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 do you know about her clients? Was she having trouble with anyone?”

  “A lot of her clients are one-offs. Tourists who come in for a Tarot reading, that type of thing. She has a couple of regulars I’ve seen coming and going frequently. That Regina Davis,” Ashley snorted, “this woman is so rich and yet here she is, visiting Myra to talk to her dead poodle. Can you believe it?”

  “You’re not a believer then?” I grunted.

  “Oh, I believe. How could I not? But not in communicating with your pets beyond the veil.”

  “So what do you think about Myra providing that service for her?” I pushed. “If you don’t believe that is a thing, was Myra ripping her off?”

  Ashley’s hands paused. “Interesting question.” She began kneading again. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way before.”

  “Any other clients you know about?”

  “Just that guy who found her. He’s been visiting solidly for weeks now. Almost daily.”

  “Jacob Henry?”

  “I don’t know his name. Myra told me she had a golden ticket of a client, I assumed it was him or Regina, they were her only regulars that I know of, everyone else was a walk in.”

  I lapsed into silence, digesting what she’d told me. I’d hardly consider Jacob Henry a golden ticket of a client, not on a bank teller's wage, but maybe he had family money, or his wife had money. But then if he was visiting Myra daily, the cost of those visits would be mounting. I made a mental note to check him out.

  8

  Leaning my elbows against the railing and staring out to sea, I ignored the alarming spectacle of Ben hovering above the ocean in front of me. Using my phone as a decoy, I pressed it to my ear so we could talk without me looking like I was talking to myself and labeled certifiable. It worked well unless my phone actually rang.

  “You smell nice.” Ben grinned. He was right. The oils Ashley had used in my massage had me not only feeling wonderful, but smelling pretty darn good as well. We’d been ignoring the wailing that continued from inside Nether & Void. Myra Hansen was clearly distraught at her death, but until she quit screaming about it, there wasn’t much I could do. “Did she say anything? Anything at all?” I asked Ben, jerking my head toward the source of the irritating sound.

  “Nope. She’s sitting at her table with her head in her hands, wailing.”

  I turned, eyeing the police tape across the door. No way I could get into the store and see for myself, I’d have to get Ben to coax her out. “Did you tell her I can see ghosts?” I asked, ignoring the startled look of a passerby who’d overheard me.

  “I did, but I don’t think she can hear anything over her own noise.”

  “Damn it. I really need to get in there and speak with her. I have a feeling she isn’t going to quit until I do, she’s been wailing nonstop for over an hour now.” I eyed Nine, the shop next door. Ashley said she was good friends with Myra. Good enough to have a spare key to her store? Sliding the phone into my back pocket, I headed back to Nine, the bell above the door tinkling as I pushed it open. Ashley glanced up from the counter where she was flicking through a catalogue. “Oh, hey. Back so soon?”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a key to next door would you? You and Myra didn’t keep a spare for each other?”

  Ashley reached beneath the counter and produced a silver keyring, dangling it in the air. “Of course we do. But... isn’t it a crime scene? Are you allowed to go in?”

  I accepted the key and grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Back outside, unable to believe my luck, I approached the door to Nether & Void. “Keep an eye out, will you?” I whispered to Ben who was hovering by my shoulder. “And this time I mean, really keep an eye out.”

  “Okay, okay.” He grumbled, remembering the last time I’d asked him to keep a lookout and he’d failed miserably, too excited in joining me in investigating that we’d nearly gotten caught somewhere we shouldn’t have been. Correction. I nearly got caught. He was a ghost. It wasn’t an issue for him.

  Turning the key in the lock, I pushed the door open, ducking beneath the police tape before quietly closing the door behind me. So far, so good. Ben stepped through and joined me.

  Sure enough, sitting at the small round table draped in a black tablecloth hunched the figure of a woman, cradling her head in her hands and screaming. It was louder now that I was in the room with her, setting my teeth on edge. And one other thing. It was now confirmed I could see dead people. I’d thought seeing Ben was some sort of anomaly but Myra Hansen with her boho chic blouse and black leather pants—at least I think they were leather from what I could see of one leg poking out from under the table—was most definitely a ghost and I could most definitely see her.

