Strange Neighbors (31 page)

   He and Jason exchanged glances. Sly picked up Dottie's hand again and gazed into her eyes. Dottie's jaw slacked and she stared at him without blinking.

   "You need to go back to your own apartment. There's nothing going on here. Nothing happened earlier tonight to concern you. You just came up here to say 'hello' and 'good night.' I was introduced to you as Jason's friend, Sylvestro."

   A moment later he released her hand and she blinked a couple of times, appearing confused.

   "You know, it's funny, but I came up here just to say 'hello' and 'good night.' Now isn't that silly of me? I didn't need to swipe Ralph's key card to do that."

   "No, you didn't. Maybe next time you can call on the phone."

   "Sure." She shook her head, looking confused. "But it's nice to see you anyway."

"Nice to see you too, Aunt Dottie."

   "And it was lovely to meet you," Sly said, bowing, but never losing eye contact.

   "Yes, you too," she said, smiling sweetly. Then she wandered to the elevator and left—the look of confusion having been replaced by contentment.

   Neat trick. But how the hell did he do that, and how do I know he won't do it to me? "Was that mind control? Hypnosis?"

   "Something like that."

   "Do you do that often?"

   "No, only when necessary. It seems to have come in handy this time, don't you think?"

   Jason had to reluctantly agree. Maybe someday he'd ask Sly to teach him how to hypnotize his pesky aunt with no more than a look.

Chad watched while Detective Joe Murphy stood outside in the snow, buzzing Jason's apartment for the third time with no answer.

   "He's not home, dumbass! Try the witches' apartment!" Damn, I wish ordinary people could hear me yell. If he'd had some kind of major breakthrough, Chad wanted to know about it!

   "Shit." He surveyed the other names and buzzers. "Where did that medium live? Across the hall from the so-called haunted apartment, right?"

   God, I hope he's bright enough to figure it out. Only two apartments on the third floor. One buzzer has two names on it and the other apartment's name plate is blank. C'mon, genius.

"Here goes nothin'," the detective mumbled.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

   A soft feminine voice answered before Joe hit the buzzer and he jumped, startled. Gwyneth had been standing next to the intercom expecting him for five minutes.

   Get used to it, Detective. Psychics, remember?

   "Uh, this is Detective Joe Murphy. I have an update regarding Mr. Washington's case. May I come in?"

   "Oh, of course!" sang the sweet voice of the younger cousin.

   Joe entered the building when she buzzed the door open, then paused. It looked as if he was deciding whether or not to take the stairs. He had already seen the elevator and probably wanted to check out the rest of the beautiful old building. The elegant touches of sculpted crown molding and the gleaming mahogany banister would appeal to anybody who had a taste for the finer things in life.

   Despite being a man of about forty, he jogged up the stairs and stopped to admire and whistle at the gorgeous crystal chandelier hanging between the first and second floors.

   "Mmm… I could get used to living like this. Maybe once I debunk this ghost business, I can move out of my office and into that vacant apartment. I'll bet the retainer the landlord paid me would cover a security deposit."

   Ha! I knew he wasn't a real believer. The cousins' door opened before he reached it. Gwyneth stood there to greet him. Maybe she can convince the arrogant prick that he doesn't know everything.

   "Good mornin', Detective. How nice to see you."

   "Good morning. It's Gwyneth, right?"

   "Yes. How sweet of you to remember me. Can I get you somethin' to drink? A cup of tea or a beer?"

   He grinned.

   A polite, pretty young thing with red hair brushing her fanny? Like anyone could forget her. Hell, if I were fifty years younger—and alive… sigh.

   "Is your cousin home?"

   "No, I'm afraid not. She was called back home last night. We had some sad news. Her grandmama, my great-aunt, just passed, bless her soul."

   "I'm sorry to hear that. You didn't go with her?"

   "No. We have a home business and I have to stay here to take care of our customers."

   "Oh, I see. Well, my condolences again on the loss of your great-aunt. Was she ill?"

