Ghostly Interests

by Lily Harper Hart

  “That’s way too much for a glorified light show,” West argued. “How do I know the problem won’t return the second you leave?”

  “Sir, we agreed upon a price … .” Zander didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because Harper was reaching for the dreamcatcher.

  “If you don’t want to pay us we’ll release the ghost and call it a day,” she said. “I’m too tired to put up with this crap. We agreed on a price and now you’re trying to go back on your word. I can’t stand that.”

  “You can’t simply return it,” West said. “I … that’s unethical.”

  “We held up our end of the bargain,” Harper reminded him. “You didn’t. Who is unethical in that scenario?”

  “But … .”

  “Sir, it doesn’t matter if Harper releases the spirit or not,” Zander said. “You signed an electronic agreement when I sent you the itemized estimate. You’re legally bound to pay your bill.

  “If you don’t pay your bill then Harper is going to release the spirit,” he continued. “You can cancel all of your summer weddings because it’s really going to be ticked off now. Then we’ll let this wind through the court system and, since we have your electronic signature, you’re going to have to pay anyway.”

  West’s cheeks reddened. “You can’t possibly think … .”

  “Release the spirit,” Zander said, his eyes never moving from West’s murderous face as he talked to Harper.

  “You’ve got it,” Harper said, smiling sunnily in West’s direction. “Good luck with catching this thing again. It’s not going to fall for that gag twice.”

  “Wait!” West was defeated. Zander knew it. Harper knew it. The only one having trouble swallowing it was the man in charge. “Don’t release it. I’ll cut you a check right now.”

  “We agreed on cash,” Zander said, his face immovable.

  West scowled. “Fine. I’ll get your cash. Just … take that thing out of here.”

  “As soon as we have our money we will,” Zander said.

  Once West was out of earshot so he could gather the funds Zander shot Harper an appraising look. “You used the whole Ghostbusters hotel scene to snooker him,” he said. “He honestly thought there was something there to release back into his restaurant.”

  “I’m starting to think we should collect the money upfront,” Harper said.

  “I’m starting to think you’re right,” Zander said. “Still … that was inspired.”

  “I have my moments,” Harper drawled. “They’re many and varied.”

  “You’re humble, too,” Zander teased.

  “Let’s get our money and get out of here,” Harper said. “I’m starving. Sending tortured souls to the hereafter really works up an appetite.”

  Two

  Jared Monroe ran his hand over his stubbled chin and gazed down at the ravaged body at his feet. He had no idea how his first case with the Whisper Cove Police Department turned out to be a murder, but that was exactly what he was looking at.

  “What do we have?” Jared’s new partner, Mel Kelsey, was in his early fifties and he looked just as flummoxed by the nude body on the beach as Jared felt. “Do we have an identity yet?”

  “There was no clothing so there’s no identification,” Jared replied, his eyes weary as he scanned the long auburn hair splayed out on the beach. “We’re going to need to run fingerprints and get this body moved to the medical examiner’s facility down in Mount Clemens for a proper autopsy. When is the coroner’s van supposed to get here?”

  “Soon,” Mel said. “They don’t have to come up here very often so I had to give the secretary on the phone directions. She didn’t even know there was a town north of New Baltimore on Lake St. Clair.”

  Whisper Cove was a small community hugging the border of St. Clair and Macomb counties in Southeastern Michigan. When Jared left the west side of the state to come east he initially envisioned landing in a crime-laden community closer to Detroit. He yearned for high stakes crimes and intricate investigations. Shrinking state budgets forced most of the suburban police departments to cut back instead of bolster dwindling law enforcement ranks, though, and Jared wasn’t about to take on a beat in Detroit if he could help it. He wanted excitement, but he wasn’t sure if he could take that much of it.

  “Have you gathered any evidence?” Mel asked.

  “I’ve really only done a cursory inspection,” Jared said. “Have the techs finished taking photographs?”

