Here ghost nothing, p.3
Here Ghost Nothing, page 3
“Right.” Flinging open the rear door, I retrieved my shopping bags, cast a final look at the glow-in-the-dark spaceship ceiling stickers, and tumbled out of the car.
“Want a hand, Miss Audrey?” Wilson asked, dangling one arm out the open window, his nicotine-stained fingers drumming the paintwork as he watched me wrestle the five bags into submission.
“No thanks, I’ve got it,” I puffed, clutching three bags in one hand, two in the other.
Wilson’s phone dinged. “Gotta roll. Thanks for driving Uber today, Miss Audrey.” He cocked his hat, hit reverse, and shot out of my driveway like a bat out of hell.
“Bye, Wilson. Bye, Bird.” By the time the words had left my lips, Wilson was nothing but a spec of taillights at the end of the street. Hefting up the bags, I struggled down the path with my heavy load of party supplies.
My fingers were on fire by the time I reached the front door, with angry red welts marring my flesh. Dropping my load on the doormat, I unlocked the door, pulled out my phone, and dialed.
“Mom, I need help.”
The party was in full swing when Ben and Dean appeared. And by full swing, I mean there were a dozen loud, giggly women sipping on champagne and playing baby shower games. The current game was where you blow up a balloon, shove it under your shirt, and then try and pop it by any means necessary. So far, they were stalled at step one, blowing up the balloon.
“I’m just stepping outside for some fresh air,” I said into Laura’s ear. “You okay here, need anything? More apple juice?”
Laura laughed at the antics of her friends and waved me away, “I’m all good, thanks, Sis.” I turned away, but her hand suddenly reached out and clamped around my wrist. “Thanks for this. You’ve done a marvelous job, and I know it can’t have been easy. You know, with your lack of coffee and all.”
I turned back and hugged her. “Mom helped.” Mom lived for this type of thing and had been thrilled when I’d called her. She’d come through my house like a tornado, throwing up decorations of blue and pink, dragging a massive bag of party game supplies with her. Turns out she’d been slowly building up a stash throughout Laura’s pregnancy for this very occasion.
Removing myself from Laura’s embrace, I caught Ben’s eye and gestured toward the back deck. He followed, although while I went through the door, Ben strolled ever so casually through the glass.
“Party’s a hit.” Ben took a seat next to me on the edge of the deck.
I scuffed a toe in the grass. “Yep. Pretty much Mom’s doing.”
“You feel bad about that?” I didn’t miss the note of surprise in his voice.
“Pft. No! I’m more than happy to take any help I can get. Plus, Mom was thrilled when I called. I get the feeling she was waiting for it.”
Ben grinned. “I think you’re right.”
“Why are you sitting around here, throwing parties of all things, when you should be out there solving my murder?” Dean joined us, his accusing tone grating on my nerves. I was starting to not like this ghost very much.
“Because I have obligations other than you,” I snapped. It wasn’t like I’d bailed on Dean’s murder investigation. I’d just paused it. Once the baby shower was over, I’d head out. I wanted to talk to Eric Sullivan. And scope out Moustache Craft Ales. I already had a hinky feeling about Dean’s girlfriend, Leah. I was curious what a little more poking would uncover.
“Why don’t you tell me something helpful for a change? What were your dealings with Arlie Roberts?”
Dean stiffened, his eyes narrowing. A sheen appeared across his top lip. Turning to Ben, I whispered, “Can ghosts sweat?”
“No.”
I pointed at the moisture beading on Dean’s pale skin. “Then why is he sweating?”
Ben stood and approached the other ghost. “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning in close to examine the perspiration in question.
“Very.” The mere mention of Arlie Roberts was enough to have Dean breaking out in an incorporeal sweat. “Come on, Dean, you may as well spill. I’m going to find out anyway. Let’s just expedite the whole process and cut to the chase. You don’t owe Arlie anything now. He can’t hurt you—you’re already dead. Unless he’s the one who did the killing?”
He crumpled like one of the deflated balloons inside. His shoulders rolled in, his arms hung limp, his lips turned down at the corners. “I did something stupid,” he whispered.
Leaning in closer, I urged him on. “What?”
