Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,63

in the kitchen.

"You want to know about my nephew?" She appeared carrying a tray, two cups complete with saucers, and a small plate with scalloped edges that held an artful array of sugar cookies.

"If that's okay?" I felt like I was on the back foot and I watched her shrewdly, wondering if that had been her intention. For I was on her home turf now, she had the upper hand.

"It depends on what you want to know, dear."

I took a cookie and nibbled on it. "I've inherited Ben's business, along with his house, and he'd recently taken Brett on as a client," I explained.

She stiffened for a nanosecond before busying herself setting out the teacups. "Oh?"

"Well...Brett's case is somewhat...fanciful, I guess you could call it. I'm surprised Ben agreed to take him on as a client at all."

"Brett is a conspiracy theorist." She sniffed. She may as well have said drug dealer for all the disdain in her voice.

"Conspiracies? Such as?" Elbows on the table, I leaned forward.

"He thinks everyone who works at the hotel is Illuminati." She straightened the floral apron around her waist. I only just noticed she was wearing one, it blended that well with her dress.

"Illuminati? As in the secret group? The one that is supposedly set to create a new world order?"

She shrugged. "I really don't know who or what the Illuminati is, my dear, some sort of group, yes, I suppose so."

I frowned, picturing the pins on Brett's wall.

"He also believes that a UFO really did crash in Roswell in the forties and that the aliens on board—along with their spacecraft—are being held at Area 51." He wasn't alone in that theory, plenty of people thought that. The shrill whistle of the kettle boiling negated further conversation, but I heard Mrs. Hill say something about reptilians as she bustled back into the kitchen to finish making the tea. I chewed on the sugar cookie shaped like a Christmas tree as I digested what she'd told me.

22

The tea, when I took a sip, was incredibly bitter and I couldn't help my reaction. My face screwed up like I'd sucked a lemon.

"Sugar?" Mrs. Hill had taken a seat opposite me after pouring us both a cup from the blue teapot that now sat between us. She pushed a crystal sugar bowl closer to me.

"Sorry." I schooled my face. "It has quite an...unusual...flavor. What sort of tea is it?" I'm not a big tea drinker, but this was nothing like the tea I'd had at the care facility when I was visiting Ben's dad.

"It's an herbal blend I made myself. From the flowers in my garden." My gaze shot to the window and the garden outside. The bitterness lingered on my tongue and I hoped whatever she'd used in the tea hadn't been laced with weed killer. I stirred in a teaspoon of sugar, and then added another just to be safe. Mrs. Hill took a sip of her own tea, so I figured the weed killer theory wouldn't hold water.

"So has Brett always been a conspiracy theorist?" I picked up the conversation from where we'd left off.

"He's always had fanciful notions." She nodded her head ever so slightly, her eyes glued on me.

"Did you know he'd asked Ben to investigate one of his theories?" I choked down another mouthful, my eyes watering. I was doing my best not to be rude, but the tea was awful. I ran my tongue over my teeth which was when I realized my face kinda felt numb.

"I did not, no." This time a slight shaking of her head. I frowned down into my teacup. I'd gulped down half the contents when a terrible thought occurred to me. What if I were allergic to one of the ingredients? My lips were tingling, my face was numb, I was having some sort of reaction without a doubt. My heart skipped a beat. What if it spread? What if my throat closed over and I couldn't breathe? Okay, stay calm Audrey, just get yourself to hospital.

"Methers Hill?" I lisped, struggling to get the words out, "Coll bulnce."

She cocked her head. "What's that, dear? You'll have to speak more clearly. That's the problem with people today, they don't enunciate."

I stood so fast my chair tipped over, crashing to the floor, while I clutched my throat, panic sweeping through me. "Help," I croaked.

Mrs. Hill stood, stacked the cups back onto the tray and carried them back into the kitchen while I stood aghast, gasping for