“To schedule an appointment for you to meet with one of our lawyers, John Zampa,” she continued.

  “An appointment? Why?”

  “I believe it is in regard to Mr. Benjamin Delaney’s estate.”

  I lapsed into silence.

  “Who is it?” Ben mouthed at me.

  Putting my hand over the mouthpiece, I muttered, “Is John Zampa your lawyer?” Realization dawned and Ben’s mouth formed a perfect O.

  “Hello? Miss Fitzgerald? Are you there?”

  Clearing my throat, I removed my hand. “Yes, sorry, I’m here.”

  “Oh good, I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I’m here,” I repeated.

  “As I mentioned, we’d like to set a time for you to come in and meet with Mr. Zampa.”

  “To go over Ben’s will?”

  “Yes. Would this afternoon work? Two o’clock?”

  “Wow. That’s fast.” Considering my unemployed status, I didn’t really have any excuse not to attend. But attending made Ben’s death even more real. More real than I wanted it to be. More real than I could face, despite the fact that his ghost now hovered in front of me with a look of concern on his face.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “They want to talk to me about your will,” I whispered back.

  “Sorry?” Athena spoke into my ear and I belatedly remembered that she was still on the line.

  “Two o’clock is fine. I’ll see you then.” I disconnected the call and eyeballed Ben. “Care to tell me why I’m meeting with your lawyer this afternoon to discuss your will?”

  Ben had the grace to look sheepish. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you about that, but I never thought it was going to be an issue.”

  “What?”

  Before he could respond, Thor returned, announcing he was ready for breakfast. Knowing I had nothing in the house remotely suitable for a cat to consume, I snatched up my car keys. “Right, might as well get this over with. You coming, Thor, or will you wait here?” I felt stupid asking a cat what he wanted to do, but under the circumstances, I figured it was the best thing to do.

  “I’ll come with you. Your driving can’t be any worse than that human from yesterday.” He was referring to the police officer who’d driven my car home for me—and delivered Thor. He’d sported a bleeding scratch on the back of his hand for his trouble.

  The drive to Ben’s house was spent in complete silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. As soon as I’d pulled up in the driveway and opened the door, Thor had launched himself over me and disappeared down the side of his house, presumably to the cat door at the rear.

  “Guess he really is hungry,” I muttered, slamming the door and locking it. Slowly I approached the house. Yellow and black crime scene tape blocked the front door.

  “Now what?”

  “We ignore it,” Ben said.

  “What? No way. I’m not going to get arrested over disturbing a crime scene. You saw how happy those two morons were to arrest me yesterday,” I protested, visions of being carted off to jail playing across my mind.

  Ben sighed. “You have a point.” While he was busy pondering what our next course of action should be, I pulled out my phone and dialed.

  “Galloway,” the voice on the other end barked.

  “Detective Galloway, this is Audrey Fitzgerald.”

  There was a moment’s pause, then. “Audrey. How can I help you?”

  “Look, I’m at Ben’s house—and yes, I know, it’s a crime scene…I can see the tape. But here’s the thing. I’m looking after Ben’s cat. I need supplies.”

  “Can’t you go buy what you need?” he said. A perfectly reasonable response, darn it.

  “I got fired this week.” Not a lie. “I’d prefer not to be spending money if I didn’t have to.” Again, not a lie, not entirely. But the truth was I could totally afford to go and buy Thor anything he needed. My savings account was flush. But I needed to get into the house and this seemed the best way to do it.

  “Hang on a sec.” I listened to the rustling on the other end of the line, then what sounded like someone typing on a keyboard. “I expedited it for you.” Galloway was back on the line.

  “Expedited what?”

  “The crime scene has been cleared. We’ve already collected all the evidence we can from the property so you are cleared to return,” he explained. “Just pull the tape down.”

  “Oh. Okay. That was quick, thank you.” I disconnected the call and glanced at Ben, who was looking at me with a grin on his face.

  “What?”

