The Ghost Detective Books 1-3 Special Boxed Edition: Three Fun Cozy Mysteries With Bonus Holiday Story (The Ghost Detective Collection)

by Jane Hinchey

  “What?” I snorted. “No. I’m talking to Ben.” I slung my arm out to indicate the six-foot-something man beside me.

  Juliette peered at me closely for a minute before aiming her keys at the blue hatchback parked out front. The alarm beeped. “Oh. You got one of those Bluetooth headset things? Sorry, my bad. It looked like you were talking to yourself. Say hi to Ben for me.” She climbed into her car and I stood watching with my mouth hanging open until she pulled out and drove away. More weirdness.

  “Come on then.” I shrugged Juliette’s bizarre behavior off and began walking. “We’ll catch the bus into town, get my car, then I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked out.”

  “Hospital?” He snorted. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital.” He fell into step beside me. I was worried for him. Half an hour ago he’d wanted to go, now he didn’t.

  “Ben, you can’t remember anything beyond six o’clock last night. That’s not normal.”

  We were silent for a few minutes, walking to the bus stop around the corner.

  “There’s something else,” he muttered.

  “Oh?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  I stopped and faced him, hands on hips. “Now what?” The hangover headache I thought I’d conquered was starting to creep back, pulling at my temples, creating tension across my forehead.

  “Let’s walk. Tell me what you see?”

  I huffed out a breath, but began walking again. “Maybe you’ve had some sort of brain aneurysm,” I said, more to myself than to him.

  “What do you see, Audrey?”

  I looked about. “I see the road. Cars. Trees. Houses.”

  “No. Closer. Immediately in front of you. What do you see.”

  “The footpath?”

  “What’s on the footpath?”

  “Can you just tell me because I really don’t know what you want me to say!” I burst out, puzzled by what he was trying to get me to discover.

  He stopped walking, so I did too. I looked to where he was looking. At our shadows. But…there was only one shadow. Mine.

  “What the hell?” I yelled, blinking rapidly, then rubbing my fists into my eyes as if to clear my vision. I danced around in some sort of crazed jig, and my shadow followed, as you’d expect it to.

  “You see it—or rather, don’t see it?” Ben asked, voice so incredibly calm. How could he not have a shadow? My brain hurt trying to figure it out.

  “Where’s your shadow? What’s going on?” I heard the note of hysteria in my voice and dragged in a ragged breath, my pulse skyrocketing. Ben began pacing—minus his shadow. He paused and cocked his head my way, one brow arched.

  “You…you…” I gulped. He had no footsteps. He was walking, moving, yet making no sound. I swallowed, raised a shaking finger to point at him. “Are you…you can’t be…”

  He stepped right up to my finger, not quite touching.

  “Dead? A ghost?” he supplied, still sounding outrageously calm. “I think I might be.” And then he stepped forward and my finger, hand, and forearm disappeared through him, where his body should have been, an icy coldness. I snatched my arm back and staggered backward, clutching my hand to my chest. I watched as my best friend—correction, the ghost of my best friend, stared solemnly back at me.

  “I can’t remember what happened because last night? I died.”

  My eyes rolled into the back of my head and my legs gave out. As darkness rushed in all I could think was Ben couldn’t be a ghost. And if he truly was, why the hell was he haunting me?

  I woke with a start, heart pounding, head thumping. My cheek rested against the cold, hard, gritty ground. Prying open an eye, I discovered I was on the footpath and quickly lifted my face off the disgustingly dirty surface. Gross.

  “You okay?” It was Ben, crouched in front of me. Moving to my hands and knees, I glanced around. No one was about; no one had seen me faint. No one had seen me talking to a ghost. Except for Juliette. What she said made sense now. She’d thought I’d been talking to Ben via Bluetooth. Because she couldn’t see him. Because he was a ghost. A spirit.

  “How long was I out?” I croaked, struggling to my feet. I felt dizzy and my legs wobbled. Ben reached out a hand to steady me, then dropped it, a rueful grin flitting across his face.

  “Not long. A few seconds.”

  I nodded, sucking in several deep breaths. My heart rate steadied back into its normal rhythm. Brushing myself off, I picked up my bag and resumed walking. Ben fell into step beside me. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Well, I still need to get my car,” I pointed out, doing my best not to sound hysterical, “and then I’m going to your house to find out what the hell happened.” I didn’t know what else to do. Who do you call to say “I think my best friend is dead because his ghost is here with me now”?

