by Lori Drake
Leaving the dregs of my coffee behind, I walked over and squatted down to lay a hand on the dog. She quieted but half-whined and half-growled as she looked out the window.
“Do you see them, girl?”
She tipped her furry head back and looked up at me, one ear flopped forward while the other stood at attention. Dogs could be spirit-sensitive, if rarely. Harper, my mentor, had nearly a dozen Chihuahuas, but only one of them was spirit-sensitive.
“Leave it to me to stumble across a needle in a haystack.”
Sadie put her small paws on my chest and strained to lick my chin. I leaned away, unbalancing myself, but managed not to fall on my ass. Sadie barked again, then sat and scratched behind her head. I glanced out the door, but the spirits still lingered at a distance. The way they stood out there staring at the house gave me the creeps—and I dealt with ghosts all the time. I didn’t spook easily.
My mind went back to Sadie’s dead owner, the curious spirit who’d reached out and touched me—literally—before I’d revealed myself to her. Did the two oversized garden gnomes out there somehow know there was a medium in the house? If so, why didn’t they come inside to talk? If not, why were they hanging out on the lawn?
Sadie barked again, and I shook off the thoughts in favor of scooping her up, damp fur and all. If the ghosts weren’t looking to talk to me, I wasn’t going to go out in the rain and seek them out. Especially not when I had shit to do.
“Let’s go see if Lucy’s awake and will keep an eye on you while I run a few errands, shall we?”
The pup barked again and squirmed in my arms, trying to lick my face. I might have smiled, but I’ll never admit it.
A few hours later, I was on a ladder with a screwdriver handle between my teeth, studying a printed diagram that’d come with the new ceiling fans and comparing it to the wires bristling from the hole in the ceiling that the previous light fixture had covered up. I wasn’t quite ready to admit I was in over my head, but I wasn’t disappointed when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I set the directions down atop the ladder and anchored them with the screwdriver, then fished out my phone. I gave it no more than a cursory glance. Right about then, I would’ve happily chatted with a telemarketer, but it was a known party.
“Hey, Sam, what’s up?”
“Hey. Are you busy?” Sam asked in his usual brusque manner. Sam was Chris’s older brother. The oldest of Chris’s brothers, actually. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but I’d seen pictures of him with a toddler-aged Chris, and Sam didn’t look a day older thanks to werewolf genetics.
I glanced up at my home improvement project. “Not in the slightest.”
“I’ve got a case I’d like for you to consult on.”
“What kind of case?” I asked, surprised he’d be working a case so soon after his mother’s death. Then again, everyone deals with grief in their own way. Maybe it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise.
“The kind that could use your particular expertise,” Sam said, carefully.
I steadied myself with one hand as I descended the ladder. “Say no more. When and where?”
“My office, one hour?”
“Okay. Wait. Where’s your office?”
“Right, sorry. Are you coming from Chris’s place?”
A chuckle escaped me as I stepped into the hall and closed the door, the better to keep curious pups from getting into things they shouldn’t. I’d already pulled Sadie out of a plastic bag once and was certain she’d asphyxiate herself if given the opportunity. “Text me the address, old man. I’ll find it.”
Sam grunted. “All right. See you in an hour.”
It didn’t take me long to change out of my work clothes and make sure Sadie was being supervised. I found her with Adam in the living room. The nerdy werewolf was parked on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table while he worked the game controller in his hands.
I stopped in my tracks and stared at the television. “Is that the new Viral Outbreak?”
Adam didn’t take his eyes from the screen, working a thumb stick with one hand and tapping buttons with the other. “Yup.”
“The one that doesn’t come out until next week?”
Adam grinned. “Yup.”
“How’d you— Shit, I don’t want to know. Can I play with you later?”
“You might have to fight Lucy over the other controller.”
“Ha! I’ll just throw Sadie at her. She’ll be distracted for hours.”
