Easy come easy ghost, p.1
Easy Come, Easy Ghost, page 1
part #8 of The Ghost Detective Collection Series
© Jane Hinchey 2023
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This work is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Cover Design: Baywolf Book Covers
Editor: Paula Lester
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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Baywolf Press
PO Box 43
Ingle Farm, SA, 5098
Australia
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Afterword
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About Jane
Chapter One
“Nervous?” Galloway watched as I punched the call button to summon the flight attendant for the third time.
“Pft, as if.” It was, of course, a lie. How could I not be nervous about meeting his parents? When I first met Kade Galloway, his folks were safely tucked away on the other side of the world, living their best lives in Australia. Only now, they were not. Now they had an apartment in the Torres Place Retirement Community, Chicago. But I wasn’t really nervous about meeting them. I’d moved beyond nervous and into terrified. What if they hated me?
“Ma’am?” The attendant arrived, all white smiles and red lipstick, her hair pulled back in a perfect bun without a single strand escaping. I touched a hand to my hair. Had I even brushed it today?
“I’ll have another, please.” I smiled back, holding my empty cup toward her. She took it with a tight smile, pressed my call button, and promised to be back shortly.
“Another?” The man sitting to my left snorted. “That much caffeine can’t be good for you.”
“Here’s hoping.”
Galloway’s hand landed on my thigh, making me jump. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.” Everything was not fine. For a start, we’d left home at the crack of dawn to drive to the airport to catch flight SA0321 to Chicago. I did not do crack of dawn well. Galloway had been a sweetheart, prepping me for the day with caffeine, carrying our bags, driving the hour-long journey to the airport, and paying for short-term parking.
“I hate to see the shape of your liver,” the guy on my left continued with his uninvited criticism. “High levels of caffeine can hinder the liver’s function.”
“You didn’t tell me you were afraid of flying,” Galloway said from my right. My head was swiveling back and forth so fast I was getting dizzy. Or maybe it was the caffeine. Or that I was thirty-four thousand feet in the air with a dead guy running commentary on my lifestyle choices. It wasn’t so much that my seat neighbor was deceased that had me rattled. But the dead guy sitting in seat 17F? He was missing half his head. I know! I was freaked out, too.
And if that weren’t bad enough (believe me, it was!), but Dead Guy? He had friends. There had to be at least a dozen ghosts on the flight with us—all of them sporting gruesome injuries. Some were missing limbs. It was the worst in-flight entertainment ever.
“I’m not afraid of flying,” I assured Galloway, placing my hand over his on my thigh. “I’m afraid of crashing.”
“Babe, flying is perfectly safe.”
I snorted. “Yeah? Tell him that.” I jerked my head toward Dead Guy. Galloway peered around me, eyeballing the empty seat. “We have company?” He lowered his voice so we wouldn’t be overheard.
“Do we ever,” I confirmed. “And from the look of him, I’m going to hazard a guess that he went down in a plane crash.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
The flight attendant returned with my drink. After accepting the steaming cup, I turned to the dead guy and said, “This is my last one.” It was really difficult not to stare at his disfigured face. Instead, I focused my attention on the window and the blue skies beyond.
“Hey.” Dead Guy threw his hands in the air. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I thought that was the whole point?” Despite telling myself not to engage, I engaged. “That, according to you, I drink too much coffee. Not that you know the first thing about me,” I added under my breath.
“Uh, babe?” Galloway squeezed my knee hard, drawing my attention to the audience across the aisle, watching as I talked to an empty seat. Sighing, I took a hefty gulp of my beloved beverage of choice, not caring about the searing heat burning my esophagus.
Lifting the armrest between us, Galloway wrapped his arm around my shoulders and tugged me against his side in a comforting embrace. As much as my seatbelt would allow, anyway. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Here. Want this?” I held my cup out to him, and he chuckled. “Nope. That’s all yours. And I’m not annoyed at you drinking coffee. Have another if you want. You’re obviously seeing something distressing… I’m assuming not your usual ghost?”
“Not at all.” My usual ghost was whole, for want of a better word. I’d never had such a ghoulish ghost before. And I most certainly hadn’t been prepared for his entourage, that’s for sure.
“What happened to you, anyway?” I asked the dead guy, ignoring the folks across the aisle who were whispering to themselves, no doubt passing judgement on the crazy chick in seat 17E.
“What do you mean?” Dead Guy leaned forward to peer around me. “See? They don’t approve of you drinking so much coffee, either.”
I snorted, a loud, unladylike sound. “Dude, they’re seeing me talking to thin air. They think I’m certifiable.”
It was Dead Guy’s turn to snort. “Lady, you’re clearly off your meds. You’re making no sense.”
