Ghostly Investigations Box Set

Chapter 2

Mike was dragging when he made it from his car to the front door of his townhouse. The sun was starting to come up. No wonder I’m beat. Why don’t people wait until daylight to get themselves killed? Then it would be someone else’s case.

There were lights on in several of the other townhouses surrounding the central courtyard of the complex. He knew it was because people were getting ready to face the day while he was heading home to bed. He was used to that, although normally he made it back much earlier than he had this morning—the lateness the result of having to write up the report on the Watts killing before leaving work.

Mike glanced across the courtyard when he heard a door open. A guy he only knew as Sage Crewe stepped onto the porch, bending to pick up his newspaper. He saw Mike and waved. Mike waved back before unlocking his door to go inside.

He tossed his suit coat on the sofa, thought better of it, and walked up to his bedroom to hang it up. Stripping down to his briefs, he went downstairs again to make breakfast. Not that he was hungry, but he knew from experience if he didn’t eat, he’d wake up in the middle of the day starving, and getting back to sleep would be iffy at best.

After eating, he took a fast shower then fell into bed. All the while, his mind went over the murder of Jon Watts.

Why would someone want to kill him? From what we found out, he apparently was a waiter at a small restaurant in the Hurley district. Hardly a place where he’d have brought home the kind of money we found in his wallet. For damned sure it wasn’t a mugging. The killer didn’t even try to make it look like one, since he didn’t empty Watts’ wallet of the cash and cards. Why? Was he after something he though Watts had on him, or in his car?

He decided he wouldn’t find the answer to that until he had a chance to interview the people where Watts worked, and any friends of his. “If I can find them,” he grumbled after setting his alarm clock for eleven. “We didn’t find an address book anywhere, and there wasn’t a computer in his place.” That had him frowning. What kind of person these days doesn’t have a computer, and a cell phone? We didn’t find a phone on his body. Making a mental note to find out if Watts had owned either item, he fell asleep.

* * * *

Brody showed up at Jon’s apartment around eleven-thirty. Jon was already up, walking back and forth in the living room. He stopped to check under the sofa—again—shaking his head.

“What are you missing?” Brody asked.

“My laptop. I didn’t realize last night that it was gone. And the cops didn’t take it. We were here when they were.”

“Where did you keep it?”

“On the desk. Duh.” Jon pointed. “And you know what else? They didn’t find my cell phone on my…my body.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Remember, I saw the list of what was there, when the detective was making his report. I wonder if he’s smart enough to get that it was missing, and the laptop, or if he thinks I was too poor to have them.” He sighed. “The money says I wasn’t poor. Too bad it wasn’t mine.”

“Meaning you think it was planted in your wallet?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “No kidding.”

“Jon, you don’t remember anything before you were killed. How do you know it wasn’t your money?”

Jon’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t, I guess. I wonder…”

“What?”

“Maybe we should visit where I worked?”

“Do you recall where that was?”

“No,” Jon replied. “But I saw the restaurant’s name the detective put down in his report—probably from the business card he found—and memorized it. Pete’s Place.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s in Hurley.” Jon paused, shocked. “Hey! I remember that.”

“Great. Let’s go see what’s what.”

* * * *

“It’s not bad, for being stuck between a near-new store and a smoke shop,” Brody commented when they entered the restaurant just after noon. “Does it look familiar?”

Hesitantly, Jon replied, “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

It was one long room, running from the door back to what Jon immediately knew was the kitchen and a hallway to the restrooms. There were several tables, covered with checked tablecloths. To one side was a counter with a cash register and a display of candies and cellophane-wrapped cookies.

An older man—the owner and Jon’s boss, Mr. Pete Franklin—stood behind the counter, keeping an eye on things. People were seated at all the tables, with one waiter handling all of them.

“What happened to Jon?” Jon overheard someone ask the waiter.

“Hell if I know. He didn’t show up this morning,” the waiter grumped.