Adam laughed and paused the game, grabbing a handful of corn chips from a bowl beside him. The dog in question watched intently from the end of the couch in that way dogs do, following the food on its path from hand to mouth. Adam tossed her a corn chip, and she snatched it from the air and crunched happily.
I groaned. “Oh God, don’t feed her that crap. If she gets the runs, you’re going to be the one getting up every five minutes to let her out.”
“She’ll be fine. You going into town?” He nodded in the direction of the helmet under my arm.
“Yeah, do you mind keeping an eye on Sadie?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “She’s a dog, not a toddler.”
“Be that as it may, I dunno how old she is or how well trained she is. Speaking of which, do you know anyone who wants a dog?”
He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Besides my sister?”
“Ideally, yes.”
“Not off the top of my head, but I’ll ask around at work tomorrow.” Adam wiped his fingers on his jeans and picked up the controller again.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
I headed outside and paused on the porch to put my helmet on and zip up my jacket. I was halfway down the front steps when I noticed I wasn’t alone.
The two ghosts from earlier that morning were still lurking out there, and they’d doubled in number.
4
This time, at least, the ghosts weren’t staring at the house. Instead, they were milling about aimlessly on the lawn. I had neither the time nor the inclination to investigate. Sam was expecting me, and I was weirded out not only by their sudden presence but also by the fact that they seemed to be multiplying like bunnies. I climbed on my bike and took off, glancing back only once to see them right where I’d left them. They weren’t following me. That was a comfort.
Sam’s office turned out to be in one of the older buildings downtown, right on the edge of Chinatown. If you’re surprised that Seattle has a Chinatown, then you’ve obviously never been to Seattle. Roughly one-third of the population is non-Caucasian, and nearly half of that group is Asian. Chinatown is a hoot. I’ve spent entire days there, just wandering around, taking in the sights, visiting historical spots, and sampling the amazing food. Even outside of Chinatown, Seattle is peppered with teriyaki joints, and if you’ve never had good teriyaki, you’re really missing out.
Heavenly aromas taunted me as I passed not one, not two, but three restaurants on the walk from where I’d parked to Sam’s building. It was lunchtime, and the sidewalk traffic was thick with locals as well as tourists sheltering under umbrellas or darting from beneath one awning to another. The bagel I’d shared with Sadie five hours ago was long since gone. I wondered if I’d be able to talk Sam into making this a lunch meeting.
I took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Despite being an older building, the interior lacked anything in the way of character, and it was the sort of place where it’d be easy to get lost in all the identical hallways if not for the wall signs pointing the way. Hospitals are like that, too. But unlike every hospital I’d had occasion to visit in the last three-plus years, I didn’t encounter any ghosts roaming these halls. I paused outside Sam’s door. The placard on the wall said, “512 - Samuel Grant, P.I.” It was his place of business, and therefore I didn’t need to knock, right? Plus, I had an appointment. I opened the heavy wooden door and poked my head inside.
The door opened into an empty reception area. There wasn’t even a desk for a receptionist to keep
up pretenses, just a couple of chairs against one wall, a coffee table with a few magazines scattered across its surface, and a water cooler with those annoying cone-shaped paper cups.
Sam’s voice drifted out an open office door. “Come on in, Dean.”
I joined him in his office. It was like stepping into another world. I blinked and looked around slowly, taking in the big metal desk, filing cabinets, and giant corkboard littered with pinned details of some case or another. “You’ve read too many dime store detective novels, amigo.”
Sam, a clean-shaven guy with close-cropped dark red hair and arms that made me wish I worked out more, took his feet down off the desk, his metal chair creaking as he sat up straight and smirked at me. “Joey’s already called dibs on getting me a fedora for Christmas.”
I grinned and dropped into the chair across the sturdy metal desk. “So, what’s the job? Please tell me a leggy dame walked in with bad news written all over her.”
“Smartass.” He rolled his green eyes and leaned his elbows on the desk. His tone and manner were serious, but then again, whatever had made him take a case so soon after his mother’s death would need to be serious. “But you’re not completely wrong. My client is a woman in trouble.”
He couldn’t have cooled off my good humor faster with a bucket of ice water. “What kind of trouble?”
“She believes she’s being stalked.”
It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “By a ghost?”
“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me. She’s described a feeling of being watched when no one else is around, things moving around her home, waking up in the morning to find the curtains in her room open, that kind of thing.”
“I’m assuming it’s not possible someone made a copy of her key and is sneaking into her house at night?” It was a creepy fucking thought, even in hindsight.
“Extremely unlikely. There’s a keyless deadbolt, a regular deadbolt—which she’s had rekeyed—and a chain lock.”
“Windows?”
Sam snorted. “Please. I’m not an amateur. Unless the guy is sneaking in when she’s not home and hiding in a closet or something, there’s something really strange going on.”
“Has she lost anyone recently?”
“I figured I’d leave that line of questioning to you, if you’re willing.”
I gave my stubbly jaw a thoughtful rub. The mind was good at playing tricks. But what if it wasn’t a figment of the woman’s imagination? What if she really was being haunted? Or if, God forbid, someone was hiding in her closet? I had to assume Sam had checked the place out for boogeymen—at least the living kind.
“Yeah. I’ll talk to her. But if you start cracking Winchester jokes, I’m out of here.”
Sam gave me a blank look. I felt a tickle between my shoulders a moment before a feminine snicker behind me confirmed Trish’s arrival. I had no idea where she went when she wasn’t with me, but she usually came when I asked for her and often popped in on her own for whatever reason. I didn’t look at her. Obviously, Sam knew about my ability, but I always hesitated to try and explain Trish’s presence to anyone and opted out nearly every time. Spirits only linger if they have unfinished business, and they’re always tethered to something or someone. I asked her, once, if I was her unfinished business. She’d laughed it off, but she was still here, and her body—which she should have been tethered to—was still six feet under and twelve hundred miles away.
I cleared my throat and stood. “When can I meet with her?”
“Be sure you ask him about payment,” Trish said.
I ignored her, for now. It was easier when she wasn’t throwing things.
“Are you free this afternoon?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” I said. Sam reached for his phone but stopped when I added, “Wait— I’m supposed to go look at a car with Chris. But fuck it, this is more important. I can cancel if she’s available.”
I tucked my hands in my pockets and turned away under the auspices of giving him privacy to make the call. Trish leaned against the wall by the door, thumbs hooked in the loops of her cut-off denim shorts. How long had she been there? I lifted my brows in silent question.
Trish couldn’t read my mind, but this was a familiar song and dance. She shrugged. “Long enough. You want me to tag along?”
I nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friendly spirit on my side if there was an unfriendly one hanging around Sam’s client. Trish disappeared again, but she wouldn’t wander far.
“…okay, we’ll head your way, Ms. Masterson. Thanks.” I caught the tail end of Sam’s phone conversation and turned back as he hung up. His eyes met mine. “Does right now work for you?”
“Yeah. Though, if we could grab a burger on the way that’d be great.” My stomach rumbled at the thought.
“Sure. We can discuss your fee on the way, too.”
Guilt plucked at my conscience. I could use the cash, especially with the prospect of buying a car on the horizon, but I had a lot of the Grant family’s money in my nest egg already and I could only imagine how much their matriarch’s funeral was going to set them back. “Tell you what: You buy lunch and we’re square.”
As it turned out, Sam’s client really was a leggy dame with bad news written all over her. My hand to God, she was like a living, breathing Jessica Rabbit. Okay, so she wasn’t lounging around the house in a sequined, strapless dress, but she had the long red hair and hourglass figure. It wasn’t hard to imagine how some poor sap might end up besotted.
“Detective Grant, I so appreciate you coming by.” Yeah, she had the smoky voice, too. She drew Sam into her apartment by the arm. I followed Sam across the threshold, glancing around the living room in search of any lingering spirits.