   "Yes, I'm afraid so. Oh, she lived a good full life. Seventy-four and she didn't suffer in the end. She had extensive knowledge of herbal medicine and knew what to take to stop the pain. Unfortunately, she may have taken a little too much yesterday and phhhht."

   "Well, it's good that she didn't suffer." He scratched his head. "I'm sorry Morgaine's not here since I know she thinks… um, I mean she's the one who can communicate with your ghost."

   "Well, guess what? So can I!"

   "Really? I thought she was the only one."

   "She was, but I worked real hard on developin' my psychic powers, and now I can hear him too."

   "Excellent! Maybe I can relay the information through you to your landlord and the, um…"

   "Spirit of Chad? You don't believe in ghosts, do ya, Mistah Murphy?"

"Not so much." He smiled weakly.

   I guess no one bothered to ask him before this? Or if they did, he lied. Chances are he wouldn't have been hired for this interesting and lucrative case if he hadn't.

   "That's all right. We're used to that. When we meet a skeptic who needs our help, we just do what we do and let the results speak for themselves."

   "I can respect that."

   She gave him a genuine sweet smile. "That's all we want. If you treat us with respect, we're happy to help."

   The telephone rang.

   "Oh!" She covered her mouth and looked embarrassed. "I'm very sorry. It's the business line. Could I ask you to wait in the hallway?"

   "Of course," he said. "I understand completely."

   Ha! I doubt it.

   Joe exited the apartment with Chad floating close behind. He waited until the phone stopped ringing, then glued his ear to the door.

   "Well, hello, sugar. What can I do for you today?"

   A brief silence followed, then, "I'm not wearin' a stitch."

   What sounded like heavy breathing followed. "Ohhhh…" she moaned. "Suck my big tits. You like 'em big, don't ya, darlin'?"

   Gee, I wonder if Detective Murphy is smart enough to figure out what their 'business' is.

   "Oh yeah. Squeeze them. Suck them. Ohhhh… Oh, yeah, baby. Let me take your cock in my hand. I want to rub that cock all over my breasts until you are good an' hard. Then I'm gonna take it in my mouth. I'm just dyin' to suck your luscious cock."

Joe's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

   Now he understands. Or maybe he thinks she's planning a hot date, not making a living with phone sex, although she's not big-breasted so the caller obviously doesn't know what she looks like. Joe kept his ear glued to the door and listened intently. Don't worry, Joe. You'll hear lots more.

   "Oh, thank you. I just couldn't wait another minute. I'm goin' to suck your cock now. I'm gonna suck it so hard and so deep, you'll think you've died and gone to heaven."

   Slurping sounds followed. Her favorite trick is sucking on one of those thick candy canes. Handy since she can mumble around it and sound as if she really does have something naughty in her mouth.

   Joe grinned. Lewd talk coming out of the sugary sweet Southern belle obviously amused the hell out of him, but it also made a sizable bulge in his pants.

   If he bothered to imagine what was happening on the other side of that phone, his willy might wither.

   "You wanna come now? Okay darlin', where do you want me when you come? Oh, yeah. That sounds good. I love that position. I'm gettin' on my hands and knees now."

   Chad couldn't help messing with the private dick. He blew a breezy chill down Joe Murphy's neck, which proved as good as a cold shower. The detective shivered and glanced over at the door across the hall.

   Ha! I can almost hear his thoughts. "No. It couldn't be. A ghost? For real?"

   Backing away from the door, Joe whispered, "Okay, I know you're here. As soon as Gwyneth is, um—finished, I have something to report. Say a word to her about my listening through the door and I'll shut right up and go home."

   He looks pleased with himself, probably thinking, "That ought to cover all possibilities, if there actually is a ghost." I doubt he means it, though. Chad was sure he'd have to do some more convincing, but he did want to hear what the P.I. had to say first.

   When Gwyneth opened the door she appeared no different than before.

   That sweet young thing could have been selling magazines over the phone for all anyone could tell—except I know better. And now, so did Joe Murphy.

