1532750838

by Lotta Smith

  “I apologize for what happened. I can completely understand you’re upset. After all, I jeopardized your life and everything.” Trying my best not to look at him, I mumbled, “You know, I have no intention of filing a complaint, even if you fired me immediately. I’m still in my probation period, and as you know, it looks like I’m kind of the Grim Reaper, so....”

  “Mandy.” He pulled me close and looked me directly in the eyes. “We have a serious misunderstanding. You know what? Today was the most exciting day since I joined the Feds. It was fun.”

  My jaw dropped. He just said it was fun, and we were not talking about a Disney vacation. I was talking about a near-death experience, for Christ’s sake!

  “What’s wrong with you?” I managed to ask. “Obviously, we interpret the word fun quite differently, don’t we?”

  “We’re all different in our own ways,” he continued, chuckling. “Okay, so at first, I was a little bit disappointed at your attempt to take safer options. Still, you made it totally hilarious. Who could have guessed you’d drop the monster water bear container on the floor and smash it?”

  “That was an accident!” I protested.

  “Whatever.” He shrugged.

  “By the way, Rick, I’m naked.”

  “I can see that, and I like you more when you’re naked.” He grinned like a cat licking cream. “Don’t worry, we’re not leaving here naked. Along with my clothes, yours will be delivered by the USCAB backup team.”

  “Speaking of backup, they could come at any time, and I can’t meet them the way I’m… not dressed. Can’t I at least wrap the curtain around me?” I insisted.

  “Oookay. You’re stubborn.” He stood, ambled toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, and ripped down the curtain. “Here you are.” He put the curtain on my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” I said, wrapping it around me. “Hey, Rick! What are you doing?” I gasped.

  Starting at the other end of the curtain, he wrapped himself until our bodies were fastened a la one package.

  “I’m thinking about a hundred ways you’ll compensate for the brunch matinee tickets.” One arm across my shoulders, he flashed his perfect set of pearly whites.

  As soon as he touched my skin, I felt an electrical jolt running all over my body.

  Sitting side by side, only separated by a thin silk curtain, I felt totally out of place. In an attempt to distract myself from the awkwardness, I said, “By the way, Rick, why didn’t Beth provide the sample before her sister had gone too far?”

  “What sample?”

  “The sample you told her about,” I said, pointing at the unconscious killer.

  “Oh, that part? I made that up,” he admitted nonchalantly. “Considering how it turned out, I was right.”

  I was positive his investigative method was completely against protocol, but I was already getting used to it. Call me insane, but I was even beginning to like working with him. At least it wasn’t depressing.

  Still, something was bugging me. “By the way, can we rule out Beth’s involvement in this craziness?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “They are from a family with a moderate fortune, and the sisters happen to be the only heirs. Maybe Beth was fully aware of her sister’s little scheme and deliberately manipulated Ruth into taking action. Anyway, I’ll think about how to make her pay, but right now, I want to focus on how you’re going to pay me.”

  “What about this for starters?” Cupping his face in my hands, I kissed him.

  “Mmm….” He kissed me back, and that time, it wasn’t just a quick peck on the lips. It was a deep, hot, ‘stop talkin’ and just kiss me’ kind of kiss.

  One hand reached for my waist, the other holding one of my breasts. His lips were moving to the south.

  “Hey, we can’t have sex here,” I stated, as he kissed my lower neck.

  “I know.” Between kisses, he said, “Don’t forget you still owe me a lot.”

  And we kissed again and again and again.

  When USCAB backup finally arrived and I got dressed, I realized I had to come up with a good explanation to tell my folks before I went home. A polyester skirt and blouse didn’t grow into a pink Nanette Lepore dress, and my neck was covered with kiss marks.

  EPILOGUE

  On Monday, just two days after the near-death experience at Ruth MacMahon’s condo, I was summoned to Hernandez’s office.

  “So, Ms. Meyer, it was not only Rick Rowling but both of you who torched 966 Park Avenue Tower, am I correct?” he asked, sporting deep worried frown lines. As he spoke, his bushy eyebrows twitched like a pair of hairy caterpillars.

