Page 47 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“Nothing.”

“Look, I’ll keep investigating, but you have to understand it’s difficult when I’ve got one hand tied behind my back.”

For two whole minutes, I thought she wasn’t going to speak, but then she whispered so quietly I barely heard her.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Huh? Every time I tried to guess what was going on in Kim’s head, I got it totally wrong.

“Ghosts? I don’t follow.”

“Ghosts. Spirits. Tethered souls. Do you believe in them?”

There were two answers I could give. The truth—that I thought the supernatural was a TV program and rumours of the afterlife were bullshit—or a lie, which was what she seemed to be angling for.

Or I could play it sort of safe.

“I’m open-minded. I’ve never seen any evidence for or against their existence.”

“What if I told you there’s one in my living room?”

Whoa.

“I would be…surprised?”

Her head dropped forward, and those slender fingers began twisting together in the absence of paper clips.

“You don’t believe in them.”

“Kim, it’s not a question I’ve ever been asked before. But you clearlydobelieve in them.” I lifted her chin so she had to look at me. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” Another soft whisper.

“Okay, so now we’ve established that we have different views on the paranormal, can we get back to the case? I’m at a loss here, sweetheart.”

“There’s a ghost in Tim’s Mercedes.”

Oh boy. Tell me I hadn’t deleted Kelly’s number by accident. Could psychiatric problems be genetic? I was fairly sure I’d seen a program on the Discovery Channel that concluded exactly that.

“Are you on any medications? Do you have a doctor I can call?”

“Just leave. And do me a favour, would you? Write everything I said off as the ramblings of a madwoman.” She slid off the stool, rummaged through the nearest cupboard, and pulled a roll of hundred-dollar bills out of a sugar canister. “Here. This should cover what you’ve done so far.” More rummaging, and she came back with a bottle of cranberry vodka. “I need a drink.”

“Kimberly, I’m not leaving you alone in the middle of…” Was she having a psychotic episode? “Whatever this is. You really shouldn’t keep that amount of cash in your kitchen.”

And who the hell drank cranberry vodka?

Kim, it seemed. She unscrewed the cap and poured the contents of the bottle down her throat until I made a grab for it. For the first time, I wondered if Tim mightn’t have had the right idea by drugging her.

“Put that down.”

“No!”

She tried to hold the bottle out of my reach, but it slipped between her fingers and smashed on the tiles. Fuck. Now I had a hysterical, barefoot woman plus a pile of broken glass to deal with. Right, Kim first. I picked her up and carried her into the living room whether she wanted to go in there or not.

What the fuck happened today? She’d seemed so put-together when I first met her, and now this.

“If I go and clear up the mess, are you going to stay here?”

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