  “Crime scenes do not usually get cleared that quickly. Normally you’d be looking at days, sometimes weeks before the property is released.”

  “Oh. What does that mean?”

  “It means that Galloway likes you. He pulled strings.”

  “Or it could just mean that it was true what he said—they’ve actually finished processing your house and have no reason to keep me out.” I did not want to think that Kade Galloway was doing me favors because doing someone a favor meant they owed you, and I did not want to owe the police department anything. Not ever. Despite Ben being seemingly on good terms with the detective, I wasn’t so quick to forget his awful treatment while on the force.

  “Don’t get on the wrong side of him, Audrey,” Ben said, reading my mind.

  “I’m not,” I huffed, ripping the tape from the door and screwing it into a ball in my fist. “Just because you like the guy doesn’t mean I have to,” I pointed out, sliding my key into the lock and turning. “After all, I met him like two days ago. Trust has to be earned.”

  Stepping into Ben’s foyer, I looked around wide-eyed at the sight that greeted me. “Shit.”

  Ben brushed past me, an icy trail following. “Yeah, one thing about the cops…they don’t clean up after themselves.” Fingerprint dust marred multiple surfaces. Doors and drawers stood open, the contents either roughly pushed back in or left spilled out across the floor.

  “I don’t suppose you have any magical abilities that will clean all this up?” I asked, hands on hips as I surveyed the disaster zone.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Although, bless his heart, he stood with his hands outstretched and appeared to be trying to cast some sort of spell. I giggled, my shoulders shaking with mirth.

  “Hey!” Thor trotted towards us. “My food bowls are gone!”

  Ben and I turned and looked toward the spot near the sliding glass doors where Thor’s bowls usually sat. He was right, they were gone.

  “Evidence.” Ben nodded.

  “It’s okay, I’ll get one out of the cupboard.” Thor followed close by my heel as I rummaged in the kitchen for a bowl, then filled it with kibble for him. Ben groaned when I placed it on the floor.

  “What?”

  “It’s just…that’s a cereal bowl.” He was frowning and looking uncomfortable.

  “Do you need to….you know?” I cocked my head toward the bathroom.

  “What?” He grumbled, obviously unhappy about something.

  “You know. Go pee? Or poop? Or fart?”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m a ghost, Audrey. I can no longer do any of those things.”

  “Then why do you look like you’re constipated?” I demanded.

  “Because cats shouldn’t eat out of human bowls!” he declared. Ahhh. I’d forgotten that Ben was a bit anal, not only with the cleanliness of his home but also with things like allowing pets to eat off of human crockery.

  As much as it would be fun to tease him, I figured now wasn’t the time. He had just recently died after all. “We’re going to have to, just this once,” I said. “Thor needs to eat and his bowls are evidence. Fingerprints?”

  “Yeah. We know the bowls were moved. Could be blood too.”

  Distracting Ben from his discomfort over watching his cat eat out of a cereal bowl I asked, “So where are these files?”

  “On the computer—in the office.”

  Dusting my hands on my jeans, I squared my shoulders. “Come on then. Let’s go see what you were working on that ended up getting you killed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Philip Drake was the General Manager of the Firefly Bay Hotel, a five-star establishment towering over the bay along the esplanade. The hotel specialized in fine dining, afternoon teas, and a cooking school, alongside luxury accommodation. Philip had hired Ben to run a background check on his daughter’s new boyfriend.

  “Seriously?” I said, more to myself than to Ben, who was hovering behind me and reading over my shoulder. “He wanted you to dig up the dirt on his daughter’s boyfriend? What’s up with that?”

  “He’s an overprotective dad. Sophie’s mom died when she was a toddler and it’s been just the two of them ever since.”

  “But a background check?” I scoffed. “Overkill, don’t you think?”

  I clicked through the files on Ben’s computer. “Errr.” I paused and leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “Gone a bit out of the boundaries of the brief, don’t ya think, Delaney?” On the screen was a diagram linking Philip and his daughter, Sophie, Sophie’s boyfriend, Logan Crane, and two of Philip’s employees, Brett Baxter and Steven Armstrong. I tapped on Brett and Steven’s names. “Why are they here?”