“I guess your murder hasn’t made the news yet,” Brody commented. “Either that or they’re not letting it out who was killed.”

“I think my boss is going to find out real soon,” Jon replied, seeing Detective Harris come into the restaurant. The man went directly to the counter, saying something to Jon’s boss, who shook his head, gesturing to the full room. Jon drifted closer so he could listen in.

“Do you have an employee by the name of Jonathan Watts?” Harris asked Mr. Franklin.

“Yeah. If you’re looking for him, he didn’t come in this morning.”

Harris lowered his voice. “That’s because Mr. Watts was murdered late last night.”

“The hell you say,” Mr. Franklin replied. “What happened? Was he mugged or…or…” His voice petered out as he seemed to process the information.

“He was killed in the parking lot of his apartment building. The ME estimates around eleven last night. He was found a couple of hours after that by a man coming home late from…well, that doesn’t matter. What time did he leave here last night?”

“He was working a split shift yesterday. Eleven to three, then five until closing at nine. He was due in at six this morning, to work until nine, then back at eleven.”

“Did he always work split shifts?” Harris asked.

“During the week, yeah. Weekends it was eleven to closing with a couple of breaks when it was slow.” Mr. Franklin stared down at the counter. “I can’t believe someone would kill him. He was a good kid. Okay, not a kid but…” He took a deep breath.

“Did he have an altercation with a customer yesterday?”

“Jon? No. Everyone liked him. He’s the best waiter I have. Had,” Mr. Franklin said quietly. “Was it a mugging?”

“We don’t think so. There was cash in his wallet, and credit cards.”

“Not much, I bet. People tip, but it’s not like this is a fancy place.”

Apparently not wanting to reply to that, Harris asked, “Do you know who his friends were?”

“Ask Dan, over there.” Mr. Franklin pointed to the lone waiter. “But not right now, please. It’s only him and me, and the cook and dishwasher at the moment. Jennie, my waitress is due in at two-thirty. She covers while the guys are off, then works with them until closing.”

“I can come back.” Harris thanked Mr. Franklin for his help and had started toward the door when as a woman dashed in, heading around the counter to Mr. Franklin. She looked distressed to the point of tears.

“You won’t…I can’t believe…” she said. “Jon’s been…”

Mr. Franklin put one arm around her shoulders. “I just heard, Jennie.”

“Who would want to kill Jon?” she said, loudly enough that the customers closest to the counter heard her. There were a couple of gasps, then people took out their phones.

Jon had the feeling they were checking online to make certain what the woman was saying was the truth. From the looks on their faces, they found out that it was. Jon wasn’t certain if he was upset or surprised at the looks of dismay and sorrow they evidenced.

“I didn’t know they cared,” he whispered to Brody, even though whispering wasn’t necessary, all things considered. “I thought, as far as they were concerned, I was only the guy who took their orders and brought their food, nothing more.”

Brody shook his head. “You heard what your boss said. People here liked you.”

“I guess, but…”

“Take it for what it’s worth. They’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss them, too. Damn it!” Jon wondered if ghosts could cry, because it sure felt as if he was going to.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Brody said. Taking Jon’s hand, he marched him right through the closest wall. Luckily they ended up on the street, not in one of the neighboring buildings. Not that it would have mattered, since no one could see them.

“I want…” Jon took a deep breath. “I want to go home, but it’s not home anymore.” He looked at Brody. “Where do ghosts stay, when they don’t have anywhere to call their own? I can’t share the apartment with someone who’s alive and…and living their life. It would hurt too much.”

“You can share my place until we find you somewhere else.”

“You have a house?”

Brody waggled his hand. “Define house.”

“A place with rooms, four walls, a floor, and ceiling.”

“Close enough. Do you know what a safe house is?”

Jon nodded. “From the novels I’ve read, it’s something the cops set up to keep a witness safe before a case goes to trial.”