   "I apologize for the interruption. Please come in and make yourself comfortable."

   "Is your ghost here?"

   She cocked her head.

   "Hi Gwyneth. I've been following this bozo around since he walked in. I was with him in the hall and now I'm here with both of you."

   "Why, yes. He said he was in the hall with you and then he came into the apartment right behind you."

   Joe glanced over his shoulder, then strode to the armchair and took a seat.

   "Are you sure I can't get you somethin'?" she asked.

   "You could probably give him what you were giving your customer."

   Her gaze moved to the ceiling. "Now, don't be crude, Chad. He does not want that!"

   Joe cleared his throat. "I think I'd like that cup of tea now."

   "Sure thing, darlin'. I'll be just a minute."

   As soon as she was out of sight, Joe whispered furiously, "If you want any information, you keep your mouth shut about earlier."

   He looked as if he felt like an idiot, whispering to the air. Chad chuckled. At least I convinced him my existence is a remote possibility, and this conversation with Gwyneth might be real.

   The telephone rang again.

   "Oh fiddlesticks!" Gwyneth blurted from the other room.

   She scurried around the corner, but before she could ask him to leave, he jumped up and said, "I'll wait in the hall."

   Sure you will, buddy. So you can eavesdrop without her knowing.

   Her cheeked reddened, but she smiled. "I'm so sorry. It's not usually like this."

   He held up one hand in a gesture that said "think nothing of it" and retreated to the hallway.

   Joe took a couple of minutes to think about it and must have decided, What the hell… if the ghost is real and he wants his update, he'll keep his invisible mouth shut. He leaned his ear against the door again.

   "Have I been a bad girl? Oh honey, do I need a spankin'? Yeah, I think you need to spank me so I'll learn my lesson."

   Plenty of slapping sounds followed. Joe shook his head and mumbled, "Unbelievable."

   I don't know what's so unbelievable about it. Different strokes for different folks and all that.

   "Oh! Ow! Ow!" Smack, smack. "I'm sorry, honey. I'll never do it again. Now what did I do?" Smack, smack, smack. Sniffle. "I'm so sorry. I promise. I'll never fuck another man." Smack, smack.

   At least not until the next phone call. Heh heh. Chad floated over Joe's head, intending to put his own ear to the door. His aim was a bit off and his ear traveled through the door instead.

   He sighed and pulled his head out of the wood in order to remain on Joe's side of the barrier. If only he realized… These girls help men act out their needs. Maybe this guy caught his wife in bed with someone else and by pretending to spank her with Gwyneth acting as a stand-in, he can satisfy that need without actually doing it to his wife.

   Or maybe he has a fantasy of catching his girlfriend with another man, but doesn't have the guts to tell her about it.

   Obviously, she knew what turned on each customer, and this one's fantasy involved spanking. Joe covered his mouth with one hand to stifle a snicker. He wandered away from the door and sat on the stairs. From the sizable bulge he's sporting, I'd guess he's getting turned on too.

   Smack, smack. They could still hear the sound effects without an ear to—or in—the door. Now what'll he do? Pretend to be deaf? He must know she wasn't spanking herself.

   Joe took a chance and opened the door a crack. Bent over the leather chair with a fly swatter, he saw her give the seat a couple more good whacks.

   "Ow, ow! Please, forgive me. I've learned my lesson," she pleaded into the phone. A sigh followed. "All right. Uh-huh. I aim to please. Just a measly little ninety-nine cents a minute. Uh-huh. I'll talk to you later, darlin'."

   She set down the receiver, and Joe quickly closed the door.

   When she opened it to invite him in, he asked, "Is everything all right?"

   She beamed. "Everything's just peachy, Mister Murphy."

   "Call me Joe."

   Yes. Anyone who witnesses such intimate secrets ought to be known by their first name.

   "Okay, Joe. Now where were we?"

   "I wanted to tell your ghost about a breakthrough in the case."

   "Oh, yes. How could I forget?"

   "After all that, how could you remember?"

   "Chad, honey, are you still here?"