A Ghost in the Glamour by Elizabeth Hunter

Author:Elizabeth Hunter [Hunter, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elizabeth Hunter

Frank was sitting silently next to me in the car. I usually had a good read on his emotions, but that night I was coming up blank. We were stopped at one of those endless red lights on Venice Boulevard, so I picked up my phone and switched to one of his favorite albums.

Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. 1963. One of the best albums ever. I had it digital, and it was one of the few albums I’d bought on vinyl too.

Maybe it was inevitable that I’d love jazz after growing up with a ghost who defined years by album releases, but I would always appreciate the music Frank had introduced me to. Some of my happiest teenage memories consisted of searching out music online from obscure albums Frank had only heard of. He’d name an album and I’d search for it online as he looked over my shoulder. He thought the Internet existed for jazz aficionados.

As the strains of the first track died down, he asked, “Are you going to read it?”

Yes. “Do you want me to?”

He frowned. “Yes. But in context.”

“So tell me the context.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His face lost its melancholy and the corners of his mouth turned up. “Because I can show you.”

“What— Oh, Frank! Not that. Can’t you just tell me?”

“Nope. It’s not the same.”

I growled low in my throat. “Fine.”

It was something we only did occasionally. My mom was the kind of medium who regularly let spirits sit in the front of her mind and show her stuff. That was because my mother usually only dealt with grief-stricken people who needed to say goodbye to a family member or find out someone’s last wishes. She could let a spirit sink deep enough into her mind that she could even take on handwriting and signatures. Trust me, more than one will has been signed by my mother for spirits who were a little late in their estate planning.

She could do that kind of thing because her own talents were incredibly strong.

When Frank sat in my mind to show me memories, I could see a scene from his point of view. Which meant I was Frank… kind of. It was a little like putting on a suit that was scratchy and didn’t fit. Not my favorite thing, and it took some kind of focus we could share. Which for me and Frank meant I’d be chain-smoking Lucky Strikes for the duration of the vision.

So. Gross.

We got home and I pulled the dreaded box from the bottom of my desk drawer before I went outside and sat in the back garden. “Okay, this better not take too long. You’ve only got three left.”

The last vision had been over six months ago, and I hadn’t gotten another pack of cigarettes. I always hoped I wouldn’t need them again, but then we’d be working on a case and Frank would stop and say that he couldn’t explain something, he needed to show me.

Personally, I think he’s just a dirty, dirty nicotine addict.

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