  When Ben didn’t answer I swiveled in my chair only to find him running a hand over his chin in apparent thought. “You know…” He paused, drifting off as his thought processes whirled.

  After a solid sixty seconds of silence, I finally prompted, “What?”

  “What?” He shook his head, snapping out of his stupor.

  “The Drake case?” I prompted. “Why are these two individuals in your file?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and I knew today was going to be a level five caffeine consumption day.

  “As in, you don’t remember?” I sighed, the heavy weight of the truth settling over me like a wet blanket. It looked like Ben didn’t recall the details of his cases. How handy.

  He rested a hand on my shoulder, giving me immediate frostbite. “Sorry.” And I knew he meant it. Hell, it must be frustrating for him, not remembering what had happened, nor what he’d been working on. Not to mention being dead. I imagined that would suck big time too.

  Shrugging his icy hand away, I grinned. “Never mind. Looks like you’ve already done some work here.” I opened up another file and read it aloud. “You’ve thoroughly researched Logan, his financial and credit history, social background, criminal record. It looks to me as if the job is done.”

  “But it’s not closed.” Ben indicated the green tab meaning he hadn’t closed off the file in his system. “I hadn’t finished.”

  “Or maybe you hadn’t delivered the results to Drake yet?”

  “Which is odd. Look at the date.”

  I did. The entry was from five days ago. Ben wouldn’t have kept his client waiting any longer than necessary, so why hadn’t he delivered the final report and closed out the case? Not to mention get paid.

  “Philip Drake was right to be concerned—look what you turned up. Logan Crane is a drug user, possible dealer and has priors for car theft and B&E…what’s B&E?”

  “Breaking and entering.”

  “Right. So Logan Crane is a low life. Why are you sitting on this?”

  “Must be something to do with these two.” Ben pointed at the two employees on the screen.

  “You don’t have much on them. Steven Armstrong is thirty-five and Front of House Manager. Hardly a crime,” I drawled, before continuing to read, “And Brett Baxter, twenty-seven, Event Planner.” I glanced at Ben again, hoping something—anything — would jog his memory. Nothing. I sighed, closed out of the Drake file and opened the next one in Ben’s database.

  “Tonya Armstrong. Hired you for spousal surveillance.”

  “Meaning she thought her husband was cheating.”

  “And was he?”

  Ben began pacing. “Dunno. Can’t remember. What does the file say?”

  Frowning, I watched him, noticed the tense line of his shoulders, the clenched jaw. This was as frustrating for him as it was for me. If only he could do something useful while I went through the files—like make me coffee.

  “Ooohhhh.” Turning my attention back to the monitor, I leaned forward, eyes darting from side to side as I scanned Ben’s notes. “He was! You had surveillance of it—but get this—she wanted further evidence. Why? Let’s see what you gave her.” I clicked on the attachments to the file and a dozen images opened up on the screen.

  “Wait.” I leaned closer, my nose almost touching the monitor. “Isn’t that the guy from the Drake case?”

  That got Ben’s attention. He rushed forward so fast he materialized inside the table. I shot back in surprise, my backward momentum too fast. The wheels of the office chair snagged on the rug and before I knew it I was flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Shit!” Ben cursed, stepping out of the desk. “Are you okay?”

  Rolling to my side, I scrambled to my feet and righted the chair. “Yep, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to appear in the desk, that’s all.” Settling myself back in the chair, I turned my attention back to the contents on the screen. “This”—I pointed— “must be Tonya’s husband, yes?”

  “I’d assume so if I’ve recorded surveillance footage of him.”

  “Tonya Armstrong…married to Steven Armstrong. As in Steven Armstrong the front of house manager from the hotel?” I scoured the details on the screen. “Bingo!” I shouted, punching the air. “There’s your connection! That’s why you haven’t closed off the Drake case—because it’s connected with your cheating bastard of a husband case.”