“Pretty much. The department has three of them. A lot of the time, they stand empty. It’s not like there’s that many people who are in danger of being killed or intimidated before they show up in court. And the houses are never all in use at the same time. So, I co-opt one of them. I have to move around sometimes, but I’ve gotten used to that. Before you ask, I’m not big on sharing with the living any more than you are. The dead though…” Brody grinned at Jon.

“Had to go there, didn’t you?” Jon groused. “If you’re sure you won’t mind a house guest.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I did.”

“Then, thank you. I appreciate the offer.”

* * * *

“One more question,” Mike said to Mr. Franklin. “Do you know if Mr. Watts had a cell phone?”

“Of course he did. Who doesn’t these days? Why?”

“Just asking,” Mike replied.

Apparently Mr. Franklin wasn’t dumb, because he said, “It wasn’t on his…body when he was found.”

“No.”

“Then maybe he was mugged but the guy who did it was scared off before he found Jon’s wallet?”

“It’s possible,” Mike agreed, although he was certain that wasn’t the case. He turned to Jennie. “You worked with Mr. Watts. Did he talk about any friends, or have you met any of them?”

She shook her head. “I know he had a couple, because he’d sometimes say he was meeting one or another of them after work, but if he mentioned their names I don’t remember them.”

“Grant,” the waiter said as he joined them. “That’s one of Jon’s friends—not me. I’m Dan.”

“Do you remember his last name?” Mike asked, making note of the first name.

“I don’t think Jon ever said. He told me, maybe a month ago, he was going to a club with this Grant, and a couple of other guys.”

“What club?”

“Umm.” Dan frowned. “The something Horizon, maybe?”

“Far Horizon?” Mike asked. He knew it was a gay bar.

“Could be. I’m not into the club scene.”

“But Jon was?”

Jennie replied, “Not really. Not at all, actually. I…” She hesitated, chewing her lip. “Okay. I asked him soon after he started working here if he’d like to go dancing. He said he didn’t know how. I told him we could go out for a drink instead. Then he said he didn’t drink. He was very sweet about it so I wasn’t mad.”

And yet, if Dan’s remembering correctly, he did go to a gay bar with Grant whoever. Since Jennie tried to get him to go out with her, I’d say no one here knew he was gay. Of course, I may be jumping to conclusions.

Mike asked. “Was Jon gay?”

“Jon? Not at all,” Mr. Franklin replied. “He always had female customers, the young ones, coming on to him and when that happened he told them he had a girlfriend.”

“Oh? Have any of you met her?”

“Obviously I haven’t,” Jennie said sourly. “If I had…” She shrugged.

“He never brought her in here,” Mr. Franklin admitted. “Still…”

“Okay. Thanks for the information. Is there anything else you can tell me?” Mike looked between the three of them. They all shook their heads, so he thanked them for their time and left.

His next step would be to visit Far Horizon, but not yet, since it was only one-thirty in the afternoon. He returned to the precinct to do what he should have before going to the restaurant—run checks on Jon Watts to see if anything came up that might explain why someone wanted him dead.

* * * *

“This isn’t bad,” Jon said, looking around the apartment. “Not quite a house, but…”

Brody chuckled. “But safe none the less. If we were alive, I’d have had to shut off the alarm system before we came in.”

Jon wandered around, checking out the kitchen and bedrooms. Not that either of them had any use for the kitchen—or the bathroom as far as that went. A good thing since he couldn’t turn on the water, although he suspected Brody could since he’d been a ghost for the last five years.

When he asked, Brody said, “I can, but I wouldn’t. Trust me the utilities are monitored, so it’s a good thing we don’t need heat or lights.”

“What about your scanner?”

“Batteries.”

“Okay.” Jon glanced at the TV. “I guess we can’t watch that.”

“I’m afraid not. But—” Brody smirked, “—when we get bored we can go to one of the other apartments and watch whatever they’ve got on.”

“Sneaky.”

