Ghosts Like it Hot Read online

  Ghosts Like it Hot

  Erin McCarthy

  Copyright © 2019 by Erin McCarthy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  Also by Erin McCarthy

  One

  There is an Irish proverb that states “Your feet will take you where your heart is.”

  Well, my frozen feet were taking me to Florida, where the temperatures were hot and the term “polar vortex” didn’t exist. After a winter in Cleveland that gave new meaning to the phrase “this sucks” my boyfriend Jake and I were hopping on a plane to thaw out in the Sunshine State.

  “Do you have your driver’s license?” my mother asked me in the rearview mirror as she drove up to the departures drop-off.

  Jake was in the passenger seat and I was in the back with my grandmother, who had recently moved in with me in the aftermath of the demise of my parents’ thirty-five-year marriage. I had suggested several times we could take an Uber to the airport, but my mother had insisted on driving us, and I had relented. We’d never been particularly close, our personalities vastly different, but after Mom had pulled a gun on a guy who was holding me hostage with a knife, we’d reached a new place of mutual respect in our relationship.

  But she was still my mother and still asked ridiculous questions. Why wouldn’t I have my driver’s license? When would I ever be anywhere without my license, let alone arriving at the airport? “Yes,” I said simply.

  It’s just easier that way.

  She put the car in park but left it running.

  “Say goodbye to me now,” Grandma Burke said. “Now that I’m almost ninety I can’t tolerate this March wind.”

  This was a new trend— Grandma rounding up her age in conversation whenever she had the chance.

  “You’re eighty-five. Don’t be dramatic,” my mother said.

  “That’s almost ninety.”

  “Not really.” Mom got out of the car and Jake and I followed suit. I leaned in and said goodbye to my grandmother.

  Jake did the same and pulled our suitcases out of the trunk, still shaking his head a little over my two bags that dwarfed his one smallish bag. What? It was vacation. A girl liked options. I had implied to him that I had several sexy items, but the truth was, the bulk of the space was being taken up by cute shoes.

  I was bouncing impatiently in my high-heel boots, partly from excitement and partly from cold. It was the typical three “c”s of Cleveland in March. Cloudy. Cold. Crappy. I was so ready to leave behind bad weather and a murderous winter (seriously, multiple murders around me since October and lots of ER visits for me) that I basically wanted to yell “See ya!” and push my mother out of the way as I tore off into the security line.

  Recent life changes included, but not limited to:

  Discovering I was a medium and ghosts were drawn to me like I was Tinder and they were fresh out of a relationship.

  My friend Ryan appearing as a ghost and demanding I solve his murder, previously thought to be a suicide.

  Falling in love with Ryan’s best friend, Jake, also known as Detective Marner.

  Having a steady stream of ghosts insisting I solve their murders and frequently finding myself in situations where I was tied to rattan furniture, hit by a car, locked in a storage unit with a dead mobster, brawling with Santa, and facing down a broke composer. Seriously. A music composer had gotten the best of me.

  My mother having a heart attack, my parents’ splitting up, and my father announcing his buddy’s wife, Judy, was now his “golfing partner.” Try to figure out the euphemism for that and be afraid. Be very afraid.

  My sister, Jen, giving birth for her fifth J child. And by that, I mean she has named all her children with J names, and little bitty Jinger had just joined the crew. I know. Jinger starts with a G. But not in Jen’s world of Pinterest perfection. I’d had a lovely visit with my new niece and my sister, who cried a lot from sleep deprivation and upset over our parents.

  Grandma Burke moving in with me. This is not a small change. This is a-dentures-in-the-bathroom, you-no-longer-have-privacy kind of change.

  Grandma’s friend Va-va-voom Vera being killed by a greedy SOB music composer and leaving me five thousand dollars, which was paying for this little detour to Key West, the land of sunsets and cocktails.

  It had been a rough six months, but thanks to Vera it was about to get a whole lot better. And warmer.

  “Thanks for the ride, Mom. Have fun with Grandma.”

  My mother rolled her eyes. “It’ll be a blast,” she said dryly. “I can’t wait for bingo.”

  “Shirley will stiff you on the nachos,” I said, grabbing the handle of my suitcase, the wind whipping my curly auburn (okay, reddish/orange) hair across my face. I wrestled strands out of my eyes and mouth and said, “I’ll text you when we get there.”

  There is no hugging my mother. Hugs make her wince.

  She waved and said, “Have fun,” and jumped back into the car.

  I looked at Jake and smiled. “This may be the happiest moment of my entire life.”

  He smiled back. The smile that always made me feel soft and squishy and like I’d drunk six cups of coffee in rapid succession. Heart fluttery.

  “Let’s do this.” He took his suitcase and one of mine. “By the way, are we flying solo or do you have some dead guy in tow?”

  Jake reluctantly tolerates the whole ghost thing. He didn’t like it and he wasn’t particularly curious about it. He just wanted it to not inconvenience him or put me in danger. So far, no luck on either of those wishes. In this case, I strongly suspected he was asking if Ryan was traveling to Florida with us. He’d liked Ryan a lot better when he was alive and they were partners than now given Ryan’s habit of popping into my house at random without warning.

