Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Heat

At this, she turned on her heel and stalked off in the direction of her director and main talent. The show must go on.

Slack gave me a warning glare. “I don’t want you interfering with my investigation, is that understood?” Then he turned on Darian. “And I don’t want you communicating with these Wraith Wranglers in any way, shape or form. Your job depends on it, Watley. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Darian said between gritted teeth.

I gave him a questioning look but he totally ignored me and followed his partner as they distanced themselves and stalked over to the dead body on display. More police officers had arrived and they were marking off the crime scene with yellow crime scene tape.

“That was fun,” Jarrett said. “I don’t think I like your boyfriend’s new friend.”

“I don’t like him either,” I said, casting a concerned look at Darian. I didn’t get it. Why all of a sudden did he pretend we hardly knew each other? And why was his new partner acting like his boss? Whatever the case, something wasn’t right, and I was determined to find out what.

Chapter Two

“He can’t do this,” I said. “He can’t just ignore me like this.”

“Well, actually he can,” Jarrett said. “He just did.”

I cast a nasty glance back at the police inspector, who stood gazing down at the body of the man that had dropped from the ceiling. The coroner had arrived and was carefully examining the body.

I willed Darian to turn and look at me, but he steadfastly pretended not to notice. It was driving me crazy. “I don’t get it,” I said, turning away.

“It’s this new craze,” Jarrett opined. “It’s called ghosting. One day you’re happily rattling headboards, like lovers do, and the next they pretend like they don’t know you. No messages, no phone calls, no emails. They simply cut off all communication. Ghosting. It’s the latest trend.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s cut off all communication. He did try to call.”

“Probably to tell you not to call him again. Ever.”

“Darian would never do that. He’s a good guy.”

“Honey, even good guys have their breaking point. Maybe it’s something you said?” He ignored my death-ray look. “Or did? There must have been warning signs. There always are.”

“Trust me, there was nothing. The last time I saw him was…” I thought back. Had it really been a week ago? Time flies by so fast when you’re hunting ghosts. “Well, everything was fine. We went out to dinner and he talked about his mum and dad getting back together and maybe even getting married again.”

“That’s it. That’s what decided him,” Jarrett said. “A lot of men get scared off when their girlfriends bring up the M word. Marriage,” he added in case I hadn’t caught on.

“I didn’t bring up the M word. He did. And he wasn’t talking about our M. he was talking about Em and Broderick’s upcoming M.”

“Em’s M. That’s funny.” When I gave him my best glare, he quickly added, “Doesn’t matter. When he got home that night he must have started thinking—thinking is very bad for men. They practically never do it, so when finally they do get to thinking, it’s usually with disastrous results.”

“You’re a man.”

“I’m not a man. I’m gay. There’s a difference. So he must have started thinking, is this really the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with? Is this really the face I want to see across the breakfast table for the next fifty years? Yes? No? Maybe?” He shrugged. “It’s obvious what he decided.”

“Ugh,” I said in response, then gave Jarrett a punch on the shoulder.

“Hey! What was that for?!”

“For being an ass.”

“I’m not an ass. I’m your friend. I’m just laying it all out for you.” He rubbed his shoulder. “I bruise easily. You know that. So don’t do it again.”

“I won’t do it again if you stop being an ass.”

“I’m not! I’m being your friend. And in return you give me a bruise.”

“Ask Deshawn to put some cream on that.”

Jarrett’s face lit up. “You know? I think I will.”

Deshawn Little was Jarrett’s fiancé. He’d been Jarrett’s manservant, until they discovered they harbored feelings for each other deeper than mere employment allowed. Jarrett had gone down on one knee, and now they were ready to tie the knot. Or not. They were still trying to decide which way they were leaning. The problem was the move from the master-and-servant stage to the equal-under-the-sun stage. It was hard for Deshawn to let go of his subservient manner, and for Jarrett to lose a superb valet.

“Have you found a replacement for Deshawn yet?”

“Not yet. And not for lack of trying, either. We’ve been interviewing plenty of candidates, but so far no luck. It’s very hard to replace the best valet in the world.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“I’m not. And neither is Deshawn. I swear, that man’s standards are even higher than my own.”

“Of course. He knows what the job entails. He knows how hard it is to replace himself.”

“Well, I hope he lowers his standards, or else we’re never going to agree on a person.”

I looked around, thinking we should probably get started on rooting out this pesky ghost. “Buckley?” I asked, looking up. “Are you there?”

Sir Geoffrey Buckley, ever since he’d passed away, had been an integral part of our team. He was the one who usually made contact with the ghosts, seeing as he was one himself, and knew where to find them. Of course, first we had to find Buckley, as he had a habit of floating around the racetrack.

“Buckley!” Jarrett demanded. “Where are you?!”

“Oh, hold on to your butts,” a tired voice sounded near the casino bar. A frizzy-haired head popped up, looking slightly disheveled. It belonged to a dapper gentleman dressed in an immaculate suit. The former antique dealer seemed reluctant to join us tonight.

“What happened to you?” Jarrett asked. “Have you been on a bender?”

Buckley gave Jarrett the evil eye. “How can I go on a bender? I’m dead.”

“Still. Maybe you found a way.”

“No, I didn’t find a way. Though I wouldn’t mind a snifter. This being dead thing might seem all fine and dandy to you young whippersnappers, but it gets a little tedious after a while.”

“We need your help, Buckley,” I said. “A man has been killed.”

“So what else is new? Men are killed every day. And women, for that matter. And children, dogs, cats, and perfectly nice chunks of rain forest.”

Yep, Buckley was in a great mood. “His ghost has been haunting the studio for the past couple of days, and they need him gone.”

“It’s the new Harry Potter movie, Buckley,” Jarrett said encouragingly. “They’re finally making another one, isn’t that great?”

Buckley shrugged. “Who cares?”

“Well, I do. I’ve always wondered what Harry was up to these past few years,” said Jarrett. “And so have millions of other Harry Potter fans.”

Buckley pressed a hand to his head and groaned. He almost sounded like Moaning Myrtle. “If you must know, I did go on a bender, but not an alcoholically induced one. Me and a bunch of other ghosts tried to make our horses go faster, and let me tell you, once you try to take over a horse you start to realize why they’ve been running races, carrying riders and pulling plows all these years. They’re not the most intelligent creatures.”

“You… possessed a horse?” I asked, incredulous.

He nodded. “I just figured if a ghost can possess another human, why not a horse? I thought if I could imbibe him with my fighting spirit, I might induce him to win the race. Only problem was that the horse liked me a little too much, and wouldn’t let me go! And instead of winning his race he just started prancing around, jumping into the stands like an idiot. Craig Barley had better luck. His horse won, with Frank ‘The Stump’ Neverlass’s lass a close second.”