His eyes met mine, and I saw the defeat in them. Despite not liking the man very much, my heart went out to him. Why was I such a sucker for puppy dog eyes?
“I haven’t produced any decent ale in months. Initially, it was one bad batch, but that was enough to set me back significantly. I was in a pinch, and Arlie was in the right place at the right time, offering me up a deal. I took it. I told you, I was desperate. But it was meant to be a one-time thing, not ongoing.”
“He loaned you cash?” Ben asked, but Dean shook his head.
“You weren’t wrong earlier. Watered down booze.”
“Why didn’t you stop then?” I asked.
“Because Arlie wouldn’t let me. I was in over my head and couldn’t get out. If I told the cops, I’d lose my license. The pub and Leah? They are my life… I was scared I’d lose them both.”
Hands on his hips, Ben barked out a harsh laugh. “You really are a moron. Dude, you’re dead. And chances are it was Arlie Roberts who plunged that knife in your back to stop you from squealing.”
“Is that why you were coming to see me? To use me to try and get you out of your underhanded deal with Arlie?” A shiver danced up my spine at the trouble Dean had brought to my door. Seemed Ben was connecting the dots too, for a flash of light burned through his visage, like his aura had flared for the briefest of moments, indicating his rage.
He grabbed Dean’s shirt in his fist and hauled him forward until they were nose to nose. “You brought your seedy problems to her door,” he spat, “and that is not acceptable.”
Dean held out his arms in a supplicating gesture. “Hey, I told you, I can’t remember why I was coming here, why I wanted to hire her.” Then his demeanor changed. The beaten, downtrodden man was replaced with the sneering, dishonorable one. “Seems to me you have the hots for your little human friend here, Delaney. What do you do when she’s not looking, hmm? Sneak a peek in the shower? A little touch while she’s sleeping?” He jerked out of Ben’s grip, his lip curled in a leer as his eyes slid over my body.
Ew. This guy really was a slimeball.
“Back off,” Ben growled, and I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “You two aren’t going to kick off again, are you?” Stupid question. Ben practically vibrated with anger, and Dean was intentionally provoking him.
Dean planted his feet and backwards-waved to Ben. “Come on, bacon. Think you can take me?”
“Bacon?” I winced at the insult while Ben shot forward and into Dean’s face.
Well, not literally, that would have been too weird, but they were inches apart when Ben said, “Want your butt kicked twice in one day? Happy to oblige.”
Here we go again. The two men went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the lawn accompanied by the sound of punches being thrown and grunts when they connected. Rolling my eyes, I decided I didn’t need to witness this and got up, ready to go back inside, when something caught my eye. Beneath the deck, crouched low, were Bandit and Thor.
“Guys?” I crouched on the lawn and peered at them. “What’s up?”
“Thor is teaching me,” Bandit replied in her chirpy voice then motioned with her paw for me to move over so she could see the fight.
“Teaching you what?” I had a sneaking suspicion I knew precisely what it was, and Thor confirmed it.
“The art of the deal,” he said.
“Deal? As in bet? As in gamble?”
“Precisely.”
“Thor. What exactly are you betting on? Are you taking advantage of Bandit’s good nature? You know she doesn’t understand these things.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay, Audrey,” Bandit assured me. “Thor is my friend. He promised he wouldn’t take my fleece!”
I narrowed my eyes and pinned Thor with a glare. “Did you threaten to fleece her, Thor?”
His nose lifted in the air. “I did no such thing. Our dealings are purely in kibble.”
Oh, good Lord. My cat was placing bets with my raccoon to win her share of kibble. I knew this diet was a bad idea. Unfortunately for Thor, the vet insisted.
“Thor, Bandit, listen up.” I snapped my fingers to get both their attention. “No more bets. No more gambling. This ends now.”
“But—” Thor protested, and I raised a finger to silence him.
“It ends now. Bandit is entitled to her own food. It’s not like you’re starving, Thor.”
“But I am! I’m wasting away, a mere shell of my former self,” he wailed.
“It’s okay, Thor, you can have my kibble,” Bandit generously offered.