  “That wouldn’t be why I hadn’t closed off the case. It’s a connection, yes, but the fact that one of Drake’s employees is having an affair isn’t relevant.”

  “Not relevant? Surely Drake would want to know that the morals of one of his employees were …questionable?” I argued.

  “But that’s not what he hired me for. He hired me for a background check on his daughter’s boyfriend. My case with him has nothing to do with the hotel.”

  “So you’re saying you wouldn’t tell him what you’d discovered about Armstrong?” Ben shook his head. Shoulders slumping, I eyed the images on the screen once more. They were of Steven Armstrong kissing a blonde woman. “Do you know who the woman is?”

  “I had to get the shots with his face in view, to prove it’s him, which meant her back was to the camera.”

  “So that’s a no.”

  “Not necessarily. Check the notes. And there may be more photos on my camera that we can go through. I would have taken hundreds to get the money shot. I only deliver the ones that provide the undeniable proof my client is seeking.”

  I scanned the notes, but there was no mention of who the woman was. “It says here that Tonya wanted further proof…”

  Ben shrugged. “Some clients don’t want to believe the truth, even when presented with the evidence.”

  “But what does she mean, further proof?”

  “I can’t remember the details, but usually when it's a case like this, they want a video recording of their spouse caught in the act.”

  I gasped. “She wanted you to record them actually having sex?”

  He shrugged again. “Possibly. But look at the flag there.” He pointed to the bottom right of the screen where an orange tab indicated the case was ready to be closed.

  “You were closing the case.” No point in actually asking Ben that. The answer was, he couldn’t remember. I’d been hoping going through his files would jog his memory, but so far a big fat zero.

  “I don’t do sex tapes,” he said, drifting around the room.

  “Fair enough. So you’d flagged the Armstrong case to be closed. You’d already met with your client and provided her with the evidence you’d gathered. I see she paid you a retainer, but you haven’t invoiced for the remainder of your fee.” Picking up a pencil, I scribbled a note to remind myself to close out the file and send the invoice.

  “Third and final case.” I clicked open the one remaining green tab and blinked in disbelief. “Okay, this is just weird. Your third case was Brett Baxter. The same Brett Baxter, I assume, who is the event planner at the hotel. This is too much of a coincidence, Ben. All of your cases are connected. And the common thread is Philip Drake.”

  “I’d say the common thread is the Firefly Bay Hotel,” he argued.

  “But the hotel didn’t hire you—not for any of these investigations. Drake hired you personally. Tonya Armstrong hired you personally. As did Brett. What did he hire you for anyway?” Turning my attention back to the screen, I snorted. “A witch hunt? As in, he literally wanted you to prove witches are real? What the…? That’s just ludicrous!” As incredible as I found it, something niggled at the back of my brain, “But you took the case… Why would you take a case like this? Some zealot who believes in magic and witchcraft? That’s not like you.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t. Ordinarily that would be a hard pass. So the question is, why did I take the case?”

  “Because it overlaps with the other two?”

  He was shaking his head. “Check the dates I opened the other cases. At the time, I wouldn’t have known about the overlap. Maybe the overlap is pure coincidence.”

  “You don’t believe in coincidence.” It was true. He didn’t. It had been a long-term argument between us, and for once I agreed with Ben. It was too much of a coincidence for his three cases to be related—especially now that he was dead. Something in one of these files had driven someone to kill him.

  “You don’t have much on Brett. You couldn’t have started his investigation yet.”

  “Which is odd.” He peered over my shoulder again, his closeness bringing with it arctic conditions. Shivering, I pushed him away, only to have my hand disappear wrist deep inside him. With a yelp, I snatched my hand away and clambered to my feet. Ben looked contrite. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who just shoved my hand inside you!” I studied him, head cocked to one side. “Can you feel it, when that happens?” What I really wanted to ask was if it hurt when someone passed through him.

 

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