Free The Best Paranormal Crime Stories Ever Told by Martin H. Greenberg Page A

died like that in the last two months. Very embarrassing circumstances. The deaths have been swept under the carpet.”
    She fished in her pocket, produced a PDA and beamed case files into mine. I glanced at the names on each document. I knew them. I dimly recalled that they’d died, but I couldn’t remember any details. I’d met three of them, liked one, but only because she didn’t like my mother.
    â€œHow did Amanda Preakness die?”
    â€œYou won’t want to look at the photos. She drowned. In her tub. In chocolate syrup.”
    â€œWhat?” She’d been slender enough to make Nancy Reagan look like a sumo-wrestler. Tall and aristocratic, with a shock of white hair and a piercing stare, she could have dropped an enraged rhino with a glance. She always threw lavish parties, but never ate more than a crumb. “Not possible.”
    â€œNot only did she drown in the syrup, but her belly was stuffed full of chocolate bars. Junk food everywhere at the scene, all washed down with cheap soda.” Cate shook her head. “Nothing to suggest anything but an accidental death. Or suicide.”
    â€œNeither of which could be reported, so her society friends wouldn’t snigger at her passing.” I frowned. “No leads?”
    â€œPlenty. Problem’s no investigation. I pester Prout. He hears, but doesn’t listen.”
    â€œWhich is odd since you suspect our killer is talented.”
    â€œHas to be. And strong.”
    Just being born with talent isn’t enough. Talent needs a trigger, and not many folks find that trigger. Mine’s whiskey—I discovered it when I was four by sucking drops from my old man’s shot glass after he passed out. The better the whiskey, the faster the power comes.
    Once you find the trigger, you next have to learn your channel. For most folks it’s the elements: earth, air, fire, or water. A talented gardener with an earth channel is good; one who works with plants is better. Some channels are a bit more esoteric, like emotions. I even met a guy whose channel was Death.
    Not really a fun guy, that one.
    If there was a killer, knowing his trigger and channel would be useful. I could guess on the channel being emotional or biological, but that didn’t narrow things down much. More importantly, it really did nothing to figure out why the murders were taking place. Without a why , figuring out who was going to be tough.
    I set the PDA down. “What’s in this for me?”
    Cate rocked back. “Stopping a murderer isn’t enough?”
    â€œNot like it’s my hobby. I work mopping up puke in a strip club. I know where I stand in the world. I don’t see this getting me ahead.”
    â€œMaybe it won’t, Molloy, maybe it won’t.” Cate’s eyes half lidded and she gave me a pretty good Preakness-class glance. “Maybe it’ll stop you from sinking any lower.”
    â€œIs that possible?”
    â€œYou’re not there yet.” Her expression hardened. “If you were I’d ask if you had an alibi for when Anderson died.”

    I guess being a murderer would be a step down. Not that I minded Anderson being dead. Given the right circumstances I might even have killed him. Or, at least, let him die. A shrink would have said it because he was a surrogate for my mother, and that secretly I was wishing her dead.
    There wasn’t any “secretly” about it. I knew I had to start with her, so I reluctantly left Cate. The part I was resisting was that seeing her would prove she was still alive.
    I tried to look on the bright side.
    Maybe she was sick, really, really sick.
    And not just in the head this time.
    The Anderson Estate up in Union Heights was hard to miss. Fortune 500 companies had smaller corporate headquarters. The fence surrounding it had just enough juice flowing through to stun you, then the dogs would gnaw on you for a good long time.
    The gate was