Читать книгу Tempest Court - Jan Walters - Страница 10

Chapter 4

Michael O’Shea’s shimmering figure materialized in Brett’s kitchen. Michael glanced around the room. He opened the refrigerator door. Yep, it was full. Brett and Lisa had returned from their vacation. He glanced at the clock. The pair were due home from work anytime.

He sauntered into the family room, claiming Brett’s favorite recliner, which overlooked the neighborhood—a quiet residential area on the south side of Des Moines. The Southside was a blend of ethnic groups, including a large Italian population and mom-and-pop restaurants.

Unfortunately, rules that pertained to ghosts were restrictive. Michael couldn’t eat or drink. Thinking of the beer in the fridge, Michael groaned. He’d give anything to taste an ice-cold beer again. A rumble of thunder shook him from his reverie. “Just joking,” Michael mumbled. He glanced out the window, almost expecting a bolt of lightning to hit the front yard. Why do ghosts have to follow rules? He leaned back in a chair.

After the last case he and Brett worked, Michael was called in for “reconditioning.” “Reconditioning, hell,” he muttered. It was more like an ass-chewing. He didn’t follow orders very well. He was supposed to stay invisible, except when necessary. He wasn’t supposed to scare people. Michael sighed. He disliked rules, always had. They were so confining and slowed the investigative process. When the job needed to get done, he was the type of man—no, ghost—who cut to the chase.

He rose to his feet and looked out the large window. Tossing his black fedora on the nearby table, he ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair. He flicked on the TV, quickly changing channels. He smiled to himself; Michael loved watching commercials. They provided fodder so that he could irritate Brett.

It wasn’t long before Michael became bored. He wished Brett was here. Michael missed the kid. The two of them appeared to be about the same age because Michael was murdered in 1933 when he was barely in his thirties. Killed in the prime of his life, Michael never got to experience the grandparent thing. Being a grandparent made him protective of Brett, not that Brett needed or wanted his protection. Michael chuckled to himself. “And that’s just part of the fun.” He enjoyed teasing Brett, much to the dismay of the younger detective.

Michael strolled down the hallway to the bedrooms. He spotted Lisa’s clothes strewn about Brett’s bedroom. He turned to leave the bedroom when the front doorbell rang.

Curious, he peered out the window. A brown paper package sat on the porch. He glanced at the return address. Morocco? As he turned away from the door, he heard an odd noise, like a vibration. He tilted his head and listened. Where was the sound coming from? He walked toward the bedroom. It sounded like an alarm clock. Not that he knew anything about the newfangled clocks.

He stopped in the middle of Brett’s bedroom, no longer hearing the strange vibe. Lisa’s revealing underclothes littered the floor. His eyes widened. Damn! Women wear those skimpy things?

The sound of a door closing drew his attention. He stiffened as footsteps in the hallway drew closer. Who was coming? Shifting into a gray mist, he leaned against the bedroom wall and waited. Minutes later, Brett entered the room.

“You scared me to death,” Michael announced as his body materialized.

Brett swung around with his gun in hand, aiming it at Michael’s chest. Once he registered who was in the room with him, Brett’s arm fell to his side.

“Damn it! You could have said something before now.” Brett surveyed the room. His brow inched upward. “Are you snooping around my bedroom?”

Michael shook his head. “Of course not. I was waiting for you so I could let you know that I’m back.”

Brett set his gun belt on the dresser and watched Michael in the mirror. “So you decided to wait in my bedroom?”

“Sonny, you’re agitating me.” He stomped out to the hallway. “I heard something and came to investigate.”

Brett’s grin increased. “I think you just wanted to snoop around.”

Michael felt his cheeks heat up. With a low growl, he pointed to the front door. “A package was delivered a while ago. It’s by the door.”

Brett’s smile faded. “It’s probably the rug we bought in Morocco.”

“A rug? What do you need a rug for?”

“Lisa wanted it.” Brett quickly changed clothes and went to the door to collect the package.

Brett brought the wrapped rug into the house and set it on the kitchen table. He just stared at the package rather than opening it. Michael’s brows drew together. Why didn’t Brett open the package? Michael stiffened when it emitted a faint vibration sound.

“Something is going on with that rug of yours.”

Brett’s green eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a strange sound coming from it.”

Brett leaned down, pressing his ear to the paper wrapping. After several moments, he shook his head. “I think you’re imagining things.”

Michael might be dead, but he wasn’t deaf. He knew what he heard. “Whatever!” With a flip of his hand, he went to grab his hat.

“Michael, wait.” Brett rushed after him.

Michael grabbed his fedora and slapped it on his head. “What for?” he mumbled.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks. Lisa will be home any minute. Let’s sit down and catch up.”

Michael forced a smile. “Okay. For the record, I did hear something. Aren’t you going to open it up and see what’s making that sound?”

Brett shrugged. “Later. Let me put this in the closet and then we can visit. I want to know what you’ve been up to.”

With his hands on his hips, Michael cocked his head. “Fine. I’m going on the record that I think you’re making a mistake.”

Before Brett could respond, the back door opened. Lisa called out, “I’m home.”

“In the kitchen. Guess who’s here?” Brett turned toward Michael.

Lisa entered the room and shrieked. She ran to Michael and hugged him. “Michael! I’m so glad you’re back.”

Michael pressed a kiss on her cheek. “I missed you guys. Let’s sit down so you can fill me in on your vacation.” He tossed the hat back on the table and watched them pop open a couple of beers, probably to torture him. Michael scowled at them.

Lisa tossed her coat aside and grabbed her computer. With her laptop in front of him, they proceeded to scroll through hundreds of pictures. Michael’s eyes widened as he stared at the images of northern Africa.

Several empty beer bottles later, Lisa clicked off the computer.

He slapped his palm on the table. “I’m officially jealous. I’m glad you two got to see that part of the world. I wish I could have joined you.”

Brett patted Michael on the shoulder. “I know, but you’ve seen some unbelievable things yourself.”

He fought back a smile. “If you mean scary things, those don’t count.”

“No. I’m talking about the Big Guy, angels, and afterlife stuff.”

Michael rose and stretched. “I could write a book about the afterlife. Let me tell you, those guys up there are sticklers for rules.” Adjusting his hat, he walked to the doorway, not that he was leaving through the door. “On that note, I’m out of here. See you two soon.”

With a whiff of air, Michael vaporized and disappeared. As he drifted in the darkness of space and time, he continued to think about Brett’s package. It perplexed him. Brett didn’t even seem curious about the darn package, which irritated Michael. Even though Brett hadn’t heard a noise, Michael knew something was off. From his experience, he knew unsolved puzzles were an invitation to trouble. He hoped whatever was going on, it wouldn’t end up biting them in the ass.