud. “You’ve thoroughly researched Logan, his financial and credit history, social background, criminal record. It looks to me as if the job is done.”

“But it’s not closed.” Ben indicated the green tab meaning he hadn’t closed off the file in his system. “I hadn’t finished.”

“Or maybe you hadn’t delivered the results to Drake yet?”

“Which is odd. Look at the date.”

I did. The entry was from five days ago. Ben wouldn’t have kept his client waiting any longer than necessary, so why hadn’t he delivered the final report and closed out the case? Not to mention get paid.

“Philip Drake was right to be concerned—look what you turned up. Logan Crane is a drug user, possible dealer and has priors for car theft and B&E…what’s B&E?”

“Breaking and entering.”

“Right. So Logan Crane is a low life. Why are you sitting on this?”

“Must be something to do with these two.” Ben pointed at the two employees on the screen.

“You don’t have much on them. Steven Armstrong is thirty-five and Front of House Manager. Hardly a crime,” I drawled, before continuing to read, “And Brett Baxter, twenty-seven, Event Planner.” I glanced at Ben again, hoping something—anything — would jog his memory. Nothing. I sighed, closed out of the Drake file and opened the next one in Ben’s database.

“Tonya Armstrong. Hired you for spousal surveillance.”

“Meaning she thought her husband was cheating.”

“And was he?”

Ben began pacing. “Dunno. Can’t remember. What does the file say?”

Frowning, I watched him, noticed the tense line of his shoulders, the clenched jaw. This was as frustrating for him as it was for me. If only he could do something useful while I went through the files—like make me coffee.

“Ooohhhh.” Turning my attention back to the monitor, I leaned forward, eyes darting from side to side as I scanned Ben’s notes. “He was! You had surveillance of it—but get this—she wanted further evidence. Why? Let’s see what you gave her.” I clicked on the attachments to the file and a dozen images opened up on the screen.

“Wait.” I leaned closer, my nose almost touching the monitor. “Isn’t that the guy from the Drake case?”

That got Ben’s attention. He rushed forward so fast he materialized inside the table. I shot back in surprise, my backward momentum too fast. The wheels of the office chair snagged on the rug and before I knew it I was flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Shit!”