The Ghost is Clear(Ghost Detective #3)by Jane Hinchey
English | 2020| Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 3.0 MB
Jane Hinchey writes funny, witchy, paranormal cozy mysteries and romantic urban fantasy. Living in the City of Churches (aka Adelaide, South Australia) with her man, two cats, and turtle, she would really prefer to live in a magical town where cooking could be done with a snap of her fingers, and her house would clean itself.
Amateur sleuth, PI in training, ghost whisperer.
That’s me. Audrey Fitzgerald, ghost detective. I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that I can not only communicate with ghosts, but animals too. Well, one in particular, my big gray teddy bear of a cat, Thor. What I haven’t worked out yet is how to keep my newfound abilities a secret from the townsfolk of Firefly Bay.
When I’m hired by the president of the local historical society to find a missing necklace, I figured I finally had a case that didn’t require ghostly interference. After all, how hard could it be to find a missing piece of jewelry? Things turn complicated real fast when the necklace turns up in the most unexpected of places and my client turns up dead.
Now I’m up to my neck in ghostly chatter, I have a murder to solve, my PI exams are looming, I’m worried I may have to put Thor on a diet, and I think I’ve accidentally fallen for Captain Cowboy Hot Pants—aka, Detective Kade Galloway. But worst of all? What on earth do I put on my business card without scaring off the townsfolk? Amateur sleuth, PI in training, ghost whisperer, or ghost detective?
Sexy. Edgy. Refined. Three words I don’t normally associate with myself, but today I’d nailed it. I’d channeled Jane Bond to perfection. Smoothing my hands over the curves of my black fitted dress, I admired my reflection in the full-length mirror in the ladies’ bathroom of the Firefly Bay Museum, twisting this way and that to check all angles. The dress was a classic. Knee-length, demure neckline, sleeveless.
My blonde hair was pulled back into a French twist, only it wasn’t long enough, so I had over a hundred bobby pins holding it in place. My scalp was already protesting, but I ignored the discomfort. Jane Bond would not be complaining about a few hairpins.
On my feet, black patent stilettos, legs encased in twenty denier pantyhose. A bold gesture on my behalf, since me and pantyhose do not play well together. But I was on a case, and desperate times call for desperate measures.
Opening the evening purse hooked over my elbow, I pulled out my Chanel lipstick and re-coated my lips in 99 Pirate red, smacking them together with a popping noise before sliding the lipstick back into my purse. Clasping my palms together and extending my index fingers, I aimed my mock gun at my reflection, shot off two rounds before blowing the smoke from my fingertips with the perfect pout.
“Jane Bond, I presume?” Ben asked, appearing behind me.
“Eeeek!” I dropped my fake gun and felt a blush of color sweep over my cheeks. Not that I had anything to be embarrassed about. Ben was a ghost, and I was the only one who could see or hear him. Therefore, who was he going to tell that I’d been fooling around in the bathroom?
I preened some more in the mirror, admired the black sweeping winged eyeliner one last time before turning to the door. “Did you find our client?” I asked.