Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,41

it away.” I tilted my head as I considered his robust countenance. “Although, you didn’t die.”

“Yet.”

I sighed and reached over to push back the hair flopping on his forehead and in one eye. It made him look boyish and young. His morning application of mousse had given up the ghost after a long day in the Florida humidity. “We’ve got to stop eating suspects’ food.”

“That’s probably a good suggestion. Is there anything we can actually eat in there?”

“I made shepherd’s pie. I left you some in the microwave.”

He looked suitably impressed, but even I could make a meat mixture and plop premade mashed potatoes on it. I’d also put some garlic bread in the oven because everyone knows carbs plus carbs equals love. That’s the meaning of complex carbs, isn’t it?

I trailed behind him to the kitchen and sat at the island, watching him discover the new microwave. I’d tossed his old one and replaced it with a stainless-steel version. He sent me a squinty look, and I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, you told me to unpack more. So I did. If you’ll notice, the kitchen is now entirely free of boxes.”

“The living room and bedroom aren’t. Why does your unpacking seem to correlate with throwing out my shit?”

“Because from the looks of them, you bought most of your appliances from Ben Franklin,” I said exasperatedly.

He let out a long sigh and turned back to the microwave, which was a lot fancier than the old one. I propped my chin on my hand as I watched him trying to figure it out. I hid a chuckle when he gave up on doing it right and started tapping various buttons like a lab rat on amphetamine. He finally stumbled across the popcorn button, and the microwave kicked on.

He sent me a triumphant look, and I laughed aloud.

I knew it was time to fill in the rest of the PTU on the Joseph Carr situation. My preliminary research had segued into an investigation. I needed their input. Some of our best breakthroughs came when we were bouncing ideas off each other.

It helped that everyone on the team brought a little something different to the table. Kevin had years of experience and a laid-back vibe, while Tabitha was a technology whiz. Danny was generally the voice of reason, as level-headed and careful as Nick was young and brash and eager to get his hands dirty. Then, there was me, who brought profiling and a wealth of serial killer knowledge. Oh, and ghosts. I brought a shitload of ghosts. Nobody asked for those, but I brought ’em anyway.

The microwave dinged, and Danny wasted no time pulling out his plate. He put it on the island and plopped down on the other stool. “You got a couple of messages at the front desk today. I think one of them was from Graycie.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep.”

All the tension that had drained from my body since I’d walked through the door was back. Danny didn’t comment on the fact that I suddenly had the rigidity of armature wire. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he hadn’t noticed.

I watched him tuck into his food, drumming my fingers on the countertop absently. Usually, our messages at the front desk were from the general public. There was absolutely no reason in the world for Graycie to call me on the main number. He had my cell, my office extension, my email address. Hell, I didn’t care if he used a goddamn carrier pigeon; we both knew he had better ways to reach me.

“So… um, what did he want?” I asked, my tone purposefully casual.

“I guess you’d have to ask him that,” he said mildly. “He only left his name and number.”

Like I didn’t already have that. Vintage Graycie. Fucking with me in a subtle, yet effective manner. I got his message clearly enough—I can tell Danny about the job offer at any point, so you’d better make up your mind. Quickly.

“What was the other message?” I asked.

“It was from a man named Alexander Gilroy. He’s available to meet on Friday about Joseph Carr.”

“Nothing from Sara Jamison?” I asked.

I’d put in a call to Alex’s ex-wife earlier. She wasn’t a suspect so far, but I had to cover all my bases. I was certainly interested in the reasons for their divorce, besides the obvious “my husband is kind of gay” thing.

“Nope.” Danny put his fork down on his plate and leveled me with a no-nonsense stare that was