  “I don’t believe this.” I could see ghosts. Not just Ben, but ghosts. Plural. How had this even happened? I’d never really questioned it before, but now I was curious, for sitting before me, looking as real and alive as the nose on my face, was one recently murdered—and understandably upset—psychic. She clearly hadn’t seen this coming.

  “Who are you?” Myra lifted her head, her nose red, her hair a wild riot of curls where they’d escaped from the colorful scarf tied around her head. At least she’d stopped wailing.

  Sliding into the chair opposite her I replied, “I’m Audrey Fitzgerald, I’m a private investigator.” I cocked my head toward Ben, “and this is Ben Delaney.”

  “And... and... I’m dead?” her chin wobbled, and a big fat tear rolled down her cheek. Curious. I didn’t think ghosts could cry. I watched in fascination as the tear rolled down her face, reached her jawline and dripped off, disappearing into the ether.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Myra’s watery eyes landed on Ben. “And you? You’re a ghost? Like me?”

  “Yup.” Ben nodded. “It’s not so bad.” He patted her on the back awkwardly, well tried to, but two ghosts touching? Wasn’t going to work. Instead, a cloud of mist appeared where two separate entities collided before resettling back into their own ghostly forms. Goosebumps danced along my skin and a chill ran up my spine. I was not ready for this. Ben, I could handle, but now I was a ghost whisperer?

  “I know this is a lot to get your head around,” I began, glancing toward the door, “but we don’t have much time. I’m not meant to be here and the police won’t be too happy with me if I get caught. Do you remember what happened?”

  Myra shook her head. “The last thing I remember was arriving here, getting ready to open...” she squeezed her eyes shut. “Why can’t I remember?”

  “Ben was the same.” I told her. “He couldn’t remember anything about his death nor the events immediately leading up to it. Or anything about the cases he’d been working on.” I shot Ben an accusatory glance. I’d have been able to solve his murder a whole lot faster if he’d been able to remember what had happened.

  “Cases?”

  “Ben was a PI too. It’s his business that I’ve taken over.” I explained. “I really can’t explain why you can’t remember. Some sort of amnesia thing when you crossed over, I guess.” I stood up and began walking around her store. While Ashley’s shop next door had been airy and light, Myra’s was dark and moody. She had similar things on her shelves, candles and incense, tarot cards and books on how to use them. A lovely collection of silver chalices caught my eye. “Do you practice witchcraft?” I asked, a flash of Mrs. Hill appearing in my mind. She had similar items on her altar.

  “No.” Myra sounded affronted. “I’m a psychic not a witch.”

  My mouth turned down at the corners. I couldn’t see much of a distinction, figured I’d look into it later, do some research between the two. Maybe that would explain why I now had two ghostly companions. Both Ben and Myra had connections with the occult, no matter how tenuous. “Did you have an appointment book or diary?”

  Myra rose, and I got my first really good look at her. She was tall and slim and stunning. Her ebony hair was piled half up and half do
wn, captured beneath the scarf. Around her neck were multiple necklaces, and like Ashley next door, she had multiple bracelets on her wrists. Myra also sported rings on every finger, some containing gemstones, some not. Her purple and black boho blouse was loose and flowy, in stark contrast to the skintight black leather pants and three inch ankle boots. I remembered Ashley had told me she was thirty-three, but in all honesty Myra Hansen didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Now that the crying had stopped, and the blotchiness was leaving her face, I could see she had impeccably applied black eyeliner that winged up into a classic cat eye effect. And a dark purple lipstick that was two shades off being black. She breezed past me, to a velvet curtain hanging at the rear of the shop, and disappeared through it. I followed. It was a tiny office, about the size of my bathroom. Cardboard boxes were stacked on one side, reaching nearly to the ceiling. There was a tiny desk, more of a hallway table than an actual desk. Myra stood in front of it.