“Nope. Taking advantage of what we are. If we’re stuck here, we might as well get the most out of it that we can. Like free movies, if there’s one you’ve been dying to see. Sorry. Bad pun.”

“Very bad,” Jon replied glumly.

Brody settled on the sofa, looking at Jon. “We’ve got all the time in the world, so let’s see if we can figure out who decided they wanted you dead.”

Sitting at the other end, Jon said, “It would help if I knew where I went after I left work yesterday. From what Mr. Franklin said, I was off at nine. So there’s two hours to account for before I got back home.”

“Maybe you stopped for a drink?”

“I don’t do that. I’m not…” Jon barely smiled. “Another thing I remember. I’m not big on bars or clubs. But…”

“But what?”

“Grant.”

“Care to expand on that?”

“There’s a guy. Grant. I sort of remember him. Tall. Good looking.” Jon frowned. “I think I went to a club with him a while ago.”

“Try to remember. It could be important, since you say you weren’t into bar hopping. There has to be some reason he stuck in your mind.”

Jon concentrated. “Nothing,” he finally said. “The name and the fact we were going out. That’s it.”

“As two buddies, with a couple of his friends, or on a date?”

“God. I don’t know, Brody. I’m surprised I remember him at all, when everything else is a blank.”

“Maybe something happened. Yeah, I know. You don’t have a clue. Still, I’m betting it did. If it was a date, then you’re gay, or at least bi.”

“Gay,” Jon replied without thinking. Then he sighed. “Not that anyone knew. Or at least I don’t think they did.” He smiled ruefully. “I told them I had a girlfriend, to put off a few of the customers who tried flirting with me.”

“It’s beginning to come back to you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jon stared off into space. “But not yesterday. It’s still a total blank. I don’t even remember working, though I must have.”

“Maybe Detective Harris will figure it out. It’s his job and he’s good.”

Jon slanted a look at him. “You know…umm, knew him?”

“Yeah. We weren’t exactly friends but we worked a case together. It was right before I went undercover. If anyone other than us can figure out who killed you, it would be him. He’s got a great closure rate.”

Jon crossed his fingers. “What if maybe I was meeting Grant, whoever he is, at a club last night?”

“One possibility. We could hit up a few tonight, to see if any of them ring a bell.”

“Sure. It’s not like we have anything else to keep us busy.” Jon sighed. “Maybe it will take my mind off being dead.”

“You’ll get used to it in time. Think of all the free movies you can see.”

Jon managed a small smile. “There is that.” He glanced down at what he was wearing. “I can’t go to a club dressed like this.” He was still had on the clothes he’d died in.

“You look fine to me. Besides, you don’t have a choice. You’ll be wearing that until you move on.”

“Like you.”

Brody rolled his eyes. “Yeah. If I’d known what was going to happen I might have worn something better than worn jeans and a muscle shirt.” He chortled. “At least I wasn’t wearing my jeans a couple of sizes too large, so they sagged.”

Jon snorted out a laugh. “Yeah. That would have been the last straw, having to wear them until the end. If you were, I’d have to take a picture of you. You’d look that bad.” He patted his pocket, where he’d always kept this phone before remembering he didn’t have it. And couldn’t use it if I did. I wonder why whoever killed me wanted it and not the money. Then there’s my laptop, which is missing, too.

“You know,” he said in a burst of insight. “The guy who killed me must have gotten into my place, either before or after he killed me.”

“Since your laptop’s missing? Yeah. My bet it was before. He might have hesitated going in after.”

“Because he’d want to get away as fast as possible. I wish I knew what he thought I might have had on it.”

Brody thought for a moment. “Could you take pictures with your phone?”

“Ye…ah. Can’t everyone?”

“Okay. But did you?”

“Well…no. I’m not very tech savvy, to put it mildly. It seemed more bother than it was worth, to me.”

“But your killer wouldn’t know that. He might think you took a picture that implicated him in something. He’d want to make sure you didn’t send it to your laptop—either to a picture file or to your email.”

