Give Up the Ghost: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery Read Online Free Page B

I said quietly.
    “I see,” said Annette, conveying a lot in a few words. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Demetrius.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Were you the one who found her?”
    He nodded.
    “All right. Let me take a look at the scene, and then we’ll have a little chat.” She raised her chin in the direction of the young cop babysitting us. “Keep an eye on them, will you?”
    “Yes sir! Um, Inspector,” stuttered the officer.
    She swept into the apartment.
    Landon glanced at me. “I thought you said you two were friends. She didn’t seem particularly friendly.”
    “‘Friend’ might have been a bit of a stretch. Acquaintance would be more accurate.”
    “Been involved with a murder investigation previously, have you?”
    “A few. But my role was minimal.”
    “As in, not really your fault?”
    “As in, I was an innocent witness.”
    He looked down his nose, and I sensed he didn’t believe me. I sighed: first Andrew Flynt and now Landon Demetrius III. I’m from Oakland, so I’m accustomed to San Franciscans looking askance at me, but it doesn’t mean I like it. I started to say something snide, but reconsidered. His sister had just been murdered, after all. Assuming he didn’t do it, the least I could do was cut him a little slack. I thought about my own sisters, and what itwould mean to find them like that, on the floor in a pool of their own blood.
    I banished the thought; it was too painful to even contemplate.
    I started to say something to Landon when black spots began to swim before my eyes and a wave of nausea took hold deep in my belly. I shook my head and breathed slowly, trying to hold it together. The temperature in the hallway plummeted; my breath came out in little clouds and hung in the frigid air.
    Part of my brain knew what was happening, but the rest refused to acknowledge it.
    Chantelle emerged from the apartment. She cupped Landon’s face in her hands for a moment, then reached into the same jacket pocket where he had stowed his cell phone. She turned and gazed at me with those beautiful eyes, smiled beatifically, and nodded once. Then she drifted down the corridor and disappeared into the open elevator. The doors closed softly and the elevator started to ascend.
    Landon frowned. “It’s like ice in here. Another problem with these outdated buildings. Lousy HVAC systems.”
    “Got that right,” said the young officer.
    I didn’t respond, still nauseated and breathless.
    “Are you quite all right?” Landon asked me after a moment.
    I nodded.
    Not for the first time I felt exasperated after a supernatural encounter. Why couldn’t the ghosts of murder victims just
tell
me what happened? If they weren’t going to be of use, why subject me to funky feelings and such strangeness? I was a
contractor
, for heaven’s sake. How come it was always up to
me
to solve these crimes?
    Me, and Annette Crawford of the SFPD, of course.
    I checked myself. It did no good to curse my fate. I’d tried that before, and it didn’t get me anywhere.
    “So,” I said to Landon while we waited for Inspector Crawford to return. “Are—were you and your sister close?”
    “Not recently.”
    “You live around here?”
    “You already asked me that. Why are you obsessed with my residence? Are you with Homeland Security?”
    I was going to bet that Landon Demetrius III here was the type to respond to tragedy with testiness. Either that, or he was an exceptionally cool murderer who didn’t feel the need to be polite to anyone.
    “Sorry,” I said. “Just making conversation. How was it you were visiting the sister you aren’t close to when . . .”
    “When she was murdered?” He blew out a breath, as though trying to rein in his emotions. “I just flew in from England. I teach at Cambridge. We were quite close as children, but we . . . grew apart. Last time I saw Chantelle she still called herself Cheryl. Must have been ten years ago.”
    “I see.”
    “But I shall never forgive myself