Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,30

Lexington. He visibly relaxed and I laughed.

"Your driving always did give me heart palpitations, and apparently it's no different now I'm a ghost," he said drolly.

"Ha ha."

Within minutes I was pulling up in front of a perfectly ordinary house on a perfectly suburban street. I parked on the street, sparing the Armstrong’s from my oil stains on their neatly paved driveway. A curtain twitched as I walked up the front path.

"Someone's definitely home," Ben said. "I'm going to duck ahead and check things out." I watched as he shot ahead and passed straight through the front door. I swear to God I will never get used to that. Tugging on the lapels of my jacket I continued on, rapping on the door. It swung open almost immediately.

"Yes?" A woman who looked about mid-thirties answered the door dressed in yoga pants and a wrinkled T-shirt.

"Tonya Armstrong?" I asked. She nodded. I launched into my spiel while she gripped the door and listened.

"I suppose you'd better come in," she said, turning away and leaving the door open for me to follow. I did. The house was immaculate inside, the furniture a little worn and outdated.

"Can I offer you a coffee?" Tonya asked, leading the way into the kitchen. "I'm having one," she added. Just in case I needed an incentive.

"That would be lovely, thank you." Ben hadn't reappeared and I could only guess that he was searching the house. For what I had no idea, but it was easier to talk to Tonya without him hovering over my shoulder.

"I'm sorry to hear about Ben," she said, busying herself with the coffee machine on the counter. "He seemed like a nice guy."

"He was." I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. I cleared my throat. "Would you mind quickly going through your case with me?" I asked. "Just so I can get everything squared away."

She puffed out a breath and tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. "Sure. So you probably read in my file that I hired him to follow my husband."

"Steven Armstrong," I read from the notes on my screen.

"Yes. I think he's having an affair." Her voice cracked, she swallowed, then continued, "I think he's been having an affair so I hired Ben to find out, one way or another."

"And did he?"

Tonya shot me a look I couldn't read. "He showed me some photos of Steven kissing another woman."

"So that's a yes." I nodded. I already knew this, of course. "So...case closed?" I prompted, knowing full well that it wasn't.

"I wanted more proof." She threw her hands up, tears filling her eyes as she blinked rapidly to dispel them. "I mean, what sort of fool am I, wanting even more proof that my husband is cheating on me?" she cried, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I mean it was there, in the photos. It was definitely Steven, he was cupping this woman's face in his hands—he used to hold my face that way, a long time ago—and from the angle of the shot it was undeniable it was him. And there were more shots. Lots of them. Kissing. Intimately." A sob escaped, followed by another, then she was burying her face in her hands and howling. I had no idea what to do. Awkwardly I placed an arm around her shoulders, desperate for Ben to come back and give me some guidance. Of course, he didn't. He'd probably heard her crying and deliberately stayed away.

"I'm sorry about your husband," I said weakly.

She pulled away and gave me a watery smile. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, being all stupid and emotional," she apologized, grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blew her nose.

"It's not stupid at all," I assured her. "Having your worst fears confirmed is the perfect time to be emotional."

"You're right." Tossing the tissue into the bin she straightened her shoulders and continued making the coffee. "I'm still not sure what I'm going to do," she said, back to me. "Steven doesn't know that I know. I assume he's still seeing her. Each time he's late home I know he's with her; each time he leaves the house on some errand I assume he's going to see her."

I grimaced, not knowing what to say. If it were me I'd dump his sorry ass. But it wasn't me. I wasn't married and I had no skin in this game.

"How long have you been married?" I asked instead, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Seven years."