Cain’s head snapped around to look at me, his whole demeanor shifting. He was now sitting up, leaning forward, his gaze sharp. “Case? What case?”

  I rolled my peepers so hard, I was surprised I didn’t sprain a muscle. Trust a fella to do anything to get out of talking about feelings, but jump around like an eager puppy when the chance at an adventure shows up.

  “What ghosts have disappeared?” Cain patted around a bit before he realized he didn’t have a notebook and wouldn’t be able to write in one if he did—his fingers would go right through a pen. “When were these spirits last seen, and by whom?”

  “Alright, here’s the deal.” I fixed him with my best steely glare, so he’d know I was serious. “I will allow you to help on my case and investigate with me on one condition.”

  “What condition?”

  “If you promise to talk to Taliyah… savvy?”

  If I could use the situation to help out Taliyah, and let her get some closure with her ass of a brother, then I would. Cain didn’t need to know I’d intended to bring him in from the start.

  “Fine,” Cain said shortly. “Give me the case details.”

  Nice try, Mister. “Promise first.”

  Cain shot me a dirty look, but I’d seen dirtier. I crossed my arms again, cocking my hip to one side. It took more than a cranky spook to intimidate Darla Rowe.

  “Fine,” he gritted out. “I promise.”

  A grin stretched across my kisser. “Amen! Lemme finish dishing up my dinner, and we can review Marty’s case together.”

  “Wait,” I heard him behind me as I went back to the kitchen for my pot roast and mashed potatoes. I’d worked hard on that gravy, darn it, and I was gonna enjoy every bit of it.

  “What do you mean Marty’s case?” Cain drifted right through the wall after me, his brows pulled down into a familiar scowl.

  “Marty’s the one who brought the case to my attention,” I told him as I spooned some perfectly cooked green beans onto my plate.

  “Explain.”

  I turned to look at him. “How do you ask nice like?”

  This time his frown was real pronounced. “Darla, you are lucky I’m a dead man.”

  I shrugged. “Even ghosties gotta mind their manners, Cain Morgan.”

  He narrowed his peepers. “Fine. Please explain.”

  I gave him a great big grin and then explained the particulars about Marty and his missing ghosts. Cain snorted and rolled his eyes like he didn’t have a lot of time or patience for Marty or his missing spooks. Rude, if you asked me. And a bit hypocritical, what with Cain being a ghostie and all. But from what I understood, over the years, Marty had gotten a lotta flack about his profession from his family, most of which were law enforcement of one flavor or another.

  Some of my family hadn’t approved of me being an actress, so I had some sympathy for Mr. Zach.

  “Be nice,” I warned, spooning some delicious gravy over my fluffy mashed potatoes. I was really starting to get the hang of this cooking thing. “Marty’s a good fella. He’s also my friend.”

  That, for some reason, brought back Cain’s thundercloud scowl. “He’s not working this case with us.”

  “We’ll see.” The pot roast was tender enough that I could pull it apart with a fork. The only drawback to cooking for myself was that I was going to have leftovers for days. And I didn’t care much for leftovers. “He just wants me to go check out the houses, see if I can sense anything that his equipment can’t. I figured having a ghostie on hand would be helpful. You might be able to pick up on things I can’t.”

  The dark scowl lightened, giving way to one of Cain’s rare smiles. It wasn’t a big expression. Most people might not have even known he was smiling, but I’d been spending a lot of time with the guy, and I knew what the barest uptilt at the corner of his kisser meant.

  “I’m sure I can.”

  I gave a jerky nod and turned back towards the kitchen drawers to grab some utensils and to hide the sudden flush that climbed into my cheeks. Cain Morgan needed to keep his smiles to himself.

  ***

  “Absolutely not.”

  I ignored the ghostie having a hissy fit by my closet door and pulled out the lemon-yellow sundress I’d been contemplating wearing. It was such a pretty color, and it made my dark hair look even darker. Maybe add a sun hat, a couple of bangle bracelets, possibly a cardigan in case the weather turned cool. The getup would hit that line between pretty, fun and flirty, but still professional. I was going on an investigation, after all. Not out to a speakeasy.