  “It should be here.” She said, pointing to the surface of the table that was littered with paper, pens and business cards.

  “The police probably took it.” Ben said, poking his head through the wall.

  “I do remember something,” Myra said, “my first client was Jacob, but he wasn’t due until ten.”

  “You remember that?” I was surprised. Ben had remembered nothing remotely useful from the time surrounding his death. She nodded. “I always open at nine. Always. I get a lot of walk-ins for either tarot readings or palm reading. My regulars book a time so they’re not held up waiting for me.”

  “And business was good? How many regulars are we talking about?”

  Myra counted off on her fingers. “Jacob Henry has been visiting me frequently for a few weeks now. He comes in almost daily. Then we have Mrs. Davis. Regina Davis. She comes in once a week. And then there’s Kit Chambers, she comes in, oooh, maybe once a month. Sometimes every second week if she has something happening in her life that she particularly wants guidance on.”

  “You said Jacob had an appointment today. What about Regina, when did you last see her?”

  “Regina comes in every Wednesday at nine thirty. It’s the same time she used to take her poodle, Rufus, to the groomers. She felt closer to him at those times, so we set it up as an ongoing thing.”

  “Were you really channeling a dead dog? Or were you just taking Regina’s money and telling her what she wanted to hear?”

  The look Myra shot me made me shiver. “Easy there, cowboy.” Ben drawled near my ear, “she’s the victim here, not a suspect.”

  “It could be relevant.” I huffed, “what if Regina figured out Myra was taking her for a ride and killed her in a fit of rage, devastated that she hadn’t been communicating with Rufus?”

  Myra snorted, interrupting us. “You’re either a believer or a non-believer,” she eyeballed me up and down, reminding me I was still in yesterday’s clothes after sleeping over at Ben’s house. “But considering you’re having this discussion with two dead people...” her raised brow spoke volumes. Fair point.

  “Okay,” I cleared my throat. “You mentioned a third client. Kit Chambers?”

  Myra chewed on her lip and studied the ceiling. “It’s hard to say for sure without my appointment book... but it wasn’t in the last two weeks. Kit is on vacation back home.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “England. Essex, if I remember correctly.”

  “Oh, so she’s British?” My thoughts swung to Thor and his adorable British accent.

  “She is. She’s a web developer, travels all around the world. Has been here for ... oh, it has to be over three months now.”

  “But you said she’s on vacation? Is she coming back to Firefly Bay? Or is she just moving on, greener pastures and all that?”

  Myra shrugged. “All I know is what she told me. That’s she’s going on vacation and she’ll see me when she gets back. She said she’d be gone about a month, something about her grandmother’s estate and family commitments—although her family drove her to travel in the first place.”

  I pulled out my phone to make a note of everything she’d just told me but the empty black screen staring up at me was a jarring reminder that the battery was flat and I didn’t have my charger. I made yet another mental note to buy one of those portable charger packs. Eyeing the contents of the small desk, I grabbed a pen and business card and wrote the three names of Myra’s regular clients on the back.

  “And that’s it for regular clients? Everyone else was a one-off? Do any of them stand out? Anyone have a reaction to a reading? Unhappy or angry?”

  Myra tossed a few loose strands of hair over one shoulder and propped a hand on her hip. “My clients always leave satisfied.” With her nose in the air she swiveled and, well if a ghost could stride, that’s what I imagined she was doing, back into her store. She came to a halt by the round table draped in the black tablecloth, her workstation for want of a better word, and peered at the floor in utter concentration. Curious, I joined her. Ahhh. There was a small puddle of blood. I hadn’t noticed it when I came in, it blended so well with the dark rug beneath the table, but now I was closer I could smell the familiar coppery tang. I backed up. I hadn’t thought to ask how Myra had died, but the blood told me it was a violent death. Like Ben’s. Is that why they were both ghosts?

  I glanced at Ben who was drifting around the store perusing the shelves. “Anything?” I asked. He turned and pointed to the table. “There’s something under the table.”