“Please, ma’am, Sam is fine. This is my associate, Dean Torres.”
At the sound of my name, my eyes snapped back to Sam’s client in time to catch her emerald eyes sweeping over me in a frank, appraising manner.
“Mr. Torres,” she said, offering a hand.
A smooth operator would’ve kissed that soft, dainty hand, but I had other things on my mind. Business first, and all that. I shook her hand and flashed her a smile. “Dean, if you please.”
“Mindi,” she said. “Mindi Masterson. I’m so glad you’ve come. Please look around, take whatever readings you need.”
“Readings?”
“You’re the ghost hunter, right?” Her guileless eyes were wide.
“What a twat,” Trish commented.
Coughing into a fist to conceal a laugh, I glanced over and found her perched on a stool at the breakfast bar.
Sam shot me an apologetic glance, then faced Mindi. “It’s not quite what you see on TV, ma’am. Let’s just have a seat and chat while he takes a look around. Then I’m sure he’ll want to ask you some questions.”
“Oh, okay.” Mindi moved off to the couch with Sam, leaving me behind to work my mojo, but her eyes sought me out again as soon as she’d settled.
What exactly had Sam told the woman about me? It didn’t matter. There weren’t any spirits in the living room, so I quietly explored the rest of the apartment with Trish shadowing me. It was small, with just one bedroom and one bathroom. What Mindi lacked in space, she made up for in furnishings. The furniture was quality stuff, and while she didn’t have a big screen TV in the living room, she did have a smaller flatscreen there and in the bedroom. I found no trace of a ghost, and I checked under the bed as well as inside the closets just to be sure there were neither living nor unliving presences concealed within.
I turned to Trish when I finished up in the bedroom. “Well, I don’t see anything.” I kept my voice low, not wanting it to carry to the next room. Sam, like all werewolves, had terrific hearing. “What about you? Do you see or sense anything that I don’t?”
Trish tilted her head, eyes unfocused like a witch reading auras. Only she’d never been a witch—as far as I knew, anyway. “No, I don’t think so. I mean… something feels off about
this place, but it could be an echo.”
“What sort of echo?”
Her eyes focused on me, and her brows drew together in thought. “I don’t know how to describe it, and I’ve only been doing this ghost thing for a few months. But when bad things happen somewhere, it leaves an echo behind.”
“So, like a silent-but-deadly of the spirit world?”
She laughed. “Yeah, sort of. It’s not a smell, but not something I can see or touch, either. It’s more like… energy, for lack of a better term.”
“Is it stronger anywhere in particular?”
“In here, I guess. But like I said, it’s not strong. I think whatever it was, it was a long time ago, and the echo just hasn’t quite faded.”
“Okay. Thanks, Trish. Guess I’d better go talk to Jessica Rabbit.”
Trish howled in laughter, and it took me a minute to wipe the smile off my face so I could face Sam’s client again.
Mindi and Sam were still sitting on the couch when I returned. They both looked at me expectantly as I settled in the armchair.
“Well?” Mindi scooted forward onto the edge of the couch, leaning over in a manner that made her ample bosom threaten to pop out of her low-cut shirt.
“Bitch, please,” Trish remarked, and I sensed more than saw her lean over and fold her arms across the top of the chair I sat in. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was being possessive. But she regularly tried to nudge me toward attractive women, despite our complicated history. Or perhaps, in part, because of it.
“There aren’t any spirits here,” I said. Trish didn’t count. She’d come with me, after all. “Not now, anyway. That doesn’t mean what’s happening isn’t a haunting, it just means the apartment is clean right now. I’d like to ask a few questions to get an idea of what’s been going on, and your history.”
“Ask away,” Mindi said. “My life is an open book. I just want this to end. It’s been so terrible.” She trembled visibly, and Sam put a comforting arm around her. She leaned against his chest and took a shuddering breath, as if gathering her courage to continue.