Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,23
Ben cursed, stepping out of the desk. “Are you okay?”
Rolling to my side, I scrambled to my feet and righted the chair. “Yep, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to appear in the desk, that’s all.” Settling myself back in the chair, I turned my attention back to the contents on the screen. “This”—I pointed— “must be Tonya’s husband, yes?”
“I’d assume so if I’ve recorded surveillance footage of him.”
“Tonya Armstrong…married to Steven Armstrong. As in Steven Armstrong the front of house manager from the hotel?” I scoured the details on the screen. “Bingo!” I shouted, punching the air. “There’s your connection! That’s why you haven’t closed off the Drake case—because it’s connected with your cheating bastard of a husband case.”
“That wouldn’t be why I hadn’t closed off the case. It’s a connection, yes, but the fact that one of Drake’s employees is having an affair isn’t relevant.”
“Not relevant? Surely Drake would want to know that the morals of one of his employees were …questionable?” I argued.
“But that’s not what he hired me for. He hired me for a background check on his daughter’s boyfriend. My case with him has nothing to do with the hotel.”
“So you’re saying you wouldn’t tell him what you’d discovered about Armstrong?” Ben shook his head. Shoulders slumping, I eyed the images on the screen once more. They were of Steven Armstrong kissing a blonde woman. “Do you know who the woman is?”
“I had to get the shots with his face in view, to prove it’s him, which meant her back was to the camera.”
“So that’s a no.”
“Not necessarily. Check the notes. And there may be more photos on my camera that we can go through. I would have taken hundreds to get the money shot. I only deliver the ones that provide the undeniable proof my client is seeking.”
I scanned the notes, but there was no mention of who the woman was. “It says here that Tonya wanted further proof…”
Ben shrugged. “Some clients don’t want to believe the truth, even when presented with the evidence.”
“But what does she mean, further proof?”
“I can’t remember the details, but usually when it's a case like this, they want a video recording of their spouse caught in the act.”
I gasped. “She wanted you to record them actually having sex?”
He shrugged again. “Possibly. But look at the flag there.” He pointed to the bottom right of the screen where an orange tab indicated the case was ready to be closed.
“You were closing the case.” No point in actually asking Ben that. The answer was, he couldn’t remember. I’d been hoping going through his files would jog his memory, but so far a big fat zero.
“I don’t do sex tapes,” he said, drifting around the room.
“Fair enough. So you’d flagged the Armstrong case to be closed. You’d already met with your client and provided her with the evidence you’d gathered. I see she paid you a retainer, but you haven’t invoiced for the remainder of your fee.” Picking up a pencil, I scribbled a note to remind myself to close out the file and send the invoice.
“Third and final case.” I clicked open the one remaining green tab and blinked in disbelief. “Okay, this is just weird. Your third case was Brett Baxter. The same Brett Baxter, I assume, who is the event planner at the hotel. This is too much of a coincidence, Ben. All of your cases are connected. And the common thread is Philip Drake.”
“I’d say the common thread is the Firefly Bay Hotel,” he argued.
“But the hotel didn’t hire you—not for any of these investigations. Drake hired you personally. Tonya Armstrong hired you personally. As did Brett. What did he hire you for anyway?” Turning my attention back to the screen, I snorted. “A witch hunt? As in, he literally wanted you to prove witches are real? What the…? That’s just ludicrous!” As incredible as I found it, something niggled at the back of my brain, “But you took the case… Why would you take a case like this? Some zealot who believes in magic and witchcraft? That’s not like you.”
“You’re right. It isn’t. Ordinarily that would be a hard pass. So the question is, why did I take the case?”
“Because it overlaps with the other two?”
He was shaking his head. “Check the dates I opened the other cases. At the time, I wouldn’t have known about the overlap. Maybe the overlap is pure coincidence.”
“You don’t believe in coincidence.” It was true. He didn’t. It had been