Free Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) by Jean G. Goodhind

 …’ He began listing credit cards. ‘And a key ring,’ he said finally, tipping up the plastic tab so he could see the motif more clearly. ‘HMS Titanic . Hmmm. Our victim had about as much luck as the Titanic . Sinking on her maiden voyage. A diary,’ continued Doherty. He began leafing through. ‘She’s got the ghost walk pencilled in for the evening  … followed by a squiggly doodle. During the day she went to  …’
    The fact that he paused attracted her attention. He was chewing his lip. She sat up. Leaned forward almost overbalancing the chair. ‘Well, go on. What did she do during the day?’
    She tried to read his expression, but he was keeping it deadpan. Just to annoy me, she thought.
    ‘Steve! Are you going to tell me or what?’
    He flipped her a sideways grin. ‘You’re curious?’
    She glared daggers at him. Being the daughter of Gloria Cross meant that Honey had her angry looks down to a T.
    Doherty took the hint. ‘She had an appointment at some place with the initials ASS.’
    ‘An unfortunate name.’
    ‘I kid you not. There’s a phone number.’ Honey took the diary and scrutinised the details herself.
    Doherty went on talking. ‘You’re looking good. Have you been going to the gym or just declaring war on the croissants?’
    Honey blushed. ‘Ditto. I mean  … you’re looking good too. Been jogging or something?’
    He stumbled over his tongue.
    ‘Shall I phone the number?’
    Doherty looked blank. ‘What?’
    ‘The telephone number.’ She jerked her chin at the diary and reached for the desk phone. The tone trilled about five times before being answered.
    ‘Assured Security Shredding. How may we help you?’ He sounded young.
    Honey thought on her feet. ‘Hi. We have a delivery to make. Can you give me your full address please?’ She wrote the details down as she spoke. The fact that the vans of any decent delivery firm would have satellite navigation wasn’t questioned, not to mention that the guy on the phone hadn’t even asked what company she was calling from. ASS obviously weren’t quite as big on assured security as they made out.
    Honey put down the phone. The address was