Free Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete First Season (Coffee and Ghosts: The Complete Seasons Book 1) by Charity Tahmaseb Page B

here at the care facility—as a ghost. Perhaps Mrs. Greeley has always been sensitive. Perhaps it’s her blindness. Whatever the cause, she can communicate with my grandmother’s ghost. The only other person who can is me. Not that we’ve actually chatted. Sometimes words or images float into my head, unbidden. Most of the time, I don’t know what they mean. It’s like putting together a puzzle, and so far most of the pieces are missing.
    Outside, the wind ruffles my skater skirt, the night air colder, the sky black with a few pinpricks of stars. Goose bumps pucker on my bare skin above the stockings. I consider asking the night manager for a ride in the shuttle. But my feet have their own ideas. I’m two blocks away before I truly regret my decision to walk.
    I ignore the car at first. Because it’s cherry red and a convertible, this is hard. The driver revs the engine. He doesn’t tap the horn because it’s late, this town tucks in early, and he’s far too polite for such things. Then he says my name.
    “Katy, come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
    I stop my trek, turn to face the car, my arms clutched close for warmth. It really is too cold for the top down, but then, that lets Malcolm wear the scarf. It’s dark gray wool, and he has it flung jauntily around his neck.
    “You were brilliant tonight, by the way,” he says.
    “Brilliant?”
    Did I miss something about the séance? I remember storming out, a lot like a jealous girlfriend might. I remember being rude and disgusted. Brilliant? I doubt that.
    “She made a couple cracks about you,” he adds.
    Oh, how lovely. Of course she did.
    “It was perfect. It’s almost like you’re here.” He taps his temple. “Right inside my head. We couldn’t have planned it any better if we tried.”
    I clutch my arms tighter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “The whole jealous routine. She totally bought it.”
    I still have no idea what he’s talking about. Instead of responding, I shiver, icy air sneaking up my skirt, the cold making me feel both sleepy and wide-awake at the same time.
    Malcolm frowns. “You weren’t really ... jealous, were you?”
    I’m not the sort of girl who might flip her hair and pretend the image of red lacquered nails running along the jaw of her partner-not-boyfriend doesn’t bother her. So I tell Malcolm the truth.
    “I was ... am.” I shrug as if there’s nothing more to say after confessing that.
    “But why?”
    “Because you’re my partner, and—”
    “I’m still your partner.”
    “Then—?”
    “If you tried to fool her, pretended to be interested, tried to get close to her,” he says, “do you think she would’ve believed you?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Add your reputation to that, not to mention your grandmother’s. Mistress Armand seems to know a lot about everyone in this town.”
    Yes. She does. Disturbingly so.
    “But me?” Malcolm touches his chest. “When I’m, you know—”
    “Soft-headed and easily swayed by a pretty face?”
    My words ring cold in the night air. Perhaps I’ve shattered our partnership, which after declaring it so important is a rather stupid thing to do. Then Malcolm throws his head back and laughs.
    “Get in the car, partner?”
    “It’s freezing out and you have the top down.”
    “And the heat cranked. Trust me, there’s no better way to ride.”
    I don’t bother with the handle. Instead, I plant my hand on the side of the car and vault over. I’m halfway into the front seat when I remember the skater skirt. The material flares, and I flash him a generous portion of my thighs and a glimpse of my underwear—pink with black polka dots. A fierce blush chases the chill from my face. Before I can read his expression, Malcolm glances away.
    Then he puts the car into gear and we fly down the road. Whenever we go out on a call, we take my truck. The old, battered thing grumbles, but it runs. Plus, once we catch the ghosts, we can store them in the