  Mel nodded.

  “I guess now is as good of a time as any to start gathering evidence,” Jared said, sighing heavily as he hunkered down next to the woman on the ground. “We have what looks to be a young woman in her early twenties. Her fingernails are well maintained, although the index fingernail is ripped off and ragged. It might mean she struggled with her assailant. We should make sure the medical examiner takes clippings.”

  “Don’t they always do that?”

  Jared had no idea. He wasn’t familiar with how things worked in Macomb County yet. This was his second day on the job. When he took the position in Whisper Cove he figured it would get him in the right area to move on to a bigger department down the line. He never imagined murder would be on the menu … especially this quickly. “They probably do,” he conceded. “I want to make sure we cover all our bases, though. A lot of people are going to be looking at us.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Mel said. “This is the first murder in Whisper Cove in … well … I’ve been here thirty years and the only one I can think of is Stan Sully.”

  “Who was he?”

  “He was a local farmer who fell on his thresher.”

  “I thought you said it was a murder?” Jared pressed, confused.

  “We found out he had help when he fell,” Mel explained. “His wife Sally found out he was sleeping with the barmaid down at Whisper Winery and she didn’t take it well.”

  “You had a woman named Sally Sully?” Jared wanted to laugh, but the dead body gave him pause. “I guess she was bound to crack eventually.”

  “Probably,” Mel said, shrugging. “This one looks pretty… beat up.”

  “She does,” Jared agreed, shifting his body so he could study the woman’s long legs. “She’s got a lot of bruises. It looks like she might’ve been tossed around a bit before she was killed.”

  “What do you think the cause of death is?” Mel asked. “She’s got a lot of smaller wounds, and some of them are open, but there’s no big wound that would signify how she died.”

  “I’m guessing she was either strangled or drowned,” Jared replied. “The medical examiner will have to make that determination. I would have to guess that foul play is involved, though. She’s naked, after all.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mel hedged. “She could’ve been skinny-dipping and lost her bearings. The bruises could be from banging against rocks. It might be an accidental drowning.”

  “Isn’t it a bit early in the season to be swimming in the lake?” Jared asked. “That water can’t be much more than fifty degrees. It’s still early in the season.”

  Spring in Michigan is usually short. Winter hangs on longer than people would like and spring lasts for about five weeks before summer descends. Jared knew the waters were too cold to swim in recreationally. He figured his partner was grasping at straws because he didn’t want to believe there was a killer on the loose in the tiny hamlet.

  “Maybe she was drunk,” Mel suggested. “I know I’ve thought plenty of stupid things were good ideas when I had liquid courage to bolster me.”

  It was a possibility, but Jared wasn’t banking on it. “We need to see what the medical examiner says before we make any decisions,” he said. “We need an identification. Do you recognize her?”

  “No,” Mel said, shaking his head. “She’s not from Whisper Cove. I think I know practically everyone here.”

  “That means she’s probably from one of the surrounding communities,” Jared mused. “Until we know how she died – and who
she is – all we have are questions.”

  Mel lifted his head and inclined his chin to the parking lot of the nearby restaurant. “I think we’re about to get some of those answered,” he said. “The medical examiner is here.”

  “DO YOU want me to burn this?” Molly lifted the dreamcatcher up, wrinkling her nose at the scent. “It smells like someone died.”

  “Technically they did,” Harper said. “Yeah, go ahead and burn it.”

  Dreamcatcher traps were only good for one use and after the soul was displaced from one plane of existence to the next it was customary to burn them to make sure no negative residue remained.

  Harper watched the energetic college student walk out through the back door of the office, internally marveling at her blond hair – which was often streaked with some vibrant shade of Manic Panic – and couldn’t help but smile. She admired Molly’s enthusiasm and insistence on being who she wanted to be. The pink streaks in her hair this week were a little more garish than Harper would be comfortable sporting, but the St. Clair Community College student somehow made them work.