  “I am not wearing a yellow dress. Put it back.”

  “You aren’t wearing it.”

  “As soon as you put on that ring, I will be.”

  I turned to look at him and waved him away. “Fiddle-dee-dee,” I said, giving him my best Scarlett O’Hara.

  Cain didn’t look convinced. “I know you own pants, Darla.”

  I pursed my lips as I considered Cain’s comment—not because I gave a hoot about what he thought. I didn’t—instead, I thought about the fact that I was heading to haunted houses, and if something had actually happened to the ghosties in them, it wouldn’t be too appropriate to show up looking like I was going on a picnic.

  That also left out most of my fun skirts, or the dresses Libby had made for me, with their poofy crinoline underskirts that made them swish around my gams when I walked. I always felt a bit like I was wearing a flower blossom, like a sugar plum fairy. The good news was that the outfits of Libby’s time—the 1950s—gave my slight curves a bit of an oomph.

  Cain’s jaw was clenched as he glared at me. If he’d had any blood, I was pretty sure it would all be rushing to his face to throb in the veins at his forehead.

  “Stop ignoring me.”

  I sighed. The hangers clinked and scraped, sliding over the bar in my closet as I pawed through my choices. “I’m not ignoring you. I’m just not sure where you get the idea that you get to dictate what I wear. You’re not my dapper.”

  His expression twitched into confusion. “Your what?”

  “My dad.” I slid the last dress back, considering the options facing me. Black. Fairly straight lines, nothing kicky or lacey about it. The bold print of roses rising up from the hem like a vine climbing to the hip drew the eye without screaming for attention. It was definitely a contender. Pair it with some pretty gold hoops, an understated necklace, and we might just have something to work with.

  Cain spun on his heel, drifting forward four paces before making a sharp turn and stalking back. “If I’m working this case, and I need to possess your body, I’m not comfortable prancing around in a dress and heels, thank you very much.”

  “Oh, heels. Good idea.” I crouched down to rummage through my shoes. “I think I have some cute, open toed ones.”

  “Darla,” he growled. “No.”

  I hummed, picking out the shoes I’d thought of. If I was looking to go snooping around outside, or if I had to walk a while, I’d have listened to Cain. The heels were a little too narrow to go skulking through the woods, and definitely too uncomfortable to go pounding pavement for hours. But I didn’t have to worry about either, so I was free to wear my open toed black shoes that would let the red polish I’d put on my toenails peek out.

  Normally I gave in to Cain’s grousing. That was owing to the fact that listening to Cain pump his gums all day about wearing this or that was enough to make me wish for a second death. Though, occasionally his grousing could be forgiven by watching him try to figure out how to walk in heels. I had pretty long gams, not as long as Cain’s when he’d been alive, but close. So, watching him trying to maneuver in heels and a tight pencil skirt—well it was sometimes worth the cost of admission. Sometimes.

  But today I didn’t care what Cain said because I had my own ideas—I was going to doll myself up because Marty had arranged for Henner to pick me up and act as my chauffeur for the day.

  Henner and me, well… we’d been seeing each other for the past few months. Nothing official, really, but he’d take me out to dinner, or drinks, or the occasional wrestling match whenever we were both free. It had gotten a little more complicated lately, what with me dragging around my ghostly wet blanket, but I felt better about leaving Cain at home now that he could at least turn on the tele for himself.

  I was a little put out that Henner hadn’t asked me to go steady, yet. But I didn’t really have any complaints. Henner was just swell. He was brilliant, and talented, and sweet, and he loved wrestling almost as much as I did. And, to be perfectly honest, after the nightmare of my last relationship, I was sorta becoming more okay with taking things slow.

  I’d just finished smoothing out my lipstick when I caught sight of Henner’s car, a black Lincoln, Continental, pulling into the driveway. I grabbed Cain’s ring, slid it on my finger and then felt him take up occupancy inside my body. That took a few seconds to get used to—almost like jumping into a cold shower. Not wanting to keep Henner waiting, I grabbed my purse and hurried down the stairs so I was just locking up by the time Henner made it up the front steps.

  He was dressed a bit snappier than usual, I noted. Normally, Henner was a cargo shorts and skeleton hoody kind of guy. But now he was dressed in proper slacks, with a collared shirt with the last two buttons left undone.

  “Good morning.” His smile was sweet, almost shy.

  “Good morning, Henner.” I slid the strap of my purse over my shoulder, and ignored Cain’s newest grumble. “Thank you again. I really appreciate you taking me around today.”

  He tucked some of his dark hair behind one ear as we headed back to his car. He was wearing his military issue beret today. “Of course! I really appreciate you helping us with this investigation. We all do—Marty and RJ, too.”

  RJ was the third of their ghost-busting trio. A tall, broad-shouldered man with long blonde hair, he looked like Hollywood’s version of a Viking, but instead of plundering, he spent all his spare time hunting for Big Foot. Little did he know he already knew a sasquatch—Roy—fairly well.

  “Can I interest you in some breakfast before we head out to our first stop?” Henner checked the time on his phone before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s still a little early to be knocking on people’s doors asking to search for ghosts, and I was thinking we could go to Sunny Side.”

  My stomach chose that moment to rumble quietly, as if urging me to accept the offer. I’d spent so long trying to pick the right outfit that I’d failed to grab so much as a granola bar to tide me over. Not that I’d have turned down the chance to go with Henner anywhere, even if I’d just eaten a six-course meal before he’d shown up. After all, I could always nurse a cup of joe.

  As it was, there was a plate of apple cinnamon pancakes calling my name, with a side of bacon just the perfect side of crispy. I slid my hand into Henner’s with a grin. “Ab-so-lute-ly. Sounds like a plan to me.”

  A spike of irritation flared up at the back of my head, like something was itching at my skin.

  We’re on a case, Cain groused, his voice more gravelly than usual. You don’t have time for distractions or dates. You need to focus.

  Listening to him complain about me being ‘distracted’ by Henner made me wish I’d stuffed his ring into the bottom of my purse, alongside the pencil stubs and crumpled receipts.

  This is part of the case, I insisted, thinking at him very clearly. The smile I’d aimed at Henner never faltered as we made our way back to the car.

  Really? Because it looks and sounds like a date to me. The sandpaper scratch of Cain’s irritation grew stronger, along with the growl in his mental voice.

  I didn’t respond and Cain fell silent, but his grumpiness lingered at the back of my head like a cloud threatening rain.

  And need I remind you, Henner’s the one who got your television working again, I pointed out archly. So maybe be a little more polite.

  Cain stayed quiet. If he weren’t a fully grown sleuth, and dead, I woulda thought he was sulking.

  I grinned as Henner opened the passenger door for me and helped me inside. Then I buckled up as he came around to get into the driver’s seat.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded, hair swinging with the motion. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

  Chapter Four

  Sunny Side’s was my favorite place to grab breakfast in all of Haven Hollow.

  Now don’t go getting your tailfeathers in a bunch, yes I also loved the Half-Moon Bar and Grill. But the Half-Moon was more a place where you might wanna dip your bill than have breakfast. And it was also a great joint for the occasional fancy dinner option. Sunny Side’s was strictly breakfast and brunch, and everything on the menu, from Eggs Benedict, to grits, to crepes, was the monkey’s eyebrows. They’d also just opened for business in the last month or so and all the Haven Hollowers were real pleased about that.

  Henner and I slid into opposite sides of a booth, the shiny red vinyl bench creaking underneath us. The tables were gleaming black, almost as shiny as my lacquered desk, and the floor was done up in black and white subway tile. The whole place was a fun combination of 1950’s retro and clean modern, with a milkshake machine and a white counter with red upholstered stools. There were black and white geometric prints on the walls, and I wasn’t sure if the owner, Sunny, changed them frequently or I just noticed something different about them every visit, because they always looked new.