I sighed. Bandit was the most generous raccoon, and her heart was in the right place. Sadly, Thor’s was in his stomach.
“That won’t be necessary, Bandit, but thank you for the offer. You will each continue to receive your own measured portion of kibble. There will be no swapping, no dealing, no stealing. Am I understood?”
There was a three-second pause before Thor begrudgingly grumbled, “Understood.”
“Understood,” Bandit repeated, though I doubted she understood at all. She loved Thor to pieces and would do anything for him, including starve herself.
Shaking my head, I grinned. “The party’s almost over. If you promise to follow the food situation rules, I’ll give you a treat from the leftovers. One treat. Each.”
Thor brightened considerably and promised with a heartfelt nod of his head. Bandit mimicked him, and I laughed, straightening to stand when I froze. Standing on the deck was Amanda. Watching me. Talking to my pets.
“It’s almost as if you can understand them.” She took a sip of champagne.
“I can. In my own way.” I watched her cautiously. Amanda was forever trying to fix me, my clumsiness, my quirkiness. But I’d noticed lately that she’d gotten really intense about it. So intense that it was driving a wedge between us, and I didn’t want that. She was my brother’s wife, and I didn’t want a rift in the family, but I also didn’t want Amanda's constant pressure, the insistence that there was something wrong with me.
“Maybe an MRI is in order.”
“What?” I blinked. Had I heard her right? She wanted my brain scanned?
The back door slid open, and Laura waddled out. “Everything okay?” Her eyes darted from me to Amanda and back again.
“Yeah, sure. Amanda was just saying she thinks I need an MRI.” I huffed, annoyed all over again.
“Really?” Laura’s eyebrows rose, and she turned to Amanda. “Why?”
“Audrey displays several unique traits, aside from her inherent clumsiness. The way she talks to her animals, for instance. I’m not sure that’s normal.”
“But you don’t have any pets, do you, Amanda?” Laura said. “So, how would you know if it's normal for someone to talk to their pets or not? These are merely your own observations from your own perspective on life. It’s hardly fair for you to judge Audrey on what you perceive to be… normal.”
I nodded in silent agreement. Laura had said it better than I ever could. Amanda cocked her head and considered what Laura had said.
“Mmm. Perhaps.” She finally conceded.
Laura turned her back to Amanda and grinned at me. “Thanks for an awesome party, Sis. I’ve had a brilliant time, but I’m going to head off. Baby number two is demanding I take a nap.”
I affectionally rubbed her belly. “What baby number two wants, baby gets.” We were in the final weeks of Laura’s pregnancy, and realistically the baby could arrive at any time. I was bursting with excitement and couldn’t wait to meet my new niece or nephew.
“I’ll stay and help clean up,” Amanda declared, following us inside where the party was wrapping up.
“Not necessary.” I tripped over the threshold and stumbled inside.
It really wasn’t. Mom was on it. She zipped around like a demon, trash bag in hand, scooping up exploded pieces of balloon, empty paper plates and cups, and making short work of it.
She glanced up at us. “Oh good, you’re here. Amanda, start carrying the presents out to the car, will you?”
“Certainly.”
“Thanks,” I mouthed to Mom while I acted the hostess and thanked everyone for coming. Within half an hour, my house was empty once more. Despite the air smelling distinctly of baby powder, you’d never know the chaos that had ensued when a bunch of women got together over a baby.
I glanced at my smartwatch—I was on the third replacement. Don’t ask. Just gone six-thirty, a perfect time to visit Firefly Bay Brewing Company and chat with Eric Sullivan.
Fancy a hot date? I texted Galloway.
Always, he shot back.
CHAPTER FIVE
What I really wanted was the sprucehead stout with chocolate and coffee undertones. Pairs well with a burger, the hipster bartender with his oiled beard told us. But a bet was a bet, and I was determined to win. No caffeine. Not even in beer. Instead, I ordered the twin-screw pale ale and a pizza. Galloway chose the same.
“So.” I took a sip of my brew and glanced around the interior of the Firefly Bay Brewing Company. It was all black steel, dark rustic wood, and a lot of plants in tins. There were two huge vats on display, and the smell of hops was in the air. While the building itself was old, it had been renovated into a very hipster, modern, and in vogue space with original stone walls. The beer tasted good too. “Did you get anything from Arlie Roberts?”
