Imagine this; Your life is almost perfect, you have a stable
job, a loving boyfriend, great friends…then imagine being run over by a hot-dog
cart on the day of your engagement. You wake up with a concussion and the
ability to see Ghosts, well, one Ghost. A batty, dramatic, lady who claims to
have been murdered for her vast fortune, and is demanding your help.
This is what happens to Phoebe Mercer, an aspiring Legal Assistant for a top Law Firm. Now she finds herself solving a mystery that threatens her relationships and her career, as she discovers her boss’s hand in her ghostly friend’s demise. If things weren’t bad enough, Phoebe begins to battle an attraction to the Ghost’s handsome but cool nephew, while realizing quite a few people in her life are not as they seem. As she uncovers the secrets and lies around her, she finds that in order to solve this mystery, and be free of the Ghost, she must lie herself. The only catch? The secrets Phoebe has kept from the people she loves could ruin everything, for her, and the Ghost.
EXCERPTThis is what happens to Phoebe Mercer, an aspiring Legal Assistant for a top Law Firm. Now she finds herself solving a mystery that threatens her relationships and her career, as she discovers her boss’s hand in her ghostly friend’s demise. If things weren’t bad enough, Phoebe begins to battle an attraction to the Ghost’s handsome but cool nephew, while realizing quite a few people in her life are not as they seem. As she uncovers the secrets and lies around her, she finds that in order to solve this mystery, and be free of the Ghost, she must lie herself. The only catch? The secrets Phoebe has kept from the people she loves could ruin everything, for her, and the Ghost.
“Well now we can talk in peace, without interruptions.”
Riley hadn’t seen her. In truth he looked right through her, like she was a phantom.
Like she was a ghost.
Okay, so maybe she is a ghost. Maybe she is telling the truth about having died and then being, reborn? Is that the right word?
I fiddle with the idea for a moment as I watch her walk around the sectional to have a better look at the rest of the loft. I draw in a breath as she walks through the end of the couch as if it wasn’t even there.
I have a ghost in my living room.
I’m staring at a woman, who was probably a very hip, stern grandmother when she was alive. She had just walked through my couch, and may walk through my coffee table. A stylish, otherworldly being standing with her hands on her hips judging the modern lamp lanterns hanging from the loft ceiling above her head.
A spirit that only I can see.
How hard had I hit my head? I should Google concussions and ghosts later on. In fact I should Google Ghosts in general.
“Okay,” I let out a deep breath, “So he didn’t see you.”
She turns her head my way and raises her eyebrows as if to say ‘told you so.’
“I’m guessing if my friends return right now then they wouldn’t see you either?”
“I very much doubt they would,” she slowly turns to face me. “Now, are you ready to listen to me?”
“How is it that I can see you? And nobody else can? I have never seen ghosts before,” I place a hand to my forehead and look at her. “I’m not even sure I believe in ghosts!”
“Does it matter now?” she asks me, “Because here I am. A ghost.” She opens her arms as she speaks, “In the flesh, or rather ghost flesh.” She is getting annoyed with my dawdling conclusion because she drops her hands and sighs at me. “Look, people have accidents or die and come back to life all the time, claiming they have supernatural powers or see ghosts. For heaven’s sake, they make movies of it; write books about it, television shows. All which I might add are strikingly accurate I now realize, except possession. That is entirely over-blown.”
My mouth hangs open, “You saw a possession?”
“Few days after I died,” she answers wearily and looks down at her blouse. I watch her adjust the ruffles at the bottom as she goes on. “Visited a poor possessed girl in Italy. Not nearly as interesting as you would think.”
“What was she possessed by?” I asked immediately intrigued and hating it.
“Didn’t think to ask,” she shrugs. “The second the priest started throwing around holy water I high-tailed it out of there. I didn’t want to be forced into the land of the peaceful until I concluded my unfinished business.”
“Which is?”
“To catch my killer, and find something of mine that was lost and is very important.”
She tells me this as if it’s a normal thing.
“Someone murdered you?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nikki LeClair lives in Canada with her loving husband and their two rambunctious children. When she isn’t ordering her children to behave or begging her Border Terrier to listen to her, she sits behind her lap-top plotting out the next adventure of her new characters. She’s a fan of a good glass of Pinot Noir, and can’t live without her favorite Tea blends.
This is her second published novel. She also writes under her pen name, Vivian Brooks, and enjoys hearing from readers and fans of her work.
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