“Here, put this on so we can go in.” Her voice was brisk, almost impersonal.

  I frowned as I suited up and couldn’t help but think about how Cain had made such a fuss about my duds and here I was bundling myself up, head to toe, in protective gear. There were even booties to wear over my shoes, for Pete’s sakes.

  It was petty to complain about the silly suit when, less than thirty feet away, someone had died. But doing so distracted me from the cold, crawling sensation slithering up my spine.

  The feeling wasn’t a spirit, not fully. It probably wasn’t even an echo, an imprint of a person caught at the moment of death. There was something there though, and it gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  When people died, especially in surprising or violent ways, that shock, anger or sadness soaked into the area and left a stain behind. The energy lingered, sometimes for years. It was why even mundane people will say a haunted location feels off to them.

  Throw in being a former-spook, turned psychic medium, currently possessed by another spook, and my skin was trying to foxtrot right off my body.

  I tugged up the elastic of the shoe covering one last time and took a deep breath. No more stalling.

  Taliyah ushered us into the house. I got a quick look at the front room and the hallway leading back to the kitchen, and my peds stuck to the floor.

  “Is Cain with you?” she whispered out the corner of her kisser.

  “He is,” I answered.

  She looked at me then and her expression softened. “Cain, how are you?”

  “Eager to get this show on the road,” he answered in my voice. Taliyah nodded and gave me a little sad smile.

  “It’s good to have you back,” she managed and I could see the shine of unshed tears again.

  “It’s good to be back, Tally,” Cain responded.

  The hall carpet was rucked up, and a picture had fallen off the wall and shattered, showering the floor in slivers of glass. At the end of the hallway, a fuzzy pale blue slipper lay discarded on its side. Like it had caught on the ground, been tugged off, and forgotten.

  My heart started a drum solo, breath coming faster.

  Why did I think I could do this? I didn’t want to witness the wreckage of someone’s last desperate attempts to live.

  And then it hit me: I didn’t have to.

  I did a little sideways shimmy in my own body, and effectively hip-checked Cain into the driver’s seat. It’s all yours, cowboy.

  I felt his surprise, a silvery bright flash up my spine.

  Wait, what are you—

  I took a step back and pulled the curtains on the doorway of my mind, shutting out the world.

  It felt a little off, but once I did it, I thought to myself that maybe I could get used to this possession thing.

  ***

  I was jolted back into awareness sometime later and almost fell on my face.

  My stilts had been in the middle of a stride way longer than I’d normally take when Cain pushed me back to the helm. Apparently, former Police Chief Morgan didn’t understand that not everyone had tree trunks for legs. Nor did he think about politely stopping while he made the swap.

  Taliyah’s grip on my arm kept me from hitting the mats like a palooka.

  “Are you okay?”

  She kept her hold on me until I had my gams back under control.

  I tried for a breezy wave but ended up flailing my arms and no doubt looking like a mime acting out a monkey in a tornado. “Sure, ‘course. Just getting’ myself together. Did you get what you needed?”

  Taliyah held up a spiral bound notebook in a gesture that woulda been triumphant if it weren’t so grim. But she didn’t say nothing—guess she was leaving that to the mustard plaster in my head.

  What the heck’s a mustard plaster? Cain echoed in my mind.

  It’s an unwelcome guy who sticks around.

  Where in tarnation are you from anyway?

  Finally, a personal question. But I wasn’t sure ‘the roaring twenties’ was a good answer. Not yet, anyway. Cain had already had enough surprises today to last him a lifetime. Or a deathtime, as it were.

  Um, from the south, I answered, figuring that might hold him off for a while.

  Hmm, he seemed to think about it. What’s the southern word for a woman who’s as irritating as she is impossible to understand?

  Um… Darla? I asked with a sheepish shrug.

  Bingo. Then there was the sound of a sigh ringing through my ears. But, back to the important stuff, Cain continued. So far, we’re only dealing with first findings only. The murder victim showed a lot of similarities to Irwin’s victims—so many, in fact, I believe we’re dealing with Irwin, himself.

  I didn’t know how that could be, given the fact that Irwin was still behind bars but I didn’t say nothing about it, mainly ‘cause I didn’t want to ruin Cain’s good mood. His voice was as close to cheerful as I’d ever heard it.

  I made a face. “It’s weird that crime makes you this excited.” I didn’t realize I wasn’t talking in my head until Taliyah turned around to face me and raised an eyebrow. I just pointed to my head like that was response enough.

  Something shifted in the tone of conversation outside. The other officers got real quiet. There was a new tension in the air.

  The lines of Taliyah’s face sharpened, and she swore softly under her breath. Her hand went back to my arm, tugging me toward the front door.

  Her urgency had me instantly on edge. “Is something wrong?”

  Kisser pressed into a thin line, Taliyah gripped me tighter as she picked up her pace. “Not wrong. It would just be better if we were out sooner rather than later.”

  A tall man in an expensive gray suit stepped through the door, blocking our path.

  “Chief Morgan? I’m Special Agent Christopher Riggs.”

  ‘Agent dreamboat’ was more like it.

  Kumbaya.

  His blonde hair was just tousled from the breeze outside, hazel eyes sharp under slashing brows. His kisser was a little too full to pull off the serious expression he was trying for as he flipped out his tin.

  Ugh. Cain recoiled as much as he could. Could you not think… those thoughts about him, please? He’s a fed.

  If Cain had been physical, I woulda flicked him.

  So what? I thought back at him. It’s not a crime to take a gander.

  I hadn’t thought it was possible for Cain Morgan to get any terser, but he managed to pull it off. His good mood vanished like smoke. Can we leave? I want to get back home so you can take the ring off. There’s nothing worse than riding shotgun in a woman’s body, let alone a dingbat’s.

  Hey!

  Apparently, I’d offended Police-Chief-Stick-In-The-Mud of the very foul temper, and he needed space to brood over it. Maybe if we talked about the case, he’d cheer up again.

  With regard to the ring and Cain wanting me to take it off, we’d experimented the previous night and found that when I wasn’t wearing the ring, Cain could only go about twenty yards away from it in any given direction. It wasn’t much, but it gave us a bit of privacy from each other, at least.

  “And who’s this?”

  Agent Riggs’s question pulled my wandering thoughts back into place.

  “This is Darla Rowe,” Taliyah introduced me, her voice pleasantly neutral.

  Agent Riggs gave me a once over, his brow furrowing as he studied me with interested but narrowed eyes—like he didn’t wanna see me. “What’s she doing here?”

  I was close enough to hear Taliyah take a deep breath and hold it for a count of three. All the while I wondered what title she might give me—Apprentice to the Chief of Police? Special Agent Darla? Bond? Darla Bond?

  “She’s a psychic consultant.”

  Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting the truth.

  And I also didn’t expect that announcement to go over well. Even Cain wasn’t thrilled about it, exemplified by the long sigh that blasted through my head. And that was telling because Cain now had both the intimate knowledge that things like ghosts and demons were real, and a vested interest in keeping me around.

  What I hadn’t expected was for Special Agent Christopher Riggs to laugh in my face.

  It wasn’t just any laugh either, it came deep from the gut, so he actually had to bend over, holding his stomach, so he could properly get it out.

  The jerk.

  My spine shot up straight, anger and embarrassment swirling around in my chest. I felt my cheeks go up in flame, and I hated it. “Hey buddy,” I demanded, glaring at him all the while. “What’s so funny?” He wouldn’t answer me, but just continued to laugh as an expression of disgust overtook his yapper. “What’s your problem?” I demanded.

  The laughter died then, morphing into an open sneer, and Agent Riggs took a step toward me. “My problem is that you’re a fraud, sponging off murder victims like a leech.”

  “I am not!” I snapped. The gruff dismissal made me want to stomp my foot, but that wouldn’t have helped my case none.