  “Good plan.” He nodded.

  I snorted, ignoring him as I stomped along the sidewalk, anger starting to blossom and take hold. Anger that Ben had died. Anger that he hadn’t known he’d died. And anger at myself for not realizing I’d been talking to a dead person all morning!

  “Audrey?”

  “Don’t even,” I muttered. “I’m going through some emotions right now, Benjamin Delaney, and I just need you to be quiet while I process.”

  Two people waiting at the bus stop turned their heads to look my way as I approached. Right. Talking to myself, again. He mimed zipping his lips and my lips twitched in response.

  The bus was packed, the nine-to-five crowd on their daily commute. After a fifteen-minute ride spent with my face pressed into the unpleasant armpit of a guy decked out in construction gear, I jumped off at Main Street and hustled to where I’d left my car. Unlocking the door, I slid in behind the wheel.

  Ben stood on the passenger side, bent to look through the window at me, and said, “Check this out!” I gave a startled yelp when he moved right through the door and seated himself in the passenger seat.

  “Cool, huh?” He grinned, 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.<
br />
  “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 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 the pantry and looked around the kitchen, hands on hips. “Where did they use the bleach? And why?”

  “Do I have to point out the obvious?”

  “Well yeah, I guess you do, because, Mr. I-used-to-be-a-cop-and-now-I’m-a-PI, none of this comes naturally to me. Put me in front of a spreadsheet and I’ll be all over it, but this?” I indicated his kitchen. “No clue. So tell me, Sherlock, what am I looking for here?”

  He looked contrite. “Sorry, you’re right. My bad. You’re looking for blood. I suspect I was killed here and someone cleaned up the mess with bleach. We have to hope they missed a spot. It’ll be small—minuscule—and easily missed.”

  I blanched. His blood. I mean, it was perfectly obvious, only it hadn’t been for me. What did I think I was doing, standing in his kitchen with latex gloves on, playing detective? I needed to call the cops, let them deal with this. Seeing the panic on my face, he stepped up close, so close a chill emanated from him, making me shiver.

  “Take a breath.” His voice was firm and calm. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath through my nose, felt my lungs expand, and held it for a few seconds before slowly releasing it through my mouth. “Good girl. You’ve got this. You’re smart—and you’re not alone. I’m righ
t here with you.”

  I opened my eyes and blinked, gathering myself.

  “Right. Stand back, Sherlock, you’re giving me chills.” I waved him away and he obediently took several steps backward. “So, where would you suggest I look, ‘cause standing here, I’m seeing nothing.”

  “Get your phone. You’ve got a flashlight app, right?” I nodded. “Then get down on your hands and knees. Look along the baseboards and under the lip of the cupboards. Because of the bleach, I wouldn’t expect to get anything viable off the floor, but blood has a tendency to splash around.”

  I’d left my bag in his office so I hustled back to retrieve my phone and then spent the next ten minutes crawling around on his kitchen floor. So far, nothing. I sat back on my heels, letting the blood rush from my head and my eyes idly drifted over to Thor’s food and water bowls. Something was off with them. I cocked my head.

  “What is it?” Ben asked, following my line of sight. “Ah! Good eye!” He grinned, rushing to the bowls. “They’ve been moved. Water goes on the left, food on the right. And look, kibble on the floor. Thor loves his food, he’d never leave kibble on the floor.”

  I chewed my lip and joined him. “So someone moved them—in a hurry, causing some of the kibble to spill. And look, this one’s soggy. The water spilled too.”

  “Pick them up, look underneath,” Ben urged. Carefully I picked up the water bowl and moved it to one side. Nothing but a couple more soggy kibble nuggets. But when I picked up the food bowl, I gasped. One small, tiny, drop of blood. Dried and brown. Easily missed, easy to mistake for kibble at first glance.

  “Yoooo Hoooo!” A woman’s shrill voice called from the rear sliding door, followed by the sound of the glass being tapped. Letting out a yelp, I dropped the food bowl, hurriedly covering the drop of blood.

  “What does she want?” I hissed, trying not to move my mouth as I met the eyes of Ben’s neighbor, Ethel Hill. Damn it, I thought I’d managed to sneak under the radar and avoid her detection. Should have known better.

  “Don’t be so hard on her.” Ben rested a hand on my shoulder and I swiped his icy cold grip away. “She’s a widow. She gets lonely.”