  “I can’t believe you let her come to work with her hair like that,” Eric grumbled. He was busy uploading the data from the EMF recorder to his computer and he didn’t look happy. At twenty-five, he was a few years younger than Harper and Zander but a few years older than Molly. He was in a tough spot in the office, mostly because he had a huge crush on Harper that she pretended not to notice and Molly had a huge crush on him that he opted to ignore. It was a vicious – and often soap opera resembling – circle.

  “I like her hair,” Harper said. “She’s young. When you’re twenty-one you should have odd hair. That’s when you can pull it off without judgment.”

  “She’s representing your company, though,” Eric reminded her. “Doesn’t it bug you that people see a … hippie … when they look at her?”

  Harper shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “People already look at me funny. I run a ghost hunting business,” she said, chuckling harshly. “People are always going to think I’m crazy.”

  “I guess,” Eric said. “She should still present herself in a professional manner.”

  “She’s an unpaid intern,” Harper reminded him. “She can dress how she wants. I can’t make demands on her appearance if I’m not going to pay her. She’s not technically an employee.”

  “Right,” Eric said. “Why is she here again?”

  “Because she wanted to learn the ropes and she has great computer skills,” Harper replied, not missing a beat. “I don’t understand why you can’t be nicer to her.”

  “She’s always … staring at me,” Eric said, his dark eyes serious. “It makes me uncomfortable. It’s as if she’s undressing me with her eyes.”

  Harper knew exactly how he felt. It was an emotion near and dear to her heart whenever Eric got that moony look on his face where she was concerned. She enjoyed the local tech guru’s company – and even found him attractive – but there was no sexual chemistry there. Eric didn’t appear to recognize that, though.

  “She has a crush on you,” Harper said. “You should be flattered. In ten years, you’re going to wish a twenty-one-year-old with a body like that had a crush on you.”

  “Her body isn’t that great,” Eric argued.

  Harper arched an eyebrow. “I would kill for her body.”

  “Your body is so much better,” Eric said. “I’ll bet you look great without your clothes on.”

  Harper’s cheeks burned under Eric’s earnest expression. The man fancied himself “bad to the bone,” even riding a motorcycle to cement his perceived reputation. The problem for Eric was that he was much more Fonzie on Happy Days than Jax on Sons of Anarchy. He just didn’t seem to realize it. “I … um … thank you,” Harper said, hoping to steer the conversation back to a safer topic. “Did you get anything from the capture at Undercurrents?”

  “It’s going to take some time to go through the data,” Eric said. “It’s too soon to tell what we’re looking at. I got some good thermal video, though. I’m not sure what we have yet.”

  “Well, don’t worry about rushing,” Harper said. “We don’t have another client today so you can spend the rest of the afternoon going over your data. I know how you love those little chart things you do.”

  Eric scowled. “Chart things? I’ll have you know … .”

  “That those are vital statistical analysis tools that will propel our knowledge of the hereafter into uncharted territory,” Zander said, breezing into the room as he mimicked Eric’s voice. “We know. You’ve told us a zillion times.”

  “Then how come you keep forgetting?”

  “My memory isn’t what it used to be,” Zander deadpanned. “It was probably all that pot I smoked in high school.”

  “I’m so underappreciated,” Eric muttered.

  “I appreciate you,” Harper said, shooting a dirty look in Zander’s direction. “Can you please not poke the bear? He’s going through some files for us and we should respect him because neither one of us wants to go through all of that information.”

  “Data,” Eric corrected.

  “Data,” Harper said, pursing her lips as she tried to ignore Zander’s vigorous eye rolling. “It’s very important data and Eric deserves your respect.”

  “Whatever,” Zander said, sighing with resigned exasperation. “I don’t suppose you would give me the respect I so richly deserve and take me to the lunch you promised, would you?”

  “It’s still early,” Harper protested.