  Oh, yeah, and that pesky little fact that I’d once had a substantial crush on Ryan.

  “No dead guys,” I said cheerfully. Nothing was ruining this vacation.

  An hour and thirty minutes later I was repeating that mantra in my head as a ghost started harassing me the second I stepped foot on the airplane.

  To be fair, I spoke to her first. As I ducked my head to enter the doorway (just instinct, I’m not that tall), I spotted the flight attendant with a scarf wrapped around her neck. “I love your scarf,” I said, thinking she had a whole very cool retro vibe going on.

  When did flight attendants start wearing such amazing wide leg, high-waisted pants? She looked straight out of the seventies.

  Which apparently, she was. Because her eyes bugged out and she said, “You can see me?” right as the actual flight attendant in a modern boxy suit walked straight through her.

  Oh, no.

  Not good. I frantically looked around with anyone to make eye contact. There was a woman in first class and she was wearing a scarf so I smiled at her and repeated myself.

  “Thanks,” she said, and smiled back, patting her purple knit wonder.

  I found our row and practically leaped into the window seat, well aware the dead flight attendant was following me. I could hear her frantically trying to get my attention. “Hey! Lady! Wit
h the red hair, talk to me. Please!”

  I yanked my coat off and clipped my seat belt into place. Then I shoved up the window shield and studiously stared out into the gloom. Jake plopped down next to me and yanked his sweatshirt off over his head. Jake runs hot, unlike me.

  “Make sure you buckle,” I said to Jake, because even though I’m not sure I’m ready to be a mother, I am a worry-wart and neurotic. I didn’t despise flying but it wasn’t my favorite thing to do. I tolerated the concept of sailing through the air at thirty thousand feet in a tin can because on the other end was paradise.

  Maybe even a cheeseburger.

  He smiled at me and clicked. “Got it.”

  Unlike a lot of men, he actually understood I worry because I care. He didn’t perceive it as annoying, which he might be within his rights to.

  Speaking of annoying.

  The flight attendant, whose name badge said “Barbara,” smoothed her long dark hair and leaned over my boyfriend. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. It’s just that well, no one ever sees me. Thousands and thousands of passengers and no one ever hears me and you clearly can. I died in a landing at this airport and now I can’t… get out.”

  “My office hours are Thursdays,” I said, trying to be firm, but my voice cracking. “One to three.”

  “What?” Jake asked, shoving his sweatshirt into the seat-back pocket.

  “Sweetie, I’m just trying to establish boundaries with a spirit.”

  Marner sighed. When he sighs, he’s Marner.

  “What does that mean?” Barbara asked. “I can’t go to your office. I’m stuck here.”

  “I’m on vacation. I’ll catch you on the flight back.”

  Barbara sat down in the aisle and proceeded to weep while a steady stream of passengers shuffled through her, wearing boots and leggings and thick coats, hauling backpacks and carry-ons, earbuds dangling.

  I felt guilty as hell. I can’t help it. I was raised Catholic. We were handed a lifetime of guilt. Free wine and a bomb dress for your first communion and boom. You were in. Guilt.

  I closed my eyes and reached for my boyfriend’s hand. The second we reached cruising altitude I pushed the attendant button.

  “What are you doing?” Jake asked, sitting up straighter and squeezing. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m stressed out. The… woman is crying,” I hissed. It was relentless and horrible. Her voice was high-pitched and wringing out my nerves.

  “What the hell is pushing the call button going to do? Just tell this woman to leave you alone.”

  Easy for him to say. He didn’t hear the banshee in bell-bottoms wailing.

  The flight attendant appeared. “Yes, miss, is everything okay?”

  “Can I get a glass of whatever white wine you have? Actually, three.” I couldn’t take a chance she’d be slow in getting back to me for a second round.

  When her eyes widened in disapproval I said, “I’m afraid of flying.”

  Her lips pursed but she just nodded. “Give me a minute.”

  “I don’t think she should be so judgmental,” I told Jake. “A lot of people are afraid of flying.”

  “You’re not afraid of flying.”

  Okay, Mr. Reality Check. “I’m afraid of losing my sanity.” I bent over him and tried to pretend I was looking at something on my phone. Which had to look weird to anyone across the aisle. Adult female draped over her boyfriend’s lap talking to her phone. But I didn’t always have a lot of options when it came to interacting with ghosts.

  “Barbara,” I murmured. “I want to help you. I really do. I’m sorry for your… predicament. But I can’t help you pass unless you were murdered. That seems to be my wheelhouse.”

  “Jesus,” was Jake’s opinion.

  “But give me your last name and a time frame. I’ll look into it.”

  Her tears cut off instantly. Faker.

  “My last name is Baldizzi. I died in September of 1978.”

  “Got it. No promises, but I’ll see what I can do. Now can you go and take your jumpseat? Or maybe read over someone’s shoulder? I really am trying to relax.”