“Babe?” Galloway gave me another warning squeeze, reminding me—again—that I had an audience to my one-sided conversation.
“Sorry,” I muttered, finishing my coffee and placing the cup on my fold down tray. “Maybe I’ll try to nap.”
“Brilliant idea.” Dead Guy nodded. “I’ll do the same.”
Leaning my head against Galloway’s shoulder, I shut my eyes, but as much as I yearned for sleep, it was not to be, for now my bladder was telling me those three coffees I’d had in quick succession were searching for an exit. Sitting upright, I unsnapped my seatbelt. “I need to pee.”
Galloway released his seatbelt and stood, a steadying hand on my arm that didn’t prevent me from smacking my head straight into the overhead locker. “Ouch. You okay?”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, feeling my cheeks heat as everyone turned to look. “I’m fine.” Smoothing my T-shirt into place, I noticed a small wet spot where I’d dripped some coffee. I rubbed at it, as if it would magically dry and disappear. Stepping into the aisle, I made my way toward the bathrooms at the back of the plane, figuring the shirt would dry by the time we landed and Galloway’s family wouldn’t notice one small stain. I could hear the deep timbre of Galloway’s voice behind me, no doubt assuring everyone I was not some deranged psychopath.
I hustled into the cupboard they called a bathroom and locked the door, thankful to have a moment to myself.
“Get yourself together, Audrey,” I whispered, running my hands over my face. The coffee had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I was second-guessing my life choices because my hands were trembling and I felt… twitchy. Caffeine overload, for sure. I was meeting Galloway’s family in—I glanced at my watch—one hour. Hopefully, the effects of the caffeine rush would fade by then.
I’d finished peeing but remained seated, pondering my options, when something happened that had never, ever happened before.
A ghost appeared. Not so unusual, right? But this woman? She appeared in me! Or I was in her. Either way, she was heart freezingly cold! Shards of ice shot through my body, generally shocking as a whole because I was sitting on the toilet, and so was she. I couldn’t help it. I screamed. She screamed. And then there was banging on the bathroom door and someone asking, “Is everything all right in there?”
Slapping my hand over my mouth, I jumped to my feet, trying to get away from the ghost, which was tough in such tight quarters, especially with my jeans and underwear around my knees. “What the hell?” I hissed at the woman, who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be peeing. I turned my back, tugg ing my clothing back into position to cover my bare butt.
“Do you mind?” Her voice dripped with disdain. “This bathroom is occupied.”
“Yes,” I hissed back. “By me! I was here first, lady!”
Someone banged on the door again. “Miss? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I called out, then glared at the ghost, who merely smirked and shrugged her shoulders. Holding her gaze, I defiantly slapped my hand on the flush button, hoping—rather maliciously—that she’d get sucked to wherever toilet waste gets sucked to on a plane. Alas, she remained in situ, returning my glare. I washed and dried my hands, unlocked the door, and stepped outside, forcing the flight attendant to back up a step. “Oh, sorry,” I automatically apologized, even though she’d been the one standing right outside the door, blocking my exit.
“Are you okay, miss?” she asked, eyeing me up and down. “Can I get you anything?”
Xanax? Valium, perhaps? “I’m fine.”
“Do you need a hand getting back to your seat?” she offered, and my face burned with embarrassment. I wasn’t sure if she thought I was drunk, drug addled, or just unsteady on my feet, and to be fair, who could blame her? I was the clumsiest person I knew. But one little scream in the bathroom hardly warranted an escort back to my seat.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, and to prove it, I made it all the way back to my seat without stumbling once, despite having to walk directly through a ghost blocking the aisle.
Chapter Two
I was sweating. I could feel it pooling beneath my boobs. I tugged at my bra, then fanned my face. We were standing at the carousel waiting for our luggage. Galloway had smoothed things over with the folks seated around us, and I’d promptly fallen asleep despite the caffeine surging through my body, therefore blocking out the ghosts haunting flight SA0321.
Galloway glanced at me, then did a double take. “Okay?” he asked, brushing my hair back from my face. I figured I looked as bad as I felt.
I gritted my teeth and smiled. “I’m fine.”
“They’re going to love you,” he reassured me, his touch comforting. I automatically leaned my cheek into his palm, like a kitten seeking affection. He chuckled and dropped a kiss on my nose before turning his attention back to the carousel.
“I am a little concerned,” I admitted. “Not so much about meeting your family. But it’s where they live.” It had occurred to me on the plane, surrounded by the ghosts who were stuck in some ghastly time loop, reliving their last moments before they’d perished in what I assumed to be an airplane crash, that I may just be walking into a similar situation with his folks.