  “My stomach doesn’t agree,” Zander said, lifting his shirt and pointing toward his eight-pack abs. “My stomach says it’s feeding time.”

  Harper snorted. “You lifted your shirt because you like to show off your abs. Admit it.”

  “I’ll admit nothing of the sort.”

  “If you don’t admit it I can’t buy you lunch,” Harper said.

  Zander exhaled heavily, one of those extended gusts that only long-suffering best friends can get away with. “When you work out as much as I do, you should be able to show your body off without people commenting.”

  “I thought you wanted people to comment?” Harper pressed.

  “You don’t have the right parts to comment,” Zander corrected. “Even if you did, though, you’re like a sibling to me. I don’t care how hot of a guy you would make, I’m not into the incest thing.”

  “This conversation is taking a gross turn,” Eric said.

  “He’s right,” Harper said. “Fine. I’ll buy you lunch on one condition … .”

  “That I lift my shirt and wow the male waiter so we can get free dessert?” Zander asked.

  “No,” Harper said, her tone dry. “That you never bring up incest again. It makes me feel … uncomfortable.”

  “Fine,” Zander conceded. “Can I still lift my shirt to wow the waiter?”

  “Go nuts.”

  Three

  “This place has the best clam chowder in the world,” Zander said, dipping his spoon into the thick white soup as he brandished a warm roll in Harper’s face. “Why aren’t you eating your lunch?”

  Harper was lost in thought, her mind on the afternoon’s ghost hunt instead of Zander’s wild food proclamations. Ever since she was seven years old and her grandfather visited her after his death, the willowy blonde knew she was different. She screamed to the high heavens that her grandfather visited her that night – but no one believed her. They thought she was a sad little girl making up stories.

  When she was in middle school and the lunch lady’s ghost told her that her body was behind the Dumpster in the parking lot, everyone said Harper made a lucky guess but thanked her for helping put Darlene to rest before her body was covered with snow and possibly lost until spring.

  When she was in high school and Tori Owens came to her after drinking too much beer at a keg party and Harper led police – and Tori’s distraught parents – to the spot where panicked classmates dumped the teenager’s body so they wo
uldn’t get into trouble people started to look at her in a different way … and it wasn’t a friendly one.

  It wasn’t until her senior year that Whisper Cove lived up to its gossipy name, though. That was when a St. Clair County woman’s ghost begged Harper for help and led her to the site of a car wreck – where her three-year-old daughter was still alive – that people started to realize that Harper Harlow was not a normal girl. She was … special.

  The big cable channels aired the story – and begged for interviews – but Harper declined every request. She wasn’t looking for accolades. No, what she wanted was answers. They never came.

  She had no idea how she sent spirits on their merry way. She simply knew that’s what happened when she stomped her foot on the dreamcatcher and the bright light engulfed her. In that split second of illumination, she was caught between two worlds and she could see hints of movement from beyond before returning to Earth. She never saw faces, but she did immerse herself in the warm feelings. The money was nice, but it was the emotion of the other place that helped fuel her.

  “Harper, what are you thinking about?” Zander asked, exasperated.

  Harper forced her attention to her best friend. “I … um … what were we talking about?”

  “I was going on and on about how great the soup was – and how hot the waiter is – and you were lost in another world,” Zander said. “That’s it, isn’t it? You were thinking about that other world you see whenever you release a ghost, weren’t you?”

  “I can’t help it,” Harper admitted. “It’s always such a … great … feeling. It takes me a few hours to come down. You know that.”

  Zander smiled fondly at her. “I do know that. Still … we’re here to talk about me. Do you think I should ask the waiter out?”

  Harper glanced over her shoulder, studying the waiter in question for a moment. Donahue’s Pub was Zander’s current favorite place to eat thanks to the recent staff addition. He was young, buff, and openly flirtatious whenever Zander and Harlow visited. As much as she liked the soup, Harper was starting to yearn for more variety when it came to their lunchtime food choices.