Galloway chuckled and took a mouthful of his own drink, eyeing me over the rim of the glass. “I suspect you already know, but I’ll humor you.”
My eyes rounded, and I placed my glass on the table with a thunk. “Arlie squealed?”
“Hardly.” Galloway snorted. “But a search warrant revealed over a dozen barrels of beer in his back shed.”
“Ahhh.” I nodded. “The beer he was selling to Dean to water down the brew at Moustache Craft Ales.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Mmhmm. He also said that he was in over his head and didn’t know how to get out. Do you think Arlie killed him?”
“At first glance, that seems possible but think about it. If Arlie has a lucrative deal going on with Ward, he’s not going to let that go easily.”
“But Dean wanted out. He was coming to me for help.”
Galloway was already shaking his head. “Arlie is not going to kill his cash cow. He’d have been better off killing you.” At my look of utter horror, Galloway quickly continued, “Plus, murder is not Arlie’s style. He’s more threats and extortion.”
“So, you don’t think Arlie is the killer?”
“No, I don’t. It doesn’t make sense. Arlie isn’t stupid. He knows how to cover his tracks. Even if he was the killer, I find it highly doubtful he’d leave Ward’s body out in the open like that. He’d have disposed of it, made it so Dean Ward simply disappeared.”
“You’re right. Killing Dean on my front lawn and leaving the body there, with the knife in situ, is a sure-fire way to attract the police's attention. And attracting the attention of the police wouldn’t be high on Arlie’s agenda, I’m sure.”
A booming voice interrupted us. “Good evening. Hope you folks are enjoying your ales.” I recognized the man standing by our table immediately. Eric Sullivan. Owner of the Firefly Bay Brewing Company and Dean’s competition. A little shorter than Dean, a little wider, with an excellent start to a beer belly, but the same sprinkling of grays through his hair.
“We are, thank you,” Galloway replied.
“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting, but I recognized you as one of Firefly’s finest…” He trailed off, looking at Galloway hopefully.
Galloway took the hint. “Detective Kade Galloway.” Standing up, he offered his hand. The two men shook in that manly way they do, sizing each other up while simultaneously squeezing the ever-living daylights out of each other's fingers.
Clearing my throat, I stood too. “Audrey Fitzgerald, private investigator.” I held out my hand.
Surprise flashed across Eric’s face, and he released Galloway’s hand to seize mine. “You’re a PI?”
“I am.” I retrieved my hand and surreptitiously wiped my palm on my thigh. Eric Sullivan had clammy palms. Not only gross but I was curious as to why. Did he have something to hide? But then, he’d approached us! I really needed a shot of caffeine to get my thinking machine back in working order.
“Please, join us for a minute.” Galloway indicated an empty seat at our table. “We have a few questions.”
Eric sat, clasping his hands together and resting them on the tabletop. “Official police business, huh?” he joked.
“Actually, I’m off duty, but since I’m here and you’re here…”
“Happy to help in any way I can.” Eric smiled briefly. “I’m guessing this is about Dean?”
“You two were close once.” I propped my elbows on the table and leaned in.
“He was my best friend. We started this place together.” Eric waved a hand around. “Life was good.”
“Then Dean left to start up Moustache Craft Ales,” Galloway cut in.
“Why did he leave?” I added.
Eric grimaced. “We worked well together because we’re both competitive, and we played off each other, pushed each other. I’d create a new ale recipe, and Dean immediately had to out-do it, that sort of thing.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers fiddling with a coaster. “But Dean was competitive over everything. And he took it too far.”
An image of Dean, Leah, and Eric standing with their arms around each other beaming into the camera flashed through my brain. “Leah. You fell out over a woman.”
Eric blew out a breath. “I met Leah first, but as soon as I mentioned to Dean that I fancied her? He immediately went over and made a move. And it worked. I tried to get over it, but… I don’t know, it was like Dean got enjoyment out of rubbing my face in it, and things started to get really unpleasant at work. So, I bought him out and dissolved the partnership.”