  Sunny was behind the counter when we sat down, and she waved to us. Seventy-five if she was a day, Sunny was still spry as heck which was somethin’. Her white hair was twisted up into a neat bun at the back of her head, her face was apple cheeked, and when she grinned, her peepers just about disappeared into a nest of wrinkles.

  It was a little odd to realize that she was technically younger than I was. Yep, as far as ol’ Darla went, I was a rock of ages! Though you wouldn’t know it, to take a gander at me.

  I waited until I’d forked up my first bite of apple cinnamon pancakes before I brought up the case, giving myself a moment to close my peepers and savor that scrumptious taste. The outside of the pancake was crispy, the inside fluffy, and Sunny grated real apples right into the batter for a delicious crunch.

  “So,” I started, cutting into a perfect strip of bacon. “Did you sense anything when you fellas were working the houses?”

  Marty was dependent on gadgets and gizmos to sense spooky energy, but as the grandson of a witch, Henner was more attuned to the supernatural side of things. He’d been one of the few people who’d been able to see me when I was still a ghostie.

  He finished chewing his bite of blueberry waffles before he answered, his expression thoughtful. “It wasn’t so much a sensation,” he answered real slow like, thinking it out. “It was more of a lack of any sensation. It was like there was this big empty void where a spirit should have been.”

  A little prickle of cold danced up my spine. “So, the houses were haunted once upon a time?”

  Yeah, I already knew that but if those noir gumshoe movies had taught me anything, it was that you always wanted to repeat what you already knew about a case—it was like in the repeatin’, you might uncover something you didn’t already know.

  Henner rubbed his thumb over the silver handle of his knife, his forehead furrowed and pensive. “At least at some point, they were. But I searched them top to bottom, went over every inch, and I couldn’t find a ghost anywhere. I don’t know where they could have gone.”

  I worked on cutting my pancakes into bite-sized pieces so I wouldn’t choke myself in front of Henner, which would be anything but glamorous. Meanwhile, I puzzled Henner’s words.

  “Well, if the houses used to be haunted, and you fellas didn’t oust them spooks, and Bailey and I didn’t help them move on, then where the heck could they be going?” I tapped the tines of my fork lightly against my plate. “Ghosties aren’t exactly mobile, in most instances. It’s not like they could pack their little ghost bindles and move.”

  Henner’s lips twitched, like he wanted to smile, but he held it back which was good because this was serious time. “That’s why I told Marty we should talk to you. You’re a lot more in touch with things on the ghost side, Darla, so you’ll probably have a lot more insight into what’s going on than we will.”

  I forced myself not to squirm in my seat. I was a mature woman about town, darn it! I had the brand-new lines at the corner of my peepers to prove it. Nosiree Bob, I wasn’t gonna blush like a school girl just because a real swanky, lounge-lizard paid me a compliment. Darla Rowe was a real wise head.

  Except I couldn’t keep the goofy grin off my face as I said, “I’ll help any way I can.”

  Henner insisted on footin’ the tab for breakfast, just like the sheik he was. He even held my hand like we were sweethearts as we walked to the first house on the list. I felt young again, happiness fizzing in my veins like golden champagne bubbles. I loved hittin’ the town with Henner, holding hands and talking. The connection we had was like a gentle balm to my heart after decades of scouring isolation.

  But still, I couldn’t stop them dark thoughts from creeping in at the corners. Was that all he wanted? Just someone to hang out with, and watch wrestling together? We’d necked a couple of times but those times had been pretty chaste and they’d just left me feeling fluttery and flustered in turn, but he’d never indicated wanting anything more. He’d never even brought it up.

  I didn’t want to ruin what we had by getting greedy, or asking for things he might not want to give me, but I couldn’t help but poke at the situation like a loose tooth. Why hadn’t Henner taken things any further? Why did he seem to be content with things just as they were? Was there something about me he didn’t like?

  A scoff from the back of my head pulled my thoughts outta their tailspin.

  And you say I’m bad at expressing my feelings, Cain grumbled.

  I bristled. I’m not bad at expressing my feelings, and I don’t like it when you eavesdrop on my thoughts!

  Well, that’s hard not to do, considering I’M IN YOUR HEAD!