  “What is it?” The tablecloth reached the floor, and I gingerly pinched the fabric between two fingers and lifted. I’d always imagined a psychic hid all their tricks under the tablecloth and now I was about to find out for sure. Color me surprised when there were no secret switches or buttons. Nor could I see anything on the floor, but if it was dark in the store, it was super dark beneath the table. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I can’t make it out, but it’s there.”

  “It’s not the murder weapon, is it?” I couldn’t believe the cops hadn’t searched under the table.

  “Just get down on your hands and knees, Fitz, and feel around.” Ben ordered. Grumbling to myself about bossy ghosts, I did as instructed, my hands feeling over the surface of the floor until they slid over something smooth. “Got it.” I sat back on my haunches and held up a tarot card. It was the death card.

  9

  “What are you doing here?” Officer Mills screwed up his face as if he’d caught a whiff of something unpleasant. I returned the favor, wrinkling my nose as I looked him up and down. He didn’t scare me, nor intimidate me. I disliked him, pure and simple.

  “I’m here to see Detective Galloway.” I didn’t want to be here. I would have called if I could, but my phone was still dead despite searching Myra’s shop for a charger and saving me from an unpleasant trip into the Firefly Bay Police Department. Even standing in the foyer had the hairs on my arms standing on end and my gut churning.

  “What’s it regarding?”

  Damn. A legitimate question. One I baulked at answering. I ground my teeth, fishing around for a feasible excuse when who should walk through the door but Captain Cowboy Hot Pants himself. Oh, he was a sight to behold, dark denim jeans clinging in all the right places, broad shoulders encased by a snug black T-shirt with a checkered button down tossed over the top. As I drank him in, I wondered if he owned any other clothes, for I usually saw him in this ensemble. Well, not this one exactly, just replicas of it. Not that I was complaining, oh no, he wore this look well and the welcoming grin on his face set my heart to a rather rapid pitter patter in my chest.

  “Audrey, glad you made it.” He shot Mills an unreadable look as he approached and settled a hand against my lower back, guiding me toward his office. The heat of his touch burned—in a good way. “Come on through.” I let him lead me, for once lost for words.

  In his office I sank into the chair opposite his desk, watched as he lowered his big frame into his own chair and leant back, elbows r
esting on the armrests, hands clasped loosely across his stomach, face expectant. Neither of us spoke and as the seconds ticked by I squirmed in my seat until he grinned, flashing a dimple. “Relax,” he drawled. “It’s just me. And I’m one of the good guys.”

  I frowned that he knew me so well, that he knew how uneasy I was being here, in the lion's den. My anxiety over the whole situation of corrupt police shot up a notch. I couldn’t be here, I couldn’t do this. Working with the police? Co-operating? Was I insane? This would not end well and I feared it would be me who’d come out the other side battered and broken. I glanced around, searching for Ben, needing his reassurance that I was doing the right thing, that I could trust Galloway, for despite my intense, scorch your panties off attraction to him, he was still a cop, and embedded in my psyche was cops were bad.

  But Ben was annoyingly absent. As soon as I’d pulled up out front he’d shot inside and I figured he was having a good old sticky beak at his old workplace. I just hoped he’d stumble across something relevant to our case so I could solve Myra’s murder and she could cross over. I’d been concerned how on earth I would wrangle two ghosts without being shown to my own bed in the psych ward, but I needn’t have worried. It was the oddest thing. When Myra had tried to leave her store? She couldn’t. It seemed Myra was confined to Nether & Void. I had no answers why and had no-one to ask. Thinking of Myra did the trick, though. My heart rate slowed, my tension eased. I was working a case; I reminded myself, and despite everything else going on, I had a job to do.

  “Couple of things.” I said, my voice coming out like rusty nails. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Couple of things. First, do you have a charger?” I held up my phone. “Battery’s dead.” Our fingers brushed when he took the phone from me, and obliging plugged it into his charger.

  “And the other thing?”

  Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the Tarot card I’d found under Myra’s table, careful to hold it by its corner to minimize fingerprints. “Your guys missed this. From Myra Hansen’s crime scene.”