Page 68 of Hot Ghost Summer

Next page.

My mind more on Hollis than the small print of the sale agreements in front of me, I skim-read and drink tea, only turning the pages when he sends another prompt.

Next.

Despite the fact that he has a new line of inquiry in this case, these short and blunt messages suggest he’s grumpy. I know what happened on site yesterday rattled him, and he was strung tight when we got home, but I thought this would help.

I roll my eyes. Maybe he’s just not a morning person.

Mr Bowen sold the land to Clawson & Stoker in the nineteen nineties, like the farm’s timeline says on the information board, but then for some reason it got tied up in litigation and the developers were only granted planning permission a couple of years ago. Looks like they started work in the site’s south, nearest the Old Dairy, then progressed north.

Is there anything else in that drawer?

I scoff. “Please.”

What?

“Ask nicely. ‘Is there anything else in that drawer, please?’”

Theo…

“Hollis…”

I don’t like to ask twice.

“Then I don’t do.” I’m not even trying to suppress my cheeky smile. “Come on, you need t’ get outside for some fresh air. Let’s go for a walk.”

You brought me here to research, so we can solve the case.

I ignore him. What’s he going to do? Turn corporeal and open his own drawer? In a public space at opening time?

Snatching up his phone, I lead him through the barn and out into the paddock. I take the route around the other side of the hay trailer when I see Jayne leading the goats through the metal gate for their hoof-trim appointment. It’s best if Theodore doesn’t know I’m here. I poke my finger into the fresh dent he put in the gate the other day.

My gaze strays over all the countless others before then landing on the rusted hinges. I stall on my way past. The screws have shiny tracks carved in them, as if someone’s been at them with a screwdriver. I look out across the field, narrowing my focus on the wooden gate at the far end.

Then I notice the swish of Brigid’s tail from under the crab apple trees. “Come on, there’s someone I’d like you t’ meet.”

She sees me coming, and sways herself over to greet us halfway.

“Morning, Bridge. Enjoying your freedom before the sun gets too strong?” I flatten my palm along her flank and walk her back to the shade of the low trees.

“You can… be free ’ere, you know?” I tell Hollis. “I mean, I don’t think anyone can see you anyway, we’re pretty well hidden up here—if you were worried. I think it’ll do you good t’ get out o’ your phone for a bit.”

At first, nothing happens. Then his very faint, shimmering outline appears under the boughs. Perpetually tied into his ExorSquad coveralls—except for that one time he vanished them when we were in bed—he stands rigidly with his arms folded, brow creased, and lucent white eyes fixed on me.

Brigid’s demeanour changes in a heartbeat. Standing stock-still beside me, she stretches her thick neck to lift her head high. Her ears flick nervously, and the whites of her eyes show.

“Shhh, Bridge, it’s okay. He’s a friend. From work.” I stroke her withers to help her settle. “Hollis, meet Brigid, my best friend.”

She doesn’t calm. Her tail swashes.

I cut my gaze to Hollis, who’s arching a judgmental eyebrow above the rim of his broken glasses.

“Can you take it down a notch? You’re freaking her out.”

He doesn’t answer, and I let out a long sigh. Of course he can’t chill out, he’s Hollis. My hand passes through his arm when I reach to lead him a couple of steps away.

I sit on the ground and pat the space next to me. “Can you play some relaxing music? Anything classical is good—she likes the piano.”