Peri Jean Mace Ghost Trhillers, Tome 3: Rocks & Gravel

Chapter 1

I ran up the museum steps, breathing hard, sweat running down the back of my neck. The August humidity pushed at me like a wet, invisible wall. Every step was an effort. My heart pounded both from the strain on my cigarette-singed lungs and the shock of Hannah’s phone call. Get here, now. I need you. I stopped to stare at the poster mounted in the museum’s plate glass window. It featured a picture of a guy who could have been a movie star and read:

DEPUTY DEAN FOR SHERIFF

NEW BLOOD

NEW IDEAS

THE RIGHT MAN FOR THE JOB

I bet my last pair of clean undies this poster and the guy in the picture—who happened to be my boyfriend—were the problem. If someone in Hannah’s family just saw it, they probably got all butt hurt she wasn’t supporting her uncle, the incumbent sheriff. I took a deep breath and raised my hand to knock on the door. It swung open before my fist made contact.

“Peri Jean Mace, what are you doing out there? Playing with yourself? Get on in here.” Tear tracks striped Hannah’s freckled cheeks, and her wildly patterned kimono hung limp around her legs. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t even dressed yet.

She grabbed my arm and jerked me into the museum’s foyer. Then she leaned out the door and peered up and down the misty streets, empty at this early hour. Satisfied nobody was there, she closed the door and locked it. She grabbed her oversized coffee mug from the reception desk and lifted it to her lips, hand trembling so badly she almost spilled coffee on herself. She set it back down and closed her eyes.

I dug for my cigarettes but stopped when I remembered she wouldn’t let me smoke inside. The clock at the Catholic church a block away chimed seven times, reminding me I got less than three hours sleep the night before. Caring for my terminally ill grandmother was a twenty-four-hour job with no sick days. Adrenaline would keep me moving for a little while longer but not much.

“Take the poster down if they’re upset over it. Dean’ll understand.” Acknowledging how tired I felt had been a mistake. I wanted nothing more than to crash on Hannah’s couch for a half hour. If I wrapped up her problem right away, I could grab a half hour of sleep before my first job of the day started.

“Huh?” The upset drained off her face, replaced by confusion. “What are you talking about? The campaign sign? Oh, they’re mad, but they weren’t speaking to me anyway, so they can pound sand.”

“Then what on earth has you calling me over here at the ass crack of dawn?” I pushed past her, followed the scent of coffee to her office, and poured myself a cup, still holding onto the hope this problem could be solved with a few wise words. Maybe she’d figured out one of her silly, interchangeable boyfriends had a wife stowed somewhere.