  “I’m afraid so,” I admitted, and then added, “Fortunately, it was only the suspect’s unit that got major damages. The rest of the building survived, though damaged with smoke and fire extinguisher. Good thing the kitchen was made of highly fire-resistant materials. Anyway, no one got hurt, which was great.”

  I tried to maintain lightheartedness in my voice. I even tried to chuckle, but in front of me, the assistant director in charge’s frown lines grew deeper than the ocean. “Ms. Meyer, I was holding high expectations for you.”

  “I apologize for my incapability to control damage,” I mumbled in apology.

  I had a bad feeling about this meeting. When you’re just an assistant and not a high-profile stakeholder, you don’t get summoned by the head of the bureau so often, do you? I blanched, recalling the dreadful memory of spattering the deadly colony of tardigrades, instead of containing them. I was positive that Hernandez knew how I’d screwed up. As the head of New York’s field office, he should have people who report to him directly about his subordinates’ faux-pas and misconduct. Perhaps I was extra-antsy because I was called in just a moment before I headed to lunch. I tend to get nervous when I’m hungry. Anyway, I braced myself for the worst-case scenario, such as getting fired.

  “Oh, no. You don’t need to apologize.” He chuckled. “Actually, you did a great job. Thanks to having the entire building evacuated, our agents were able to spot and capture a guy on Cyber’s Most Wanted list. He’s a big player of a racketeering enterprise and other schemes. Though this topic hasn’t hit the news, the Department of State is indebted to us.” When I looked at him, he was grinning ear to ear.

  I didn’t know the right words to say, so I smiled politely. To my astonishment, it seemed like the NYPD and DA were maintaining the case. I had no idea how and where they would put the monster tardigrades in the trial, but Hernandez didn’t seem to care about the issue.

  “Now that we’ve saved them the trouble of rewarding three million dollars to some civilian whoever might or might not have helped us find the guy. They owe us big time. Great job, Ms. Meyer.”

  At first, I didn’t know how to react to this news, but it soon dawned on me that three million dollars was a lot of money. I would be very happy if I saved three million. Not that I had such money. To tell the truth, I would be deliriously happy if I could offset my 300K of student loan.

  “Isn’t that great?” I said casually, “Sir, may I ask for 10 percent of that money as a bonus?”

  “Hahaha! That’s funny.” He laughed drily, but his eyes were not smiling. “Was that intended to be the joke of the year? Or are you seriously asking for a bonus after jeopardizing the entire city of annihilation?”

  “Well, I was just saying.”

  Just like the first day, he wished me good luck and I was released.

  When I came out of his office, Rick Rowling was standing outside the door. “Hey. That took long.”

  I shrugged. “He was deliriously happy. I still have my job.” Then I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, yeah?” One corner of his lips quirked into a smile. “Let’s go for lunch. I’m famished.”

  * * *

  After eating at a nice Italian place in Tribeca, we were taking a stroll through Pier 26.

  It was one of the most beautiful autumn days in the city. Sunny, warm and nice, with a cool breeze coming off t
he Hudson River. People were walking, jogging, and kayaking. Everyone seemed happy in their own way—except one.

  He was dressed in a revealing outfit of neon green and hot pink, like a female dancer at Brazilian samba carnivals. With his big hair, boa headdress and high heels, his outfit screamed ‘FESTIVE’—literally, as he wore a huge necklace that spelled the exact word. Still, ‘festive’ was the least appropriate word to describe his mood. He was crying with his hair messed up, mascara running down his face, and a huge laceration on the side out of his abdomen.

  “Oh, my God….” I instinctively clutched Rowling’s arm.

  “What? Don’t tell me you’re finally aroused enough to get it on with me. First of all, having sex in front of spectators at a public place is a big no-no. Secondly, you should have slept with me on Saturday when you had a chance to—”

  “Rick, it’s not a time to be a smartass!” I hissed. “Can’t you see there’s an assault victim in front of us?”

  “What are you talking about? Where’s the victim?” He furrowed his brow.

  “Come on! Can’t you see the drag queen over there? Just because you’re a New Yorker doesn’t entitle you to be totally indifferent to someone suffering! He’s about five-foot-ten, wearing a samba dancer costume with a ‘FESTIVE’ necklace around his neck. And he’s….” As I explained, I realized no one else seemed to have noticed the victim.