“He couldn’t get into my email,” Jon protested.

“As if. A competent hacker could fairly easily.”

“He wouldn’t find anything interesting. I got more spam than anything else.”

“No friends or, like, charity or political causes emailed you?”

“What friends?” Jon replied. “I had a couple, but it was about having someone to do things with more than anything else.”

“As far as you remember.”

“No. I know that—now. The only thing I don’t remember is the last day of my life.”

“We’ll start trying to fix that by visiting clubs and bars, on the off chance you went to one between leaving work and coming home.”

* * * *

Mike found out that Jon Watts did own a cell phone. Not that he seemed to have used it much, if the bills were any indication. Most of his calls were to Pete’s Place, where he worked, movie theaters—presumably to check movie times—and an unlisted number.

I wonder what that was about. A friend? Someone he worked with? It didn’t sound as if he and Jennie or Dan were friends outside of work.

Mike checked Watts’ credit card bills. He appeared to have paid his utility bills online, rather than by check. Other than that, there were purchases at some local stores and restaurants, but that was it.

He wasn’t exactly a big spender, which isn’t surprising since he worked at a small restaurant where people probably don’t tip all that much.

He checked the time—grumbling, “It’s seven already?”—printed out the information he’d found to put in the Watts murder file, then left to go home and change clothes before going to the club Dan had mentioned. The one Dan though Watts had gone to with someone named Grant.

An hour later Mike walked into Far Horizon.

Exactly the way I remember it.

Every table was taken, the dance floor was hopping, and there were no vacant stools at the long oak bar. Mike found a spot along one wall, leaned against it, and scanned the room while waiting for something to open up.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

Mike turned to see who was talking. “I could say the same, Sage.” His neighbor—who lived across the townhouse courtyard from Mike—stood there, a drink in his hand. “It’s a small world, I guess.”

Sage nodded. “If you’re waiting for a seat, good luck. Every time I spot one, someone beats me to it.”

“It’s that kind of place,” Mike agreed, still scanning the club. He wasn’t certain why, since he had no idea what Grant looked like.

“Are you looking for someone?” Sage asked.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t we all,” Sage replied with a wink.

“Not that way. I’m here on business.”

“Oh. Okay. What does he look like? If I see him…”

With no other recourse, since if he didn’t tell him something Sage would probably keep dogging his steps, Mike showed him the picture he’d printed up from Watts’ driver’s license.

“Not bad looking. Why do you want to find him?”

“He’s missing,” Mike lied. “I was told he hung around here sometimes.” Before Sage could say anything more, Mike spotted a man getting up from the bar. He made quick work of crossing the room to snag the stool before anyone else could.

After ordering a beer, he took out the picture of Watts again. When the bartender returned with his drink, Mike asked, “Do you remember seeing this man here last night, Mr.?” He looked at the bartender questioningly.

“Roger,” the bartender replied. Then he took the time to look at the picture before shaking his head. “Not last night that I saw, but he does look familiar. Before you say anything, I have an almost photographic memory for faces. Why are you looking for him?”

Mike showed the man his ID. “He was murdered last night. According to a guy he worked with, he came in here at least once, about a month ago, with a couple of other men.”

Roger rested his hands on the bar, staring at the picture. “Okay. Yeah. It was about that long ago, but he’s been in here since. Twice. Both times he was alone.”

“Do you remember what the men he was here with looked like?”

“One was tall, blond hair a bit too long. The other one had dark hair and wore wire-rim glasses. If I remember right, this guy—” he tapped the photo, “—seemed to be with the blond. I wouldn’t swear to it though.”

“Thanks. At least that’s a start. Has the blond been in since then?”

“Once. He was a Manhattan drinker, is why he stood out more. The guy in the photo only drank water with a twist.”

Mike took out one of his business cards, handing it to Roger. “If you see the blond in here again, please give me a call.”

“Will do.”

* * * *

“This is crazy,” Jon said. “How the hell many bars are there in the city?”

