“I shouldn’t have slept with my brother’s wife, but was that really a reason to kill me?” The spirit’s disgruntled voice echoed in my aching head.
“Not now.” I glanced around uneasily, praying none of the other cops at the crime scene noticed me mumbling to myself. “Please, go away.”
“Go away?” The spirit sounded insulted. “But I need your help.”
“Shhh. I’m trying to work,” I whispered, following Thompson up the red brick path of a quaint blue house. It was charming with a small garden stuffed full of mustard gold and purple petunia and surrounded by a white picket fence. It looked like the kind of place where nothing bad ever happened.
The bloodied corpse of a woman on the porch steps shattered that notion.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish