Not knowing what else to do, I kept the gun trained on her and called Galloway. Voice mail.

  “Argh!” I yelled, beyond frustrated. “Could you please pick up your phone? Sunny beach, but this can’t wait. I’ll call the station.” I hung up, and while my attention was on my phone, Megan charged. We went down in a pile of limbs, but one thing Megan Sullivan hadn’t anticipated was that I’m a scrappy fighter, and I don’t fight fair. Granted, she didn’t have gonads to crush my knee into, but a well-placed knee could still make a woman’s eyes water, and I used it to great effect.

  I still had the gun, and I was doing my utmost to not shoot her yet keep ahold of it because I had no doubt that she would not hesitate to shoot me should she get her hands on it. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I pulled hard. She headbutted me, and I saw stars, but despite being dazed, I kept ahold of the gun, even when I felt her fingers wrap around it and try to pry it from my hand.

  It discharged, the resulting bang loud, making my ears ring and bits of plaster rain down from the ceiling.

  “Now, look what you’ve done!” I yelled.

  She took advantage of my disorientation and jumped on my back. I swung around in a circle with her hanging off me, staggering to stay upright. She slung one arm around my throat and squeezed, cutting off my air supply. Leaning as far forward as I could manage, I suddenly flung my head backward, the back of my skull connecting with her face with a satisfying crunch. Her grip loosened, and I charged backward, slamming her into the wall.

  She fell to the floor, blood pouring from her nose, and I promptly sat on her, and that’s how Galloway found us minutes later.

  “Oh, hey.” I grinned then winced at the pressure on my bruised lip. I was having trouble seeing out of one eye and suspected I had the makings of a pretty good shiner.

  Galloway stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. His eyes did a thorough inspection of my face, and I saw the flash of concern before he turned his attention to Megan.

  “You can get off her now, Audrey.” He whipped out his handcuffs and approached.

  I was still holding the gun and gingerly held it out to him. “Take this, will you, before I accidentally shoot myself.”

  “You can give it to me if you like.” Megan grunted. “I’d happily shoot you.”

  Ignoring her, Galloway took the gun, checked the safety was on, then tucked it into his belt. He held out a hand, and I placed mine in it, allowing him to help me to my feet. Our chests touched briefly, and I heard him draw in a deep breath. “You okay?” His words were low and deep, whispered in my ear.

  “I’m fine,” I said, overly loud. The gun going off may have damaged my hearing.

  Galloway hauled Megan to her feet, spun her to face the wall, and cuffed her wrists behind her back while reading her Miranda rights. Straightening my clothes, I headed outside, passing Sergeant Addison Young and Officer Noah Walsh on the way.

  “Woah, Audrey, you’re looking a little rough,” Addison said. “Do we need to call an ambulance for you?”

  “Pft, no. These,” I pointed to my face, “are just bruises.”

  “There’s blood on your shirt,” Noah pointed out.

  “Not mine. But that reminds me.” I pivoted and was about to head back inside when Galloway led Megan out. I stepped forward, forcing them to halt. “Don’t throw rocks at animals!” I yelled so loudly she flinched. “It’s mean. And it’s animal cruelty.” I shifted my attention to Galloway, who stood there with a sappy grin on his face. “Can you add that to the charges? What?” I frowned, confused. What was so funny?

  “You’re shouting,” he said.

  “It’s because my ears are still ringing,” I shouted in reply. “The gun went off. Oh, shoot. I’m not liable for damages, am I? Cos I’m not paying to have that ceiling repaired. It’s her gun.”

  “No, you’re not liable, relax.” Galloway handed Megan off to Addison and Noah, who took her to the waiting patrol car. “I know you can’t hear yourself properly, but trust me, the rest of us can.”

  I made an effort to lower my voice. “Okay. Better?”

  “Better.” He stepped forward and tilted my face up to the light, examining my bruises. A fat lip and a black eye weren’t too bad in the whole scheme of things. “How do you feel?” he asked, thumb gently rubbing across my chin.

  “Honestly, I’m fine. The adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet. Speaking of bruises, how’s Jay?”

  “Awake. And happy to talk.”

  “And?”

  “Dropped Megan right in it. She’s behind it all.”

  “That’s what’s got me puzzled,” I admitted. “I swear I saw her buying drugs from Jay. How could that be if she’s the dealer?”

  “It was a setup. She knew you were there and needed to get you off her tail. What better way than to have you think she was buying recreational drugs? That she was the victim. More or less.”

  “And Jay went along with it?”

  “Jay was clueless. She came up with some convoluted tale that they had a bad batch, and a buyer needed refunding and that she couldn’t get back to the house—here—to deal with it, so she gave him the drugs, and he gave her the cash to give back to the so-called client.”

  “And he fell for that?”

  Galloway shrugged. “Apparently.”

  Smart girl. It worked. She’d set me up, and I’d taken the bait.

  “You think she killed Dean?”

  Before he could answer, there was a shout from the garage, and Officer Tom Collier stuck his head out. “Galloway?” he called. “Found something.”

  I tagged along. Inside the garage was Megan’s red hatch. I smacked my forehead. Of course! This was what Dean saw the night he died. A car coming down the street but turning off before my house. Because she’d driven into Mrs. Hill’s empty garage.

  “Whatcha got?” Galloway asked, snapping on his gloves.

  Tom held up a blonde wig.

  “It was her,” I said out loud. She’d worn the wig to make herself look like Leah. To frame her should anyone see her car that night. I had to give it to her. She was certainly cunning. “Is that enough to prove she killed Dean, though?”

  Galloway paused in inspecting the wig. “The wig alone? No. But the trace of blood not only on the wig but the glove box? If it’s a match for Dean Ward, then yes, most definitely, she’s going down for murder.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ignoring the two ghosts standing on my driveway, I gave my statement then returned home.

  “I can’t believe it was Megan,” Dean said, voice incredulous. “I’ve known her since she was a kid! She always seemed so sweet.”

  I snorted. “Sweet isn’t the word I’d use. From the very few interactions I’ve had with her, snarky seems to cover it.” Although that time at the hospital, when Amy had overdosed… I wondered now if Megan’s concern had been an act. Had she intentionally dosed her friend to move suspicion away from herself?

  “What happens now?” Dean asked, rubbing his hands together. Ben and I looked at each other then around my living room. Usually, at this point, a white light would appear, but not in Dean’s case. Nothing. Nothing happened, and I groaned. I wasn’t sure I could cope with another full-time ghost. Ben, I could manage because he was my best friend, and being able to see and talk to him was worth it. But Dean? For starters, I didn’t like him that much. I had no desire to have him hanging around twenty-four-seven.

  “Keep your eye out for a very bright light. If you see it, walk into it,” I instructed, heading into the bathroom to survey the damage to my face. A dark bruise was forming on my cheekbone, eye, and temple, and my bottom lip was fat and turning purple. But it hadn’t split, and there was no blood. Grabbing a clean washcloth, I ran it under the faucet and pressed it to my bruised skin then returned to the living room where I flopped onto the sofa, keeping the washcloth pressed to my face.

  “Is that it?” Dean wailed. “Keep an eye out? Some PI you are.”

  “Hey,” Ben snapped. “She solved your murder.”

  “Accidentally,” I said. I’d still been gunning for Leah when I’d stumbled onto Megan and her diabolical plan.

  “How did Megan know I was on to her when I wasn’t actually on to her?” Dean asked.

  “Excellent question. I’ve no idea.”

  “Wait,” Ben said, tapping his chin. “You said you decided to hire Audrey after finding that empty bag and the phone number on the napkin, right?”

  “Well, yeah, kind of. I rang the number first, and when the person answered but didn’t speak, that sort of confirmed for me that something was going on.”

  Ben and I looked at each other.

  “It was Megan who answered the phone,” Ben said.

  I nodded, snapping my fingers. “I bet she recognized your voice, Dean. After all, you and her dad would have talked a lot over the years. She’s heard you on the phone before.”

  “Right.”

  “That’s when she ditched the phone,” Ben said.

