Ghosts, Private Eyes & Dead Guys by Jennifer Fischetto

Author:Jennifer Fischetto
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic suspense, halloween, ghosts, women sleuths, amateur sleuths, paranormal mystery, ghost whisperer
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing

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I arrive at Bryor's Auto Shop forty minutes later because of the early rush hour. Sometimes the traffic on the island is downright criminal. It shouldn't take long to go from one town to the next. The island isn't that big.

The shop sits on a corner lot on a busy main road and a quiet-looking residential side street. I park near a house and walk over.

There are two men outside. One is talking to a customer as she gets into her car, and the other is working under the hood of a black truck. Both men are in blue overalls.

The customer drives off, and the man notices me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Ronald Wade," I say and hope this is him. This man has a kind expression with soft brown eyes.

"Hey, Ron. There's someone here to see you," he shouts and then nods at me before walking off.

No such luck.

The man under the hood peeks out, and I see a hard, chiseled face with a small scar at his hairline. Let's hope his personality doesn't match his appearance.

"Yeah?" He grabs a rag and wipes his hands as he faces me. He checks me out from head to toe, so I only take a few steps closer.

"Hi. Do you have a minute to talk about Mr. Carter from Carter, Hamilton—?"

He groans and spits on the ground. "I have nothing to say to you. Just like that other reporter."

"What reporter?" I ask, very interested.

His shoulders lift and lower. "How should I know? I don't remember her name. She was short. Your height with brown hair and freckles."

Fiona.

She was already here?

"When was this?" I ask.

"Yesterday. Why—did you work together and she stole your story?" He chuckles, obviously enjoying the tale he's created in his mind.

"I'm not a reporter." I may as well be upfront. If he dislikes journalists, maybe he'll have a soft spot for truth and people being falsely accused.

His gaze narrows. He lifts his chin and stares down his nose at me. "Who are you, then?"

"My name is Gianna, and the guy who was arrested for Carter's murder is my boyfriend. I'm trying to find the truth because he didn't do it."

He stares at me long and hard and then suddenly bursts into laughter.

What the heck is so funny?

"I'm not talking to anyone, especially some girlfriend. Like you can do anything. I hired a top-notch lawyer for my kid, and you know what that got him? Five years. I'd start looking for a new boyfriend."

He dies laughing again and goes back under the hood of the car.

How rude!

I can still hear his laughter on my way back to my car.

When I settle behind the wheel, I hear my phone chirp. I had left it on the console when I got out. There's a message from Enzo. I start my car and play it back.

Hey, it's me. I just got back to the station. I should be about another hour. Where are you now? Call me back.

South Shore Beach is a thirty-minute drive from here without traffic, and it took me forty to get here.

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