Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,26

But I wasn't prepared to risk it, just in case. Although...I now had access to Ben's car. His lovely, newer than my hunk 'o junk, Nissan Rogue, with leather seats, automatic everything, a sexy gun metal grey with not a scratch, dent, or rust patch to be seen. A car he had never let me drive.

"What are you thinking about?" Ben cut into my thoughts. "I don't like that grin. It's evil."

I clapped a hand to my chest in mock outrage, remembered I'd promised to keep both hands on the wheel, so quickly slapped it back on the wheel, and gasped, "Me? Evil? How dare you. If you must know, I was thinking about your car. It's mine now." My smile was full-blown as his eyes widened into perfectly round orbs.

"Ooops. We're here!" I'd almost overshot the hotel. Slamming my foot hard on the brakes, I yanked on the steering wheel. The back end screeched in protest as it slid across the asphalt, and I glided into the parking space with practiced precision.

Ben was shaking his head and keeping a ghostly grip on the armrest. "I will never get used to that."

"Oh come on, you love it." I grinned. "Also, I've had another brilliant idea."

"Another?" he teased, as if I hadn't managed even one brilliant idea yet.

"Lucky for you, you're incorporeal so I can't punch you. Smartass. But yes, I know how we can communicate without me looking like I'm insane."

"Do tell."

"My phone. I’ll pretend to be on a call. Only I'll be talking to you. Brilliant, right?"

He smiled, teeth shining white—actually they were a little too white, and I wondered if the afterlife added something a little ghostly extra. "Actually that's not a bad idea, Fitz."

"I know, right?" Pleased with myself, I unbuckled and half climbed, half fell out of the car. Straightening up, I locked it, grabbed my phone out of my bag, waggled it at Ben who was watching with one brow arched, then threw my bag over my shoulder, only to have it hit the window of my car and ricochet back on me, making me lose my balance. I ignored Ben's snort and tried again, only with less enthusiasm this time. With a happy grin and sideways glance, I crossed the street and made my way inside the Firefly Bay Hotel.

As we crossed the foyer to the reception desk, Ben nudged me with an icy blast of his elbow, "Ahhh, Fitz?"

"Mmmmm?" I was focused on my quest. The redhead behind the counter. She was young—she looked about twelve!—but her makeup may well have been applied with a trowel, it was so thick. She'd look so much prettier if she toned it down a notch or a hundred.

"Your phone? I can't make it ring, you know. If you want to be pretending you're talking to me, you may want to at least hold it up to your ear," he prompted. Of course, he was right. As usual. With a huff, I lifted the phone to my ear, paused in my stride as if I'd just answered it—since Miss Twelve Year Old With More Makeup Than A Drag Queen had heard me approach and was waiting with a plastic smile.

"Happy now?" I inquired.

"Ecstatic." He grinned. And looking at his smiling face, in that moment he looked relaxed and happy and alive. Only he wasn't, and my answering smile slipped, and my eyes became a little glassy. I missed him. I missed him being alive.

He saw the change. "Fitz?" he prompted, concerned.

I sniffed. "It's okay," I reassured him, "I'm just having a moment."

The look of discomfort wasn't hard to miss. The typical reaction of a man when a woman says she's having a moment. As in...emotions. Gah.

Straightening my shoulders, I sniffed—an incredibly unladylike sniff—and continued to the reception desk.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Miss Twelve Year Old With More Makeup Than A Drag Queen greeted me. "How may I help you today?"

My eyes landed on the name badge pinned to her lapel. Putting my hand over my phone so the fictitious person on the other end couldn't hear, I said, "Hey, Barbie." I mean...Barbie? Come on. "I was hoping to have a word with the manager, Phillip Drake."

"Do you have an appointment?" She was typing into the computer, eyes on the monitor. I assumed she'd pulled up his appointment calendar or whatever it was they used to manage such things.

"I do not."

"Oh!" She glanced back at me. "Mr. Drake doesn't usually see people without an appointment. He's very busy."

"I'm sure