“Oh?” He didn’t turn around, his eyes scanning over the luggage that had appeared, searching for our bags.
“The Torres Place Retirement Community?” I prompted, hoping he’d get the hint, for I couldn’t very well say I was worried that his parents’ apartment was haunted by the ghosts of previous residents given we were shoulder to shoulder with fellow passengers all jostling to get their bags.
He shot a look over his shoulder. “Oh!” He got it. The Torres Place Retirement Community on the banks of Lake Michigan was huge, sporting an apartment complex for independent living, plus a nursing home for those needing extra care. There was a gym, a pool, a nine-hole golf course, walking paths, a dining room that rivaled a five-star restaurant, and a salon. I’d googled it and pored over the pictures, and the place was a dream. But now I couldn’t help but worry about how many of the un-living were residing there.
“Mom and Dad’s place should be fine.” He grunted, heaving a bag off the carousel and turning to place it at my feet. “The realtor has to disclose if anyone…” He paused and met my eyes. “You know. We’re in the clear.”
I sagged in relief. If no one had died in their apartment, it should, theoretically, be ghost free. Retrieving our other bag, he picked up both, and I trotted alongside as we left the airport.
“Was it bad then? On the plane?” he asked, heading toward the cab rank.
I nodded. “There was a lot. One even used the bathroom.”
He stopped, and I walked straight past, taking a second or two to realize he was no longer by my side. “Is that what that commotion was about?” He caught up with me.
“Uh-huh.” I sucked in a deep breath and released it in a whoosh. “I really want this to go smoothly, and I admit, I’m nervous about meeting your parents, so the last thing I need is ghostly interference.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said, for the millionth time.
“Oh my God, Kade, she’s gorgeous!” Sylvia Galloway clamped her hands on my shoulders and looked me up and down, her gray eyes identical to her son’s. “Welcome, Audrey. We are so thrilled to finally meet you.”
I cleared my throat. “Er, you too.” Sylvia was a retired schoolteacher, with a colorful beaded chain dangling from the glasses perched on her nose. She wore a soft peach sweater with blue jeans and bare feet. She ushered us into the apartment.
“You sure it’s okay for us to stay here, Mom?” Galloway kissed her cheek in greeting, carrying a bag in each hand.
“Of course, darling. We bought a three bedroom for this purpose. One for us, one as a den for your father, and a guest room. Or, you know, for future grandbabies.”
“Mom.” Galloway’s voice held a warning growl.
I chewed my lip, wondering if he’d told them I wasn’t even sure I wanted children. And even if I did, any mini Galloways were a loooooong way in the future.
“Relax, darling, stop your fussing.” She shooed off his warning with a wink to me. “Audrey, come and meet Dennis. He’s in the living room. You’ll have to forgive him for not getting up to greet you, but as you can see, the entryway isn’t very big and us Galloways aren’t exactly small.” She turned her attention to Kade and pointed. “Guest room is through there. Drop your bags and come and say hello to your father.”
I allowed myself to be ushered into the open plan living, dining, and kitchen area. The kitchen itself was tiny, as was the dining area, but massive floor to ceiling windows in the living room with a spectacular view of Lake Michigan more than made up for it. “Wow!” I breathed. “That view is amazing.”
Sylvia stood next to me, smiling. “Isn’t it just? We love it here.”
“And you must be Audrey.”
I’d been so enamored by the view that I’d missed Kade’s father, seated in a recliner by the window. He stood, weight balanced on a walking cane as he smiled at me, a dimple flashing in his cleanly shaven cheek. Kade Galloway was the spitting image of his father, with his mother’s eyes.
I stepped forward and shook his hand, unprepared when he pulled me in for a bear hug. “Pleased to meet you, Audrey.”
“You too,” I wheezed.
“Place looks great, Mom.” Kade joined us, slapping his father on the back with a “Hi, Dad!”
“I was just telling Audrey how much we like it here.” Sylvia beamed with pride. Turning to me, she explained, “We loved Australia, but it was time we came home. Dennis’s war wound was making its presence felt now that he’s a bit older, so we figured a place like this would be perfect. We still have our independence, but help is on hand should we need it.”
“War wound? I didn’t know you were in the army.”
Dennis snorted. “Kade didn’t tell you my heroic tale?”
I shook my head. “He told me you’re a retired police officer.”
“One of Chicago’s finest,” Kade added.
“Yeah, until I took a bullet to the leg. Shattered the bone. Retired on disability.” He slapped his thigh. “That’ll teach me to chase a perp down a blind alley. Son-of-a—”
“Dennis!” Sylvia warned with a waggle of her finger, sounding very much like a schoolteacher.
