Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,33

look at the wall for myself. Ben's suggestion of a photo wasn't a silly one. If I could get access and snap a pic with my phone we'd be golden.

"You've had an idea." Ben grinned, hovering in front of me.

I nodded. "I have. Okay, thanks for the call." I wrapped up the fake call.

Turning back to Brett who was sitting at the table arranging the journals, I said, "Sorry about that. Would you mind if I used your bathroom?" It wasn't a lie. With all this coffee I did need to pee, but there'd be no time for indulging my bladder. I needed to get into Brett's bedroom, take a photo, and get out again. Preferably without him knowing.

"Sure. Door on the left." He waved toward the hallway. As I turned, my bag—that was still slung across my shoulder—swept across the table, collected my cup—still full of coffee—and sent the contents flying.

"Noooooo!" Brett screeched, trying to pull his journals out of the path of the fast-flowing pool of coffee. It was too late for one poor journal that was now drenched. Jumping up, Brett grabbed a tea towel and began sopping up the mess.

"I'm so sorry."

He cut me a glare as he frantically tried to save his journals. "Just go use the bathroom," he snapped.

"Go," Ben urged. "This is going to keep him occupied for a few minutes. He won't notice how long you're gone. Brilliant plan."

"It wasn't intentional," I said out loud.

"I should hope not." Brett pouted, reminding me that I'd inadvertently spoken aloud to Ben. I really had to watch myself with that. This time I moved away more carefully, making sure my bag didn't knock anything else over.

I entered the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the cold water tap before carefully, slowly turning the knob and peeking my head outside. I could hear Brett in the living room, muttering about his journals and how they were ruined. I tiptoed to the door at the end of the hallway and wrapped my fingers around the handle, slowly turning. Thankfully he didn't have squeaky doors. I slipped inside and closed it behind me.

Ben was right. One wall contained what appeared to be work schedules for staff members of the Firefly Bay Hotel. I snapped a dozen photos of the wall, plus other scraps of paper he'd pinned amongst the woven red thread that was connecting them all. Hurried to his desk that was also scattered with papers, snapped as many pictures as I dared before Ben popped his head through the door. "He's finishing up. Get out of here."

I hurried back to the bathroom, turned off the tap, a pang of guilt for wasting water, then rather noisily opened and closed the door behind myself and rejoined Brett in the living room where order had been restored.

"I'm so sorry," I offered again.

Brett, it seemed, had calmed down. "It's okay. They survived. The damage is minimal."

"That's good." I wiped my palms on my thighs. "I'll be honest with you, Brett. I'm not sure Delaney Investigations can help you. But"—I held up my hand when he opened his mouth to protest—"you paid a retainer and I will honor that. I'll look through the journals and see if I can find a pattern and then we'll talk again. Fair enough?"

Brett smiled. "I'm happy with that. How long, do you think?" He nodded toward the dozen journals he'd stacked on the table.

"How long will I need them?" I cocked my head, eyeballing the stack of reading I had in front of me. I wondered if Ben would be able to read them...if he could turn the pages, that is.

"Yeah." Brett wrung his hands. "I will need them back."

"Of course. Look, I'll take them with me today and get back to you next week. How does that sound?"

Brett was nodding. "Yes. Good. I can work with that."

Back in the car I tossed the journals that Brett had piled into a plastic shopping bag onto the back seat. Pulling away from the curb, I headed back to Ben's house. I'd visited all three of Ben's cases today and was still none the wiser as to who killed him.

13

I pulled up behind a familiar SUV parked out front of Ben's house. Climbing out of my car I watched while Detective Kade Galloway did the same, striding around his vehicle to meet me on the front lawn.

"Detective." I nodded my head in greeting, my eyes not missing the black jeans and blue checkered shirt. My