Spooky Business by S.E. Harmon

Author:S.E. Harmon [Harmon, S.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2020-09-13T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Darla Gray’s house stood out from the others on the street, and not just because of its eclectic green, white, and blue paint job. It was smaller and older than the rest, a blast from the past smackdab in the middle of the cookie-cutter newbuilds. I had a feeling she’d been offered money for the house and declined before digging her roots deeper.

There was an older woman in a rocking chair on the porch, her eyes closed. She looked so real and substantial that it took me a second to realize that she was a ghost. Her eyes opened a tad to examine me before they drifted shut again. “Don’t mind me, honey,” she said, rocking a little in her chair. “I’m just catchin’ a little breeze.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t mind Darla in there. She can be a real pill when she wants to be. I don’t know why Ralph ever married that girl.”

I tried not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

I knocked on the door and almost immediately, someone inside yelled that I should “hold my horses.” A moment later, the door swung open to reveal an older woman in a pale blue sweatsuit, her salt-and-pepper curls held back with a matching headband. She looked up at me with suspicious brown eyes. “Badge.”

I showed my shield to her, and she examined it so thoroughly I was tempted to offer her a jeweler’s loupe. “Name’s Darla,” she finally said. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her firmly. “Sorry, but I don’t let any cops in my house.”

“That’s quite all right. I just had a few questions about your friend, Delilah Rose.”

“Can’t rightly say I know anybody by that name.” She tilted her head. “You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I doubt it,” I said. “You might’ve known her by the name Emma. She signed over a lot of her work checks to you. I’m assuming you cashed them and gave her the money because she couldn’t get a bank account.”

She snapped her fingers. “Now I remember. Hang on a second.” Before I could blink, she disappeared inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

I sighed. “Well, that happened.”

She didn’t allow cops in her house, but I wondered if they were allowed to sit on her dusty-ass porch chairs. I decided to take that risk. There were two sets of chairs, one on each side of the porch. I sat on the side opposite the ghost.

She sent me a knowing smile. “I told you she was annoying,” she said. “The name is Ruth.”

“Rain Christia—”

“I know who you are, honey. Just about every ghost around these parts knows exactly who you are.”

Well, that’s comforting. Before I could ask her to take down my ad from a ghostly Craigslist, the door opened again and Darla tottered out with a folded newspaper. I didn’t bother to hide my groan. “You’re the ghost whisperer, aren’t you?” She asked in a hushed tone.

The year before, some fuckwit reporter had written an article about the FBI using a real-life ghost whisperer.

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