Ghost Gone Wild (A Bailey Ruth Ghost Novel) Read Online Free

I felt comfortable in obfuscating, always a delectable sport.
    “Concussion,” I announced with nurselike firmness. If he assumed greater medical expertise than I possessed, I was not responsible for his thought processes. I leaned forward, peered intently into his blue eyes. I held up one hand. “How many fingers do you see?”
    “Five.”
    “Excellent.” I beamed at him. “What day is it?”
    “Tuesday.”
    I had no idea, but it sounded okay to me.
    “Who is the police chief?” Chief Cobb wouldn’t be pleased at the delay in reporting the shooting.
    “How should I know?” He sounded bewildered.
    Apparently he wasn’t active in his community. On the positive side, his ignorance suggested that he wasn’t a lawbreaker.
    “What’s your favorite TV show?”
    “
True Blood
.
”
He gingerly touched his head. “But I don’t like blood. How’d my head get hurt?”
    I pointed at the railing on the wet bar. “You cracked your head as you went down.”
    He stared down at his fingers. He looked queasy.
    I took him by the elbow. “Here. Wash your hands.” I turned on the spigot of the wet bar.
    Dutifully, he thrust his big hands into the gushing water.
    I grabbed some paper napkins, swiped them beneath the water, gently dabbed at the back of his head.
    “Ouch.”
    “It’s a very minor cut. Hold still.” I patted the area. “If you have some antibiotic cream, I’ll dab some on the scratch.” The wound was minor and no longer noticeable.
    He turned off the water, grabbed a handful of napkins to dry his hands. “I don’t keep stuff like that. How’s it look now?”
    “Fine. And you’re fine.”
    He turned to look at me. “Yeah, thanks for the help.” He moved out from behind the counter.
    I followed, feeling impatient. We definitely needed to contact the police, the sooner the better. I scanned the room for a phone.
    “The door’s that way.” He pointed.
    As if I couldn’t find a front door. I gave him a scathing look. “I’m not going anywhere until we find out who shot at you.”
    He started to shake his head, winced. “I didn’t hear a shot.”
    “There was a shot. I shoved you. I saved your life. That’s why you weren’t shot. You took a glancing blow and momentarily lost consciousness”—I thought he had been stunned, but it wouldn’t hurt to mislead him—“and that’s why you don’t remember me.”
    He studied me.
    I saw quick recognition that I was young, redheaded, and female. There was a momentary pulse of attraction, the automatic male appreciation of a desirable woman. But there was no spark of pursuit in his dark blue eyes. As Bobby Mac always puts it so well, he never walks by a beautiful woman without noticing, but his heart belongs to me.
    I wondered who owned Nick’s heart.
    “Now that everything’s clear—”
    “What were you doing here?” There was a tinge of apprehension in his voice. He clearly hoped he wasn’t forgetting anything compromising.
    “I’d just arrived. I’m running behind”—I scrambled for a reason to be in a young (I assumed) bachelor’s home long after dark—“in my survey for the Chamber of Commerce. I have to turn in my report tomorrow, and your house is one of the last on my list.” I’d once served as the mayor’s secretary, and I had great faith that the chamber was quite capable of surveying a neighborhood for one reason or another. “However, that’s neither here nor there.” I spoke with great accuracy. “What matters now is to report the effort made to shoot you.” I held out my hand. “Your cell phone.”
    He reached into his back pocket, stopped, looked puzzled. He patted all of his pockets, then glanced around the room, his eyes searching. “I must have put it somewhere.”
    Time was fleeting, as it always is when it is of the essence. “Surely you have a regular phone. Where is it?” I, too, glanced around the room. I didn’t see a telephone anywhere.
    He started to shake his head, stopped with a wince.