Ghost Mortem (Ghost Detective #1) - Jane Hinchey Page 0,9

freak me out.

“Anyway, he’s not here. Probably found a sunny spot out back.”

Glancing around to make sure his neighbor, Mrs. Hill, wasn’t watching, I unlocked the door and let myself inside, quietly locking the door behind me.

“Why are you…sneaking?” Ben quizzed, head cocked to one side.

I shrugged. “The last thing we need is Ethel over here sticking her nose in.” She was a lovely lady in her seventies, but Ethel was what Ben called “a little bit extra.” She was a floral dress-wearing, pearl-clutching, hair-set-in-rollers-every-day busybody.

“You’ve let yourself into my house dozens of times. This is no different.”

“Uh, yeah, it is.” My voice dripped sarcasm. “You’re dead, for one.”

“But I’m still here, and we can work with that.” The front door opened into a foyer with a staircase leading upstairs to one side, a large square archway leading to the open-plan living and kitchen areas on the right, and a passageway on the left that led to Ben’s office, a bathroom, and a spare bedroom. A spare bedroom where I’d spent many a night after a boozy barbecue. I shook off the melancholy memory.

“Now what?” I asked, having no idea what we should do next.

“Search for evidence. My car is in the garage. So I came home last night. Someone has been here. We just need to prove it.”

Ben headed toward his office and I followed. “Are your ghostly senses telling you that someone has been here?” I inquired, curious about what new powers he had.

“No,” he said drolly, “I can smell it. Can’t you? The bleach?”

I sniffed the air, then followed my nose. He was right. I could smell bleach, and as I continued to sniff the air my nose led me to the kitchen. I was about to toss my bag on the island bench when Ben shouted, “Stop!” I froze, clutching my bag to my chest and glancing around in fear. Was whoever doused the place in bleach still here? Was I in danger?

“Don’t touch anything. I don’t want your fingerprints contaminating the scene.” He rushed off, only to return two seconds later, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, I can’t pick the darn things up.”

Following him back to the office, I asked, “Pick what up?”

“Gloves. Pull on a pair of latex gloves, and maybe pull your hair up so you don’t drop strands of it all over the place.”

“Why? I’ve been here tons of times, my prints are probably all over this place.”

“You haven’t been recently. I just don’t want you contaminating the crime scene. The rest of the house I don’t care about.”

“Fine.” I rummaged in my bag, found a hair tie, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. It was only just long enough and strands escaped to brush against my neck. There went all that blow drying effort.

Ben stood impatiently by his desk, pointing at the second drawer. Rolling my eyes, I crossed to the desk, shooing him away with my hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand to silence him. “I’ve got this.” Stretching out the hem of my T-shirt, I gripped the drawer knob through the fabric and tugged it open.

“Smart.” Ben nodded in approval.

“I’m not just here for my good looks.” Inside the drawer was an open box of latex gloves. I plucked two from the box and snapped them on. “I feel like I should make an inappropriate joke at this point.” I grinned.

Ben ignored me and I stuck my tongue out at his departing back.

“I saw that.”

I cocked my head, wondering if ghosts had the ability to see through the back of their heads.

He laughed. “You’re too predictable, Fitz.”

“How dare you!” I gasped in mock outrage, following him back to the kitchen. My nose was becoming accustomed to the scent of bleach, but there was no doubt someone had used it liberally and very recently. No wonder Thor had made himself scarce. To his delicate nose the place would reek.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” I asked, heading for his walk-in pantry.

“Me what?”

“On some sort of cleaning frenzy? I mean, you do keep this place like a show home. It’s pristine!”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He huffed, sounding put out. “But no. I don’t use bleach. I use earth-friendly products.”

“You so do.” I was eyeballing the cleaning supplies he kept in the pantry. Alongside a bottle of Eco-Me all-purpose cleaner was a 32-ounce bottle of Aunt Fannie’s Floor Cleaner. Eucalyptus. His house sure didn’t smell like eucalyptus now.

“So.” I stepped out of