  “Mandy, are you sure you’re not joking?” When Rowling stopped, my eyes met with those of the drag queen’s. Before I had a chance to avert my gaze, he was in front of my face. Instead of walking, he floated toward me.

  “Hey, sweetheart. You can see me, right?” he demanded, reaching me with outstretched arms. When he came near me, I saw blood still oozing from the wound in his belly. And something that looked like his colon was peekabooing from the wound.

  “Eeeeek!” I shrieked. So I went to medical school, but I was never good at dealing with bodily fluid. In addition, it didn’t help that his hands passed through my body when he tried to grab my shoulders. “He’s bleeding! He’s drifting, and he’s bleeding!”

  “Actually, he doesn’t exist, at least the way we can recognize him.” Rowling shook his head, the drag queen purring at him.

  “Ooh… he’s sooo hot, isn’t he?” The drag queen winked at me.

  “Oh, my god, he just winked at me! Rick, am I hallucinating?” I slapped my forehead. “Did I go insane?”

  By that time, people were glancing at me from the distance, as if I were some sort of crazy. Okay, maybe they thought I was a head case, but at least they weren’t indifferent to me.

  “Oh, my God! I knew you could see me! You also know what I’m talking about, right? Finally, I found someone who can communicate with me! I’m soooo delighted!” Now it was the drag queen’s turn to shriek.

  I opened my mouth, my jaw dropping.

  I was shocked, dazed, and totally overwhelmed. I might not be the sharpest knife in the kitchen, but there was one thing I was sure of: I was not only seeing but talking to the ghost of a murdered drag queen.

  I grabbed Rowling’s arm in a death-grip. “Rick, now he’s saying that he’s super-happy to finally find someone who can see and communicate with him.”

  “I see. Mandy, ask him if he’s Jackson Frederick Orchard, the actor who was stabbed to death on his way back home from a Gay Pride event in June,” Rowling ordered.

  “Yes, yes, yeees!” The drag queen answered enthusiastically. Floating and bouncing, he continued. “It’s me! I was totally stabbed by this SOB on my way home that night. Can you believe it? How unacceptable! What a loser to stab such a lovely, defenseless girl! I had just landed this big role in Aladdin, and I was going to be the next shining star! They haven’t caught the guy, and I totally, definitely insist that someone must catch him.” He rambled on and on. “By the way, call me Jackie.”

  “Okay, Jackie…,” I mumbled.

  “Jackie who?” Rowling nudged me.

  “He admitted being Jackson Frederick Orchard, and he prefers to be called Jackie,” I explained.

  “I prefer to be referred to as she, not he.” Jackie made a tsk-tsk sound.

  “Ooookay. Jackie prefers to be treated as a lady.” I fought an urge to roll my eyes until they popped out of their sockets.

  Rowling’s eyebrows went north. “I didn’t know you could talk to dead people. Hey, with your skill, we can solve more and more cases with much ease, and we can interview murder victims to dig up even more. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “Because I’ve never communicated with a dead person before.” I sighed, having a seriously hard time keeping up with my new ability.

  Last month, people started dying moments after my touch, and now I’m communicating with a dead person. Maybe next month, I’ll be able to summon Martians.

  I didn’t know where my life was heading and, to be honest, I didn’t want to know.

  Jackie, on the other hand, was hovering around Rowling, showering my boss with kisses.

  Rowling shuddered visibly. “Why do I feel cold and eerie?”

  “Perhaps that has something to do with Jackie the ghost drag queen kissing all over you,” I pointed out.

  “What?” Rowling swung his hands as if attempting to whack pestering bugs. “Hey, Jackie, don’t ever try to molest me! I know a hotshot exorcist, and I can always cast you out of this world. Did you hear that?” he threatened, pointing at an empty space in the air.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m scared.” Jackie shrugged. “Exorcists are like psychics, right? They’re so overrated. I tried to communicate with so-called psychics, but none of them could even see me, much less talk with me. A bunch of shmucks.”

  I made a sympathetic noise. Then I turned to Rowling. “Rick, Jackie’s upset that none of those so-called psychics were able to communicate with her.”

