Page 11 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

“Who are you?” James Kwaitkowski demanded, still staring down Ryan.

“I’m Ryan. I guess you’re new to the program. You’re James Kwaitkowski, right? Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I got the intel from upstairs. I got a notification that you died about an hour ago.”

“Are you going to drag me to hell?” James jumped back and threw his hands up like he was going to box his way out of being taken into a fiery afterlife.

“Nope. Not my department. I’m here to make sure your homicide is solved and to act sort of like an onboarding consultant.”

James frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Say you get hired for a new job. I’m the guy that trains you, shows you the ropes, how to fudge your time card, and how to do as little as possible and still get paid.”

“Really?” I shook my head at Ryan.

“Told you. Morally gray. Hey, I had a twenty percent solve rate on my violent crimes caseload. That’s seven percent higher than the average. The homicides themselves I took seriously because no one deserves to be murdered. But continuing ed classes? Screw those. I learned everything I needed to know to do my job out on the streets and from the older detectives.”

I was listening to him but I was also doing math in my head. “Only thirteen percent of homicides are solved? That’s really…low.”

Appallingly low.

Gave-me-a pit-in-my-stomach-low.

It reminded me of a conversation Jake and I had a few weeks back. He had suggested I come into the department and advise on some cold cases. As a psychic. I had tried to explain that it didn’t work that way. I couldn’t just conjure up ghosts, they appeared at will.

But now I was having a change of heart. I could at least try. Because that solve rate was pure crap.

“No, violent crimes. Murder is more like fifty percent. Well, that’s the arrest rate,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Conviction rate is lower.”

“Who are you talking to?” James asked, head wiping back and forth rapidly. “Is there another demon here I can’t see?”

That was intriguing.

“You can’t see me?” I asked him.

He never even looked my way.

“Answer me, demon!”

“Okay, listen, I told you my name is Ryan. If you keep calling me demon this conversation is going to be over and you’ll be on your own navigating your entrance to the big house.”

“Prison?” James calmed down slightly. “I’m not going back there.”

So James had a checkered past. Also interesting.

“No, you know, upstairs.” Ryan pointed toward the ceiling. “To the great beyond. Right now you’re stuck hanging around until your murder is solved.”

“I was murdered?”

I sighed. “The EMTs think you had a heart attack.”

“What do you remember?” Ryan asked when James ignored me yet again.

James really didn’t see me. Huh. That was a first. Most of the time the spirits couldn’t see Ryan, but they were all up in my business, demanding attention. I liked this way better.

Then immediately I felt guilty for that thought.

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