  “Yeah, but why ditch it in her own bin? That’s crazy.” Dean rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, deep in thought.

  “Not if you’re trying to frame someone else. Think about it.” I held up my hand to tick off on my fingers. “Eric's cufflinks found under your bed, yet he’d never set foot in your apartment. A blonde driving Megan’s car—which we later discover is a wig. Of course, she’d dump the phone in her own bin. She wanted it to look like Leah had dumped the phone.”

  “She clearly knew about the affair between her dad and Leah.” Ben crossed his arms and leaned back in the armchair he was currently hovering over.

  “And decided she’d make Leah pay for it.” Dean sighed, looking sad.

  Just then, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled, and a feeling of doom slid over me. Through the wall, the three dark spirits appeared. I bolted upright, hand to my chest. Dean was right. They certainly seemed to be following him around.

  Jumping to my feet, I held out my hand in a stop motion and demanded, “Who are you? What do you want? Don’t you know it’s rude to just walk through someone’s wall?”

  The spirits stopped and slowly turned my way, black mist rolling off them to creep across the floor. I swallowed, my brief moment of bravery rapidly disappearing. To my utter astonishment, the spirits began to take form. The black dissipated to reveal three middle-aged men dressed as 1920s gangsters, complete with tank tops and suspenders, bowler hats, and cigar stubs. All of them struck a resemblance to Al Capone.

  “Hi, doll,” one of them spoke, stepping forward while I took a corresponding step back, only to bump into the sofa and fall on my butt on the cushions. “She can see us, boys!”

  “So, what’s your beef?” Another stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, which would have been more effective if you could actually hear the cracking of said knuckles.

  “Beef?” I gulped.

  “Yeah, you know, problem? Yeah, what’s your problem, doll?”

  The first man took off his hat and slapped his companion with it. “She already told you, you sap. She don’t like you walking through her walls, see? It’s im-po-lite.” He turned to me and offered a bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Tommy. This here is Bruno.” He indicated the knuckle-cracking ghost. “And he’s Arnold.” He jerked a thumb at the third ghost. They all looked so similar with their slicked-back hair and smoothly-shaven faces.

  “Right.” I nodded.

  “And you are?”

  “Audrey Fitzgerald, Private Investigator.” I pushed to my feet, feeling at a distinct disadvantage having Tommy tower over me.

  “She’s a dick?” Arnold hooted.

  “Well, that’s just swell.” Tommy cocked his hat, giving him a rakish look. “At least you’re not the fuzz; you’re just a gumshoe.”

  I had no idea what he was saying. If I’d known they were coming, I’d have brushed up on my 1920s slang.

  Ben finally spoke up. “I think they’re saying that at least you’re not with the police. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

  Bruno eyed him up and down, bumping his fist into the open palm of his other hand in a definite threat.

  Tommy jerked his head, and Bruno grumbled beneath his breath but stopped the threatening behavior.

  “You’re a good-looking broad,” Tommy said. “But we don’t want no trouble, see.”

  “Neither do I,” I assured him. “Are you looking for help to cross over?”

  All three men looked at me, then each other, and burst out laughing.

  “What a gal,” Arnold chortled with great mirth. “Why would we want that? After we popped the big one, we were free. Why change that?”

  I shrugged. Partly because I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he’d said, but I figured it was along the lines of their deaths gave them great freedom, and they didn’t see any point in crossing over or moving on. That was my interpretation anyway.

  “Once we saw them take away the skirt in bracelets, we figured we’d find our grifter here.”

  “You’re here for Dean?” Ben asked, indicating the pale-faced ghost currently standing behind Ben as if he could protect him.

  “Fellow bootlegger. Figure it’s time we brought in some new blood.”

  Dean blinked. “You want me to join your… gang?”

  “He’s finally using his noodle,” Bruno grunted, while Tommy nodded, half his mouth curling in a grin. “Whaddaya say? Ready to blow this joint?”

  Before Dean could answer, Tommy turned his attention to me. “Apologies, doll, for walking through ya wall. We’ll be leaving ya in peace. You coming?” As quickly as his attention had been on me, it turned to Dean.

