A Killer Groove: Lukas Boston - Private Investigator Book Three by Logan May

Author:Logan May [May, Logan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

TEN

Not many people would consider sitting in a cemetery after midnight on a cold, moonless night much fun. Lukas wasn’t among them. However, it wasn’t because he was frightened. Lukas was annoyed. He’d attracted a crowd, many of the spirits sensing he was aware of their presence and they were doing their best to get Lukas’ attention. All around him white wraiths twisted in the air, forming into figures that briefly performed some act from their past, before dissipating again. Lukas was perched on a low, marble grave with an impressive headstone. The one spirit he was hoping to meet was nowhere to be seen.

‘She said she was only going outside to get the milk,’ a pale, balding man wearing a tattered dressing gown told him.

‘Did she get a hammer instead?’ Lukas asked, looking at the impressive dent in the man’s skull.

‘She said she was only going outside to get the milk.’

‘Yes, I heard you the first time.’ Lukas read a nearby tombstone. “Albert Funny, Died August 20th 1962 Aged 52”. No mention of any bereaved family or wife. ‘I’m guessing you probably deserved that smack on the head. No one seems to have missed you. You can’t have been very funny either.’

A large woman in flowing robes stood beside a grave covered in a concrete seal. She looked angry. ‘Here, you don’t know what you’re doing! You never get it right. Let me do it!’ She mimed plugging something in. It must have been the last toaster she ever used.

‘Was it jammed?’ Lukas asked her. ‘Did you use a knife? I can’t believe people still do that.’

She glared across at him, then went back to jabbing at the air.

A man wearing an impeccable suit strode through the graveyard and stopped in front of Lukas, his face furious. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘It couldn’t fail, they said! I’d make a fortune, they said. Then it all went to hell and gone, lost the lot. It’s hardly my fault. I can only listen to what they tell me.’

‘Listen to what who told you?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Okay, that’s all you’ve got to say for yourself, is it?’ Lukas sighed and lit up a cigarette.

A man wearing jeans, sneakers and an anorak stepped over the grave and sat down beside Lukas. ‘Smoking those things will kill you,’ he said amiably.

‘You think so? Is that what killed you?’

‘Not yet, have you got a spare? I forgot to bring mine.’

Lukas frowned and poked him with a finger.

‘Ouch! Hey, I only asked for a smoke.’

‘You’re not dead.’

‘Hardly, not the last time I checked, anyway.’ He took a cigarette from Lukas and accepted a light. In the flare of the match Lukas saw a clean face and neat clothes.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lukas asked.

‘I could ask you the same.’

‘But I asked first.’

‘Okay, I sleep here.’ The man pointed to a nearby crypt. The door was open. ‘The permanent tenant doesn’t seem to mind.’

‘You’re homeless?’

‘Goodness, no. I live about three streets over that way.

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