The Cathville Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 2)
Page 18
I clear my throat, but it doesn’t get rid of the lump that’s growing with his every word. I’ll never make it to Las Trebol at this rate. “It does and always will matter, whatever you do. I want you to be happy.”
“I want the same for you, and I’ll always be there if you need me. You’re right though. I want to settle down, have a family, grow old with someone. I figure that life would just about kill you.”
“We all have our true calling,” I say, fighting back tears that refuse my efforts.
“I know that’s true right now, but will it always be the case? Will there ever come a time when loving someone is the truth that you’re really seeking?”
I feel sucker punched in the gut. “Love’s complicated,” I whisper, as Levi wraps his arms around me. For a few seconds, I feel better than I can remember feeling in a long time.
The next day, we finish the trip home with me driving and Levi sleeping most of the way. I don’t ask what kept him awake last night because I figure it’s the same reason I didn’t sleep much myself.
Cyber security. What is that anyway? Oh, crap, computer hacking.
I drop Levi at home, and he holds me as long as we both can stand without feeling too foolish. I drive the six miles that separate us, which feels like a million miles now.
It’s dark out when I open my front door and dump my things in the hallway. Mojo demands that his bowls be filled and leaves them untouched as he goes to his bed and stretches out. The house smells unusually clean and I feel dizzy. I attribute it to the fading smell of pork and bug spray, and the rose geranium essential oil that I’ll probably never be able to use again.
I’m headed to the shower when my phone rings. For a second, I hope it’s Levi, then I hope it’s not. It isn’t and I cringe seeing who it is.
“Hello, Detective Clayton Acker.”
“Hello, Jack Raven. You’ve been avoiding me.”
I have. It’s his third call and maybe the last one he planned on making. An hour goes by before we finish catching up on all the things we’ve been doing since I left Roxbury, Texas.
I met the man on my last job, knew him for a few days, and have talked to him only a couple of times since, but it’s like we’ve known each other forever and one or more lifetimes.
“So I finally got my vacation scheduled,” he says. “Next month. Is that invitation to show me green aliens in Roswell still stand?”
“You were serious about that?”
“I’m open to suggestions if you have any, just so long as it isn’t Texas. And you’re there with me.”
“Let me think about it. I think we can do better than Roswell and Texas put together.”
At this point, we’re just getting silly and stupid and embarrassing the both of us. I promise I’ll get back to him in a couple of days, and that I won’t ignore his calls unless I’m down in some basement with a ghost. Like I said, silly and stupid.
The next morning, Mojo and me head to the mountains for a hike with the cool desert winds blowing. I’m taking the day off before getting to work on my website. I’m updating my ecto-mist eradicator services and uploading photos to prove my expertise. Then I’m searching for a fun and semi-romantic place to hang out with a Texan detective.
My throat is dry from the hike. We come around the corner to see a black sedan with tinted windows parked in front of the house. At first, I think it’s a coroner’s vehicle. Two large men wearing black suits and mirrored sunglasses step out and stare me down. Roswell, the aliens, the men in black?
“Jack Raven,” the driver says. It isn’t a question.
“That’s me. Who are you two?”
“FBI ma’am.” He gives me both their names and his card. The other man is still standing on the passenger side of the vehicle, looking suspicious and way too unfriendly. I’m fumbling with the card wondering if this is about me or Levi, or heaven help us all, Maybelle again.
“If you don’t mind, we’d like to come inside and talk to you about Neal Franklin. He gave you the name Anna. You do tarot card readings.” It’s still not a question. These people are scary good.
“I do, and I had a client who gave me the name Anna. She was a no-show for her online appointment. Other than that, I don’t know her and haven’t heard from her since.”
“Not her, Ms. Raven, and you won’t be hearing from Mr. Franklin again. The man was murdered. Can we come inside for a few minutes?”
I let them in because what choice do I have? It turns out they only want to take my computer so they can analyze the data. They have an official looking document that proves it’s theirs to take, for a couple of days anyway. I don’t have anything to hide and figure they already know everything about me. Fifteen minutes later, I watch them drive away as the driver watches me in his rearview mirror.
“Our client was murdered,” I tell the wolfdog. “Sad. Sounds like he needed more than a tarot card reading. Didn’t he know I’d figure out he wasn’t a woman once we were on Skype? Oh, right, maybe not.” Mojo isn’t interested.
I’m carrying a week’s worth of Arkansas muck covered clothes to the washer when that unusually clean smell hits me again. What is that smell?
I walk around sniffing until it dawns on me that it’s window cleaner. I feel weak in the knees and a little dizzy as I remember my cleaning instructions before we left for Cathville. I drop the mucky clothes on the floor and look around as a Windex breeze brushes my face.
“Hello, Neal Franklin. What can I do for you? Anna?”
The End
∞
Book 3 in A Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Series
The Shem Bay Haunting
For her next job, Jack leaves Neil Franklin to his house cleaning and heads to Shem Bay, Oregon.
She was still in high spirits after spending a week in the Colorado Rocky Mountains with Clayton Acker, when she got the call from Dr. Douglas Pratt.
Following the recent death of his wife, Dr. Pratt and his daughter, Mackenzie, moved into a house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Soon after settling into their new home, Mackenzie claims she sees a shadow man in the house.
Ever since their move, Dr. Pratt, a successful orthopedic surgeon, has been slipping into a dark depression that is jeopardizing his sanity as well as his busy medical practice.
Struggling to cope with the loss of his wife and his increasing gloom, Pratt can’t deal with Mackenzie’s ridiculous stories of a ghost. Convinced she needs to be taught a lesson, he has her admitted to the psychiatric ward of the hospital where he practices.
While Mackenzie’s away, the ghost of an old man appears in Dr. Pratt’s bedroom and tries to kill him. Pratt thinks he’s finally lost his mind completely until he reviews his home surveillance camera and sees the apparition, and something far worse.
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About the Author
Animal lover, yoga doer, vegetable eater, Chardonnay drinker, and resident of the Twilight Zone. Possibly extraterrestrial. I grew up in Southern California and now live in the Pacific Northwest where I write spooky fiction with humor, mystery, drama, and sometimes horror in a world gone mad.
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