  “Well?” I prompted. “You going?” Please say yes, please say yes.

  “It depends. Where are we going?”

  “Chicago!” Tommy declared, rubbing his hands together. “There’s a grifter there I’ve had me eye on, great-grandson of a doll I used to know. Ah, Daisy, but she was a bearcat.”

  “Chicago?” Dean repeated. “Sounds good. Count me in.”

  Ben and I watched with our mouths hanging open as the four ghosts evaporated into a dark mist and disappeared through the wall.

  “Well. That was…” Ben began.

  “Unexpected?” I filled in for him. I’d thought the spirits were malicious, but it turned out they were relatively harmless gangsters. Although I doubted they’d appreciate being thought of as harmless.

  “What’s next?” Ben asked.

  “Dinner at my folks’ house.”

  “We’re going to need a bigger dining room,” Dad joked, watching his grandchildren, Isabelle, Madeline, and Nathaniel, as they sat on a picnic rug in the adjacent living room, shoving mac ‘n cheese into their mouths. Grace was asleep in her stroller, and I joined Laura and Mom, who were peering in at her, totally smitten. And who could blame them? She was adorable.

  “I can’t believe you’re out of the hospital already,” I said to Laura. To be honest, I couldn’t believe she was upright and walking around. There had been so much blood. And pain. A shudder rippled through me.

  “They don’t keep you in long these days, especially if it’s not your first,” Laura explained. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” I smiled then winced at the pressure on my lip.

  “I don’t mean your face. That’ll heal. I mean, how are you holding up after witnessing the birth of your niece?”

  “Other than the PTSD? I’m fine,” I teased. And I was. Sort of. I still wasn’t sure I wanted kids, but Galloway made a valid point. I didn’t need to decide right now. There was time.

  “Audrey? Please, come sit,” Amanda called, and I turned to see her standing next to a chair in the dining room, a cold pack in her hand. “Let me put this on that eye. It’ll help with the swelling.”

  “Okaaaay.” I looked from Laura to Amanda and back again. “This is weird, right? She’s being weird?” I said under my breath.

  “She’s definitely being weird,” Laura agreed. “Normally, she’d be chastising you for using your face to block Megan’s punches. But not a peep out of her.”

  “It’s the bet. I won the bet.” I nodded.

  “Good to see she’s keeping up her end of the bargain.” Although Laura’s eyes had narrowed as we both eyeballed our sister-in-law.

  “Let’s see how long it lasts, huh?” I grinned then did Amanda’s bidding, making myself comfortable on the dining chair while she handed me the cold pack. It did, indeed, feel divine against my aching cheekbone and eye socket. Maybe, just maybe, Amanda and I had turned a corner in our relationship, and she’d finally quit trying to fix me. I guess time would tell.

  “I have something else for you,” Amanda said, disappearing into the kitchen only to return moments later, carrying a tray laden with a selection of food.

  She set it down in front of me, and the aroma of coffee wafted in the air. I leaned forward and inhaled, my aching face forgotten.

  “Amanda’s been baking all afternoon,” Mom said proudly. “Go ahead, Amanda, tell Audrey what they are.”

  Amanda pointed. “Here you have café mocha cookies, espresso chocolate chunk brownies, coffee cake muffins, coffee roasted sweet potato fries, and finally, coffee rubbed steak.”

  I blinked. “Wow. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “You won the bet fair and square.” She chewed her lip, unable to resist a final parting shot. “Just… limit the consumption of these. Please? You’ll be bouncing off the walls if you eat all that at once, and honestly, I don’t think your face can take anymore.”

  “Relax, Amanda. I wouldn’t dream of it. Here. Have a café mocha cookie.” I held out the plate of cookies, and Amanda took one, nibbling at it with her even white teeth. I turned my attention back to the tray laden with coffee-flavored food. Finally, after dreaming of such delights all week, my dreams had turned into reality.

  “Come on, everyone, help me out here. Amanda is actually right. If I eat all of this myself, I’ll be tweaking until next week. Dig in.”

  “Wait,” Dustin said. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just say Amanda was right?”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14