  “Agent Riggs, this isn’t necessary,” Taliyah started as she attempted to pull me away, but the agent wouldn’t have none of it and got right back into my face.

  “Okay, Miss Psychic.” Agent Riggs made a broad, sweeping gesture with his arm. “Then tell me, what do you see in this scene that I don’t?”

  He was still sneering, mocking me, and boy, oh boy, did I want to pop him in the schnozzle for it. But I wouldn’t be able to help Taliyah if I got myself arrested and banned from any other crime scenes. So, I followed Taliyah’s lead and took a deep breath as inside I counted to five.

  Then I turned toward the front room and looked around.

  And I got me a real good look.

  I didn’t hold back this time or drag Cain forward to take over; I let myself see. No running from it, no hiding. I let myself feel every nasty thing trapped in the walls, soaked into the carpet. The energy brushed against my skin, cold, so cold. I shivered, but I didn’t rub at the goosebumps on my arms. I wouldn’t give Agent Riggs the satisfaction.

  Nope, he didn’t deserve it.

  The energy was strongest in the next room, but I doubted the “Special Agent” would let me go traipsing around the house. A trail of devastation led down the hall, the rucked-up carpet, the shattered picture. The destruction continued into the kitchen. I saw hints of shattered dishes and a knocked over chair.

  I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this poor dame had croaked in her kitchen.

  But the front room where we stood was oddly untouched. There was no mess at all, unless you counted the java stain on the low table in front of the lounger.

  My eyes strayed to the full-length, gilt-framed mirror on the wall. It reflected the settee, but didn’t show nothing special, yet something about it intrigued me. Whatever information I was getting from it, it wasn’t like watching the tele and getting info about the future or the past. It was just a big sheet of glass in a frame that was pulling me to it. I thought, personally, it was a little ugly.

  It was dirty, too. There was a smudge on the glass.

  A second glance, and I realized it wasn’t a smudge at all.

  My heart started tripping, excitement fizzing in my belly.

  There was a hand print on the mirror.

  Now, I may not have been no gumshoe, or gone to fancy FBI training, but in my books, that handprint was what we called a genuine clue.

  I pointed out the print to Taliyah and Agent Riggs, my lips curling up into a smirk. “What about this, Special Agent Riggs? Have you catalogued this print?”

  Riggs moved closer to the mirror. He glanced over the frame and peered into the glass.

  “What about it?” he demanded, just shy of spitting at me. “Are you going to tell me there’s a secret passage behind the mirror? Is that what your psychic powers are telling you? That the killer found out about it and used it to sneak in or out?”

  I crossed my arms over my absentee bubs, scowling all the while. Agent Riggs was special, alright. A special kinda jerk. I knew the handprint was a clue, but he was so sure I was a phonus balonus, he wouldn’t even listen to me.

  He took hold of the edges of the mirror and carefully lifted it away from the wall. There was nothing behind it but wallpaper.

  “Wow, thanks Miss Psychic.” Agent Riggs was laughing again. So hard, he had to put the mirror down and rest it against the wall. “You’ve really cracked this case wide open for us. I’m so glad Chief Morgan brought you in.”

  Taliyah breathed out and glared at Agent Riggs as blood rushed into my face.

  “I’m talking about the handprint on the mirror glass.”

  That was when Agent Riggs got right into my face again. “A handprint on a mirror inside a house where there are handprints on everything, handprints belonging to the owner of said house, isn’t a clue. It isn’t anything.”

  With that, I spun on my heel and stormed out the front door.

  Chapter Ten

  When I was a little girl, my parents took me to the circus.

  It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before: the theater, the crowd, the energy, the oddities. I remember huddling in my bench seat, gasping and cheering in turn as performers flipped and flew through the air, walked across a narrow rope stretched across the building, and juggled huge knives. Fellas rode horses bareback and backward, their hooves kicking up the arena dirt as they thundered past. The bright patchwork costumes of the clowns sparkled under the lights as they tumbled and did pratfalls, delighting the crowd.

  There were feats of strength, death defying stunts, and amazing illusions. There were people with fur all over their faces, others who were covered in ink tattoos, and even a family who only came up to my knees.

  I think that night at the circus sparked my love of performing, though I steered more toward the silver screen and less the sawdust ring. But the way the audience hung on every sight and sound—the way the performers captured their attention—it was, well, it was like its own little world.

  Maybe to a modern audience it woulda been silly or drippy, but for me it was pure magic. I used to imagine what it would be like to run away to the circus. Living on the road like that wasn’t appealing, of course, but the memories never left me. Even into my second life, the smell of roasted peanuts never failed to put a smile on my face.

  Being stuck living with Cain Morgan for the days following our trip to the crime scene was a lot like what I imagined being a lion tamer was like.

  Minus the whip.

  I was just bending down to check on the chicken I was roasting in the oven—seasoned with lemon, rosemary, and thyme (a recipe Libby had taught me on one of the few occasions I’d actually been listening)—when Cain blew through the wall like a particularly grouchy fog bank.

  Don’t get me wrong, brooding was a very good look on Cain; all square jaw and intense peepers and a mug a gal could get used to. The problem was he didn’t do his brooding quietly. If I had to go through another three days of his grumpy running commentary about what happened at the house on Mulberry Way, I was gonna run screaming for the hills. Or “accidentally” drop his ring down a storm drain.

  “Can you please spare me whatever dialogue of offensive statements you’re about to lay down at my door?” I asked.

  He turned to look at me. “This is my house, so you’re going to listen to whatever I have to say!”

  I’d gotten tired of listening to him complaining about my decorating at the duplex—two dames living together, yes, things were gonna be girly. I’d never realized what a distraction flowers and pink towels were until Cain was either in my head or tethered to me in spirit. Staying at his place seemed like the best thing to do to keep him comfortable and, really, to get him to stop running his yapper.

  At first, I hadn’t even thought I could stay at his place—previously, I’d figured I couldn’t be that far from Wanda, who was like the charger to my iPhone. But, turned out, Cain’s house wasn’t too far from Wanda.

  “I can’t believe Taliyah told that bastard you were a psychic consultant,” Cain grumbled as he drifted by. He was so agitated, he was a little blurry around the edges, like he was having trouble keeping himself together.

  “I gotta admit, I was a bit surprised, myself.”

  He continued as he paced right past me, which was more like floating in his spook form. “What was she thinking? That fed made absolute fools of us!” He spat the word “fed” like it was the dirtiest curse word he knew. Then he turned to face me. “And you… you were…!”

  I knew something bad was about to come outta his kisser, so I beat him to the punch. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Disagree with Taliyah right in front of him? Pretend I wasn’t no psychic?” I turned to dig through the kitchen drawers. There had to be a potato peeler in there, somewhere.

  “You could have come up with something,” he insisted.

  I turned to scowl at him, long and hard. “I don’t have any credentials, so what did you expect Taliyah to say? Do I look like a bull to you?”

  He paused, his brows drawing together in confusion. “No, you most certainly don’t… look like a bull, though I don’t know why you’d ask that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Do I look like a lawman?”

  “No, you don’t look like a bull, a dog, a horse or law enforcement!” he gruffed while throwing his hands into the air and resuming his floating-pacing. “But you’re all I’ve got. And I can’t do my job if I can’t get access to crime scenes, or if I’m treated like a joke.”

  “I was the one who was treated like a joke. As far as you’re concerned, no one even knows you exist any longer.”

  “Yeah, well, when I’m inside you, I feel what you feel.”

  The way he said that last thing, I couldn’t help but swallow hard and think to myself what it would be like if he was actually inside me. In the barney mugging sorta sense.

  I sure was happy Detective Grumpy Pants wasn’t in my head at the moment because that was one string of thoughts I really didn’t want anyone else witnessing, least of all him.

  I yanked open another drawer, finding only a spatula and four different screw drivers. “Well, sorry you got stuck with my chassis and not some hard-boiled sleuth. There weren’t exactly a lot of choices available for this, you know?”