Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,8

nodding his head, apparently immensely pleased with himself for this ghostly feat.

“I wonder why you’re a ghost,” I commented, turning the key in the ignition, pulling on my seatbelt, and shoving the car into reverse.

“Dunno. Unfinished business I guess?”

“So…your…uh ...body? It’s at your house?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what had happened to Ben. Part of me was worried that if I reunited his spirit with his body then he might disappear for good and I hadn’t come to terms with any of this yet. Coming to the end of Elm Street, I flicked on the signal to turn left onto Washington. Ben lived in a nicer part of town than me. A lovely four-bedroom house in a quiet neighborhood, right next door to the woods.

His years on the police force had paid well, and he’d been smart with his money as soon as he was old enough to know digging under the sofa cushions could pay great dividends. Plus, as an only child, his folks had helped out with a deposit to buy his own place. I wondered what would happen to it now. Did he have a will? I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was staring straight ahead, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Ben?” I prompted.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “I don’t know. I wasn’t kidding when I said I don’t remember anything. I truly don’t.”

“I wonder if you had a heart attack?” Even I was surprised that I was having such a conversation with him.

He chuckled, placing a big hand across his chest. “I’d be surprised. Had a yearly medical on the force and they never picked up any potential heart issues.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, no need to sound so disappointed!” he protested.

I cast a glance at him before directing my attention to the windshield. “It’s just that…a heart attack seems the least gross way of dying. If you’ve fallen down the stairs and broken your neck and your head is on backward I’ll never forgive you!” It was a valid worry. The closer we got to Ben’s house, the more my anxiety grew.

“I’ll go first,” Ben said now, patting my knee. Only, of course, I couldn’t feel his touch, just a cold blast of air that raised goosebumps on my skin. “If it’s … bad, I’ll come tell you and we can work out a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to call the cops and explain to them how you found me. So at some point, you’re actually going to have to find me. Yeah?”

“Oh. Right.” Of course. Getting into Ben’s house was easy—I had a key. It was attached to my keyring, hanging out of the car’s ignition. Likewise, Ben had a key to my apartment. Which was why I hadn’t been surprised to find him sleeping on my sofa this morning. I touched the key and sighed. “I just wish…”

“I know.” He’d always known what I was thinking, had a knack for it. It seemed even in death he hadn’t lost that skill.

Pulling into the driveway, I shifted into park and killed the engine. Ben’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in the garage. Climbing out, I slammed the door and locked it and stared up at the house Ben called home. It was gorgeous, painted a soft grey with white trim, high-pitched roof with three dormer windows letting in light to the upstairs rooms. Along the front was a wide verandah, white posts with an American flag proudly on display. He kept the place immaculate. The curved paved path leading to the front door was swept clean of debris, the flower bed between the path and house blooming in a riot of color, the other side of the path a wide expanse of green manicured lawn.

Slowly I approached the front door. A discreet plaque to the right announced Delaney Investigations and beneath the plaque, a bell. Guess Ben now had a new case. Finding out how he died.

4

Stepping through the front door, Ben announced, “It’s okay, you can come in. I’m not here.”

“What about…” I hesitated.

“Thor? Why are you so afraid of him? He loves you.” Ben laughed.

“Thor is a furry asshole who is plotting my demise,” I objected.

Thor is Ben’s cat, a big grey beast of a thing who looks like a teddy bear except he has homicidal tendencies. Every time I sleep over I wake to find myself being smothered by the face-hugger. He does it on purpose, I’m sure, just to