  “I see. 99.9 percent of them are frauds.” Rowling nodded. “Where’s Jackie?”

  “She’s here.” I gestured to the floating drag queen.

  Rowling turned in that direction. “Hi, Jackie. I’m Rick Rowling, head of Paranormal Cases Division at the FBI. This is Mandy, my assistant. I need to ask you some questions to catch your killer.”

  “Go ahead, Rick. Let’s bust this bastard!” Jackie pumped his… um, her fists. Then she turned to me. “Mandy, sugar, will you be an angel and help me communicate with Rick?” She winked.

  “Um…okay,” I agreed, but I couldn’t help recoiling, mostly because I couldn’t tear my eyes off the ghost’s exposed intestines.

  Jackie pouted. “Excuse me, Mandy? I see you cringe every time I talk to you. Why? Do you think I’m some kind of a monster? Are you discriminating against me because I’m… different?”

  “Um… I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to treat you badly. It’s just… you know, I’m not accustomed to talking to someone with her guts sticking out of the body.”

  “Oopsie.” Jackie glanced at her wound and shrugged. Stretching the pink Spandex dress to cover up, she asked, “Now, better?”

  “I guess.” I rolled my eyes. Who could have guessed Spandex was so stretchy?

  Strangely, as we talked, the ghost of a drag queen looked slightly more realistic.

  Thus began my new and wicked career….….

  About the author

  Hi! My name is Lotta Smith. I’m the author of Paranormal in Manhattan Mysteries and Kelly Kinki Mysteries. I love everything comedy, from novels, TVs, to movies. In my teenage days, I was addicted to mysteries that involves amateur sleuth duo of a hot male professor and a quirky female student—with a light touch of romance sprinkled on top. So I went to medical school, partly because I wanted to see real dead bodies, and mostly because I was determined to meet sexy professors (specializing forensic pathology, perhaps) and go a-sleuthin’.

  I got to see dead bodies and learn about the danger of petting zoos (sometimes, kids have their lips bitten off by…say, a pony!) but unfortunately, sexy professors were absolutely nonexistent.
Recently, I realized that I’m a hopeless unromantic.

  I’m hard at work writing new books.

  Books by Lotta Smith

  PI Assistant Extraordinaire Mysteries:

  Book 1: Ghostly Murder: http://amzn.to/204aWJ4

  A murder in a locked room…

  A faceless ghost…

  Throw in a cross-dressing detective-savant plus his assistant extraordinaire in this new mystery series!

  A high profile murder calls for a high profile detective.

  When the famous Sushi Czar is found dead in a room that’s locked from the inside, the evidence just doesn’t add up. Of course a killer ghost (supernatural killer) is no match for the deductive skills of Michael Archangel. The fabulous cross-dressing former FBI agent can rock a set of sky high stilettos and assemble clues like puzzle pieces, but can he actually prove a ghost committed murder?

  Only his assistant knows for sure. Former housewife and London socialite Kelly Kinki (it’s Kinki ending with an I not a Y) may someday be the Watson to Archangel’s Holmes, but for now, she’s following orders, coveting his fashion sense and learning from the master PI that there’s something truly fishy about this case.

  CHAPTER 1

  There’s a first time for everything.

  I was walking in the forest all by myself. It was a sunny day in late March, but in the shadows of tall trees, it was dark, cold, and creepy. Also, having a group of crows—a.k.a. a murder of crows—squawking over my head did nothing to calm my nerves.

  Don’t get me wrong. I was not an adventurer wannabe or a plant hunter wandering about some exotic forest in the middle of nowhere with a totally unpronounceable name, such as Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein in Africa. On the contrary, I was one of those so-called city workers. My job title was the personal assistant to a certain private investigator based in McLean, Virginia.

  I was in Arlington, the ‘good’ suburb of Washington DC. Though there was a metro station in walking distance, this part of the town was very quiet, giving it the feel of a godforsaken land. I wasn’t exaggerating. Maybe the fact that a man’s dead body was found nearby had something to do with my perception. In addition, considering he was stabbed to death, this neighborhood might not be such a good area. Oh, did I mention there was some wacko serial rapist still running loose in the neighborhood? As a woman with no expertise in martial arts, I had a gazillion reasons to be spooked.