  See. Totally getting better at this.

  She sniffed, but she wandered down the aisle in her wedge shoes.

  The woman across from me was eyeing me like I was fit for a straightjacket and she wanted a seat change. I was across Jake’s lap like I was a throw blanket. “I’m afraid of flying,” I said. “My boyfriend is my comfort animal.”

  Jake started laughing and covered it with a cough, fist to his mouth.

  When the flight attendant (who took her sweet time, seriously) appeared with my wine and I handed her my credit card, Jake asked for a beer. She wrinkled her nose and disappeared without a word.

  “We’re being difficult passengers,” I told him.

  “You started it.”

  “You could have just had one of my wines.”

  “I’m not a huge fan of white. Besides, it would be like stealing a woobie from a toddler. I can’t be responsible for that.”

  “Good point.”

  She handed Jake a beer and my credit card back. We put our trays down and I poured out my drink. Jake swore under his breath when he knocked his knees against the tray.

  “These seats have zero leg room.”

  “Agreed. But here’s to sunshine,” I said, raising my plastic cup.

  “To a week without murder,” he said. He lifted his beer can, forsaking the cup.

  It wasn’t just me dealing with death. Jake was a homicide detective, after all.

  “Cheers to that.”

  We clinked our drinks, in love and optimistic that Florida would deliver vitamin D and zero corpses.

  As if to mock our intentions, Barbara started doing cartwheels down the aisle. That was new. I’d never seen such a youthful, athletic ghost. She was an ode to the past, when flight attendants were called stewardesses and were basically sexy servers. You know, when the airline didn’t charge you for water and you didn’t need to salt your knees because they were crammed up into your mouth.

  “We’re fooling ourselves, aren’t we?” Jake asked me.

  The Irish have a question they ask whenever the answer is an obvious yes.

  Time to bust it out now, because, yes.

  “Is it raining?” I asked, and took a sip of my wine.

  Two

  I still had a buzz when we arrived at the marina in Key West. “Jake, OMG. This is heaven.”

  “Wow,” was his opinion as we got out of the cab, the driver popping open his trunk. “This is a hell of a view.”

  Jake had talked me into staying on a sailboat for our first two nights. After that, we were moving to a hotel just in case I couldn’t handle the rocking of the boat. I had never slept on a boat before and I was nervous about it, but it had looked romantic and cool in the photos so I’d decided to go for it. Now that we were standing there in the parking lot of the marina and boats and water sprawled out in front of me, I was totally on board with this idea. On board. Haha. I cracked myself up.

  “It’s beautiful. And warm. Do you feel that? Actual warmth.” I held my arms out and stared in awe at the sun hitting them. I had stuffed my coat into one of my suitcases the minute I had retrieved them at baggage claim. “It may take me three days to thaw out.”

  That was not an exaggeration. Shout-out to all you folks living in the Dakotas because I don’t know how you’re alive.

  I’d let Jake take the lead on booking this sailboat because it had seemed really important to him to bring the romance. But as I saw Captain Mark waving to us, I had my doubts that maybe I should have read the reviews and checked out his profile. He was a colorful character, to say the least. In his sixties, he had a massive beard, with beads braided into it, an oversized button up shirt with marlins on it, and flip-flops with socks. None of which was a big deal.

  What made my shoulders tense up was the lip-smacking sound he made when he ran his eyes up and down my body.

&n
bsp; “Got yourself a looker there, don’t you, son?”

  Yuck. Let’s be honest here. I’m reasonably attractive. Clean. Feminine. Maybe even wholesome. Not sexy in a pinup way. But even if I was strolling down the marina dock in cheetah heels and leather, he had some nerve. Marner didn’t look particularly thrilled either.

  After introductions, Captain Mark grabbed one of the suitcases and started down the dock, gesturing for us to follow.

  “Don’t worry, he only takes us out for the sunset cruise,” Jake murmured. “Otherwise, we’re alone on the boat.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.” I was not getting cozy with my boyfriend with Captain Mark anywhere in the vicinity. “I’m sure he’s very nice in a sexist kind of way.”

  What he was, was a talker.

  I took in the upper deck and had a neutral reaction to it. It was a deck. But Mark was already pointing out all the “amazing” features to the boat he was obviously very proud of. Since I knew exactly nothing about boats, it sounded like a foreign language. I’d let Jake process all the pertinent information and assume that we could figure out the rest together. I focused on the view. The water looked like glass, the sun caressing the waves. I had high hopes of seeing marine life. A peek at a dolphin doing its thing and this vacation would meet all expectations.

  Mark jumped down onto the sailboat with a spryness that didn’t match his age. Jake followed and reached for my hand. I took it gingerly and wobbled a little on the landing in my high-heel boots. But I recovered quickly and tossed my hair out of my face.

  “Is this your first time in Key West?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. We’re very excited. We left thirty-degree weather behind.”

  “I’m originally from Chicago. I don’t miss that. I moved down here in eighty-two and they can drag my dead body out of here as far as I’m concerned.” Mark gave me a grin.