“I know.” He’d always known what I was thinking, had a knack for it. It seemed even in death he hadn’t lost that skill.
Pulling into the driveway, I shifted into park and killed the engine. Ben’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in the garage. Climbing out, I slammed the door and locked it and stared up at the house Ben called home. It was gorgeous, painted a soft grey with white trim, high-pitched roof with three dormer windows letting in light to the upstairs rooms. Along the front was a wide verandah, white posts with an American flag proudly on display. He kept the place immaculate. The curved paved path leading to the front door was swept clean of debris, the flower bed between the path and house blooming in a riot of color, the other side of the path a wide expanse of green manicured lawn.
Slowly I approached the front door. A discreet plaque to the right announced Delaney Investigations and beneath the plaque, a bell. Guess Ben now had a new case. Finding out how he died.
4
Stepping through the front door, Ben announced, “It’s okay, you can come in. I’m not here.”
“What about…” I hesitated.
“Thor? Why are you so afraid of him? He loves you.” Ben laughed.
“Thor is a furry asshole who is plotting my demise,” I objected.
Thor is Ben’s cat, a big grey beast of a thing who looks like a teddy bear except he has homicidal tendencies. Every time I sleep over I wake to find myself being smothered by the face-hugger. He does it on purpose, I’m sure, just to freak me out.
“Anyway, he’s not here. Probably found a sunny spot out back.”
Glancing around to make sure his neighbor, Mrs. Hill, wasn’t watching, I unlocked the door and let myself inside, quietly locking the door behind me.
“Why are you…sneaking?” Ben quizzed, head cocked to one side.
I shrugged. “The last thing we need is Ethel over here sticking her nose in.” She was a lovely lady in her seventies, but Ethel was what Ben called “a little bit extra.” She was a floral dress-wearing, pearl-clutching, hair-set-in-rollers-every-day busybody.
“You’ve let yourself into my house dozens of times. This is no different.”
“Uh, yeah, it is.” My voice dripped sarcasm. “You’re dead, for one.”
“But I’m still here, and we can work with that.” The front door opened into a foyer with a staircase leading upstairs to one side, a large square archway leading to the open-plan living and kitchen areas on the right, and a passageway on the left that led to Ben’s office, a bathroom, and a spare bedroom. A spare bedroom where I’d spent many a night after a boozy barbecue. I shook off the melancholy memory.
“Now what?” I asked, having no idea what we should do next.
“Search for evidence. My car is in the garage. So I came home last night. Someone has been here. We just need to prove it.”
Ben headed toward his office and I followed. “Are your ghostly senses telling you that someone has been here?” I inquired, curious about what new powers he had.
“No,” he said drolly, “I can smell it. Can’t you? The bleach?”
I sniffed the air, then followed my nose. He was right. I could smell bleach, and as I continued to sniff the air my nose led me to the kitchen. I was about to toss my bag on the island bench when Ben shouted, “Stop!” I froze, clutching my bag to my chest and glancing around in fear. Was whoever doused the place in bleach still here? Was I in danger?
“Don’t touch anything. I don’t want your fingerprints contaminating the scene.” He rushed off, only to return two seconds later, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on, I can’t pick the darn things up.”
Following him back to the office, I asked, “Pick what up?”
“Gloves. Pull on a pair of latex gloves, and maybe pull your hair up so you don’t drop strands of it all over the place.”
“Why? I’ve been here tons of times, my prints are probably all over this place.”
“You haven’t been recently. I just don’t want you contaminating the crime scene. The rest of the house I don’t care about.”
“Fine.” I rummaged in my bag, found a hair tie, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. It was only just long enough and strands escaped to brush against my neck. There went all that blow drying effort.
Ben stood impatiently by his desk, pointing at the second drawer. Rolling my eyes, I crossed to the desk, shooing him away with my hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand to silence him. “I’ve got this.” Stretching out the hem of my T-shirt, I gripped the drawer knob through the fabric and tugged it open.
“Smart.” Ben nodded in approval.
“I’m not just here for my good looks.” Inside the drawer was an open box of latex gloves. I plucked two from the box and snapped them on. “I feel like I should make an inappropriate joke at this point.” I grinned.
Ben ignored me and I stuck my tongue out at his departing back.
“I saw that.”
I cocked my head, wondering if ghosts had the ability to see through the back of their heads.
He laughed. “You’re too predictable, Fitz.”
“How dare you!” I gasped in mock outrage, following him back to the kitchen. My nose was becoming accustomed to the scent of bleach, but there was no doubt someone had used it liberally and very recently. No wonder Thor had made himself scarce. To his delicate nose the place would reek.
“It wasn’t you, was it?” I asked, heading for his walk-in pantry.
“Me what?”
“On some sort of cleaning frenzy? I mean, you do keep this place like a show home. It’s pristine!”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He huffed, sounding put out. “But no. I don’t use bleach. I use earth-friendly products.”
“You so do.” I was eyeballing the cleaning supplies he kept in the pantry. Alongside a bottle of Eco-Me all-purpose cleaner was a 32-ounce bottle of Aunt Fannie’s Floor Cleaner. Eucalyptus. His house sure didn’t smell like eucalyptus now.
“So.” I stepped out of the pantry and looked around the kitchen, hands on hips. “Where did they use the bleach? And why?”
“Do I have to point out the obvious?”
“Well yeah, I guess you do, because, Mr. I-used-to-be-a-cop-and-now-I’m-a-PI, none of this comes naturally to me. Put me in front of a spreadsheet and I’ll be all over it, but this?” I indicated his kitchen. “No clue. So tell me, Sherlock, what am I looking for here?”
He looked contrite. “Sorry, you’re right. My bad. You’re looking for blood. I suspect I was killed here and someone cleaned up the mess with bleach. We have to hope they missed a spot. It’ll be small—minuscule—and easily missed.”
I blanched. His blood. I mean, it was perfectly obvious, only it hadn’t been for me. What did I think I was doing, standing in his kitchen with latex gloves on, playing detective? I needed to call the cops, let them deal with this. Seeing the panic on my face, he stepped up close, so close a chill emanated from him, making me shiver.
“Take a breath.” His voice was firm and calm. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath through my nose, felt my lungs expand, and held it for a few seconds before slowly releasing it through my mouth. “Good girl. You’ve got this. You’re smart—and you’re not alone. I’m right here with you.”