Brody laughed. “Too many, from a cop’s perspective. Let’s try this one and a couple more and call it a night.”

They took advantage of two men leaving Far Horizon to enter without having to go through the wall.

“I think…Yeah, I’ve been here before.”

“Last night?”

“You know I don’t remember yesterday. But…” Jon looked around. “This is the club I came to with Grant. Then a couple of times after, looking for him.” He smiled sourly. “I guess I was hoping to reconnect, since he hadn’t called me after the first time. Hope springs eternal and all that shit.”

Brody patted his back. “It happens. Is he here tonight?”

“Hard to tell from where we’re standing. Let’s wander.”

* * * *

Mike was halfway to the door when Sage grabbed his arm. “I saw the man in the picture,” he said excitedly. “But…”

“Not possible,” Mike replied shortly. “He’s dead. He was murdered last night.”

“You lied to me?” Sage said in dismay. “Not that it matters. I knew he was dead the second I saw him and his friend—who’s also dead. They’re here, and they’re ghosts.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Look. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull…”

“I’m not lying,” Sage protested. “I can see—”

“Dead people? That worked in the movie, but not with me.” Mike looked pointedly at the drink Sage was holding. “Maybe it’s time to ease up on those.”

“Damn it! It’s the truth. I can see ghosts, and that’s what the guy is. A ghost.”

Figuring he’d play along to see what Sage would do next to try to convince him, Mike asked, “What’s he wearing?”

“Jeans, a blue work shirt, over a dark red T-shirt.”

Okay. He was here last night and saw Watts. But why the games?

“Am I right?” Sage asked.

“Yeah. Lucky guess. Half the guys here are in jeans and blue shirts.”

“Not work shirts.” Sage looked around, then pointed. “They’re right over there. Honest.”

* * * *

“The detective’s here,” Jon said, nodding toward him.

“Harris?” Brody looked. “Well, damn. I told you he was good.”

“Who’s he talking to?”

“You’re asking me?” Brody replied. “I never…What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Whoever the other guy is, he sees us. He’s looking right at us. I mean at us.”

“He can’t be.”

“Oh, yeah? Move away a bit, and watch his eyes.”

Jon did. The man’s gaze followed his movement. “Now what do we do? What if he tells Harris he sees us?”

“I think he already has, from the look of disbelief on Harris’ face.” Brody chortled. “I bet Harris is about to call the guys in the white coats. Come on.” He walked toward Harris and the other man.

“By all that’s holy, he’s here,” the man who’d seen them said to Harris. “In fact, he, they’re, coming over.”

“Sage…” Harris sighed. “I know you believe what you’re saying but it’s impossible. Dead people don’t come back, except in bad movies. If I were you, I’d go home and sleep it off. That’s what I’m going to do.” He smiled. “Well, not the sleeping off part. I haven’t been drinking.” He started toward the door, stopped, and asked Sage, “Were you here last night?”

Sage looked as if he wasn’t going to answer, then nodded. “I was. So was he. The guy in the picture. I was going to tell you that when you took off for the bar.”

“Alone?”

“He was when I saw him. Over there.” Sage pointed to a table in a dark corner of the room. “I didn’t stick around for very long so…” Sage shrugged.

“Okay. Thanks. That helps. Is there anyone else here now who was around last night?”

Sage looked around. “Him, I think, and that couple over there,” he replied, pointing out the men.

Harris thanked him before heading it their direction. As soon as he was gone, Sage looked directly at Jon. “He doesn’t believe me, but I do see you.”

“I know,” Jon replied. “What are you? I mean…”

“I think he’s a medium,” Brody said. “Right?”

“Yes,” Sage replied. “That’s the term for it.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, when people hear it, they think of some woman dressed like a gypsy, working out of a tent in a carnival, or a sleazy storefront shop. I’d rather die than do something like that.”

“Dying’s not all it’s cracked up to be, so I’d pass if I were you. By the way, I’m Brody and you know he’s Jon.”

Sage started to hold out his hand, stopping with an embarrassed wince. “Can we go somewhere less public? People are beginning to look at me funny.”

Brody laughed. “Sure. Where?”

“My office isn’t far from here.”

“Lead the way.”

“Why are we going with him?” Jon whispered as they followed Sage out of the club.

“Because you can talk to him and he can tell Harris what you know that might be relevant to why you were killed.”

“I don’t think Harris would believe him.”

“Then we’ll have Sage set up a meeting.”

“Riiiiight.” Jon looked at Brody as if he was crazy.

“I could,” Sage said, obviously having overheard them, now that they were out on the street. “He lives in the same townhouse complex I do, so I see him on and off.”

“We’ll see,” Jon replied doubtfully.

They stopped talking as they walked the few blocks to Sage’s office. The sign on the door said ‘Sage Crewe—Landscape Architect’.

When they were inside, Jon immediately went over to one wall which was covered with sketches and photos of what he presumed were yards and parks Sage had created. “I could happily live next door to this,” he said, tapping one of the park pictures. “But then,” he sighed, “I would happily live anywhere, just to be alive again.”

* * * *

Sage smiled slightly when Brody put his arm around Jon’s shoulders and said, “It could be worse. At least you’ve got me hanging around to keep you company.”

“I’d be crazy by now if you weren’t,” Jon murmured. “How you managed to survive on your own…”

“I have a mission. Not that it’s done me much good. Five years and all I have to show for it is zilch.”

“How did you die?” Sage asked.

“Shot by someone who didn’t like that I was an undercover cop. They never found out who did it, so I’m stuck here. Once in a while I meet someone like Jon, but they’ve all moved on.”

Sage sat in one of the chairs along the wall under the sketches and photos, gesturing for the ghosts to take the other ones, “If you can.”

Brody snorted. “Of course we can. You think we’ll sink through a chair?”

“You probably wouldn’t,” Sage retorted. “But I met a ghost a while back who was newly dead. He had trouble staying materialized, to say the least of in one place if he wasn’t standing on the ground. I learned then that it takes a lot of willpower to stay visible and interact with the real world.”

“Not for me,” Jon protested. “I was there, watching, sitting on a retaining wall when the…when my body was found and the cops showed up.” He shivered. “I think I’d have passed on that, given the choice.”

“I take it you don’t know who killed you,” Sage replied in sympathy mixed with, he realized, a bit of ghoulish interest.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” Jon said scathingly.

“Not true, from what I understand,” Sage retorted. “Even if you did, you won’t be free until he’s caught.” He glanced at Brody. “Right?”

“Sometimes,” Brody replied. “I think it’s…Well, honestly I don’t know what makes the difference between getting closure when you find out who killed you and not being able to move on until the killer’s caught.”

Sage tapped his lip. “Maybe, it depends on whether the killer’s dead?”

Brody nodded. “Possibly. It would be hard to bring them to justice in that case.”

“Well, my killer’s still around,” Jon said. “I mean, it’s only been a day. I’m betting no one’s offed him in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Probably not,” Sage agreed. “I take it you don’t know who it was. All right. Stupid question. You wouldn’t be here if you did.”

Brody held up a finger. “Not logical. He could know, but with no way to tell anyone, there’s no resolution.”

“Which is where I come in,” Sage replied. “If you can figure it out, I can tell Mike Harris.”

“Uh-huh.” Brody snorted. “I got the feeling from listening to the two of you that he thinks you’re a few cards short of a full deck.”

Sage’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I’m afraid so.” His expression brightened. “But if we had proof, then he’d have to listen.”

“How are we going to get it?” Jon asked. “I don’t remember anything from yesterday. Zilch, to quote Brody.”

“I saw you at Far Horizon last night,” Sage said.

“I heard you tell Harris. But you didn’t see me with anyone, so that’s really no help.”

“Why were you there?” Sage asked.

“Got me. Maybe, I guess, because I was looking for someone. A guy who took me there a month or so ago.” Jon winced. “That sounds all sorts of bad.”

Sage chuckled. “It’s a gay club. I presume you’re gay, so it sounds sort of normal if the two of you made a connection.”

“If we did, it didn’t last long. I went back there a couple of times, looking for him. I guess that means I didn’t get a phone number.”

“Or go home with him,” Brody said, smirking.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I think I’d remember if I did.”

“What’s this guy’s name,” Sage asked.

“Grant, umm…”

“You don’t know his last name?”

Jon shook his head. “Stupid, huh? I go there with him and a couple of other guys and…” He snapped his fingers. “That wasn’t the first time. I met him at another club, about a week before we went to Far Horizon. Apparently I gave him my number because he called to ask if I wanted to go out again, with him and a couple of his friends.”

“I take it things are beginning to come back to you,” Brody said.

“Slowly. Yeah.”

“There’s a guy named Grant I talked with there, a while ago,” Sage said. “Tall, with blond hair that needs cutting?”

“Yes!”

“Did you get his last name,” Brody asked.

“Let me think.” Sage frowned. “New something. Newport, Newman, Newton. Sorry. I’m not sure which.”

“Do you have a computer,” Brody asked.

“No. That’s window dressing,” Sage retorted, pointing to his desk.

Brody grinned. “My bad. Do you mind if I…Okay, your computer, so you do it. Go to a site I used when I was on the force.”

“Sure.” Sage settled at the desk, booting up the computer then typing in the password. When Brody gave him the web address, Sage accessed it. “Now what?”

“Input Grant and then one of the last names.”

Sage typed in Grant Newport. There were at least a dozen, but only two in the city. When Brody told him to click on them, Sage did and came up with information, including pictures.

“Are either of those him?” Brody asked the others. Sage and Jon shook their heads.

Sage did the same with Newman. There were four Grant Newman’s in the city, but none of them was their man. Then he tried Newton.

“That’s him,” Jon said, when they got to the third picture. “Right?” He looked at Sage.

“As best as I remember, it is. The hair is a lot shorter.”

“Yeah. But the face. I know it’s him.”

“Sage, please write down his phone number and address for us,” Brody said. “I would, but it’s not exactly easy for me, even after all this time.” He held up his hands. “The pen sometimes slips through my fingers—literally.”

Sage did, while saying, “If you’re going to check him out, I’m coming, too.”

“No, you’re not. We can do that without his knowing we’re around,” Brody replied firmly.

“But…”

“No. Sorry. We appreciate your help and we’ll let you know what happens.”

Jon nodded. “In the first place, he might not have anything to do with my murder.”

“True, I guess,” Sage replied.

“If we think he does, trust me, we’ll tell you, Sage, so you can pass the information on to Detective Harris,” Jon told him.

Sage hoped his reaction to the idea of having a reason to see Mike Harris again didn’t show on his face. He’d had a thing for the handsome detective ever since the man had moved into the townhouse complex. Not that I have a clue whether he’s gay or not. He was at the club because he was looking for someone, although he didn’t act like it was his first time there. He sighed to himself. I’ll keep having dreams about the two of us together, either way.

“As if he’ll believe me,” Sage grumbled. “Mike thinks I was drunk when I told him I saw the two of you.”

“Don’t worry,” Brody said. “I can tell you things that’ll let him know you really have talked with me. I knew him, back when, since we worked on a case together a short time before my untimely death.”

“That should help.”

“All right. It’s getting late and I’m sure you want to go home,” Jon said.

Sage nodded. “Do you two have a place to stay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Brody replied. “Thanks for asking. You ready?” he said to Jon. Jon gave him a thumbs-up and they left, without opening the door.

I’ll never get tired of seeing ghosts do that. It’s so unreal. With that though, Sage left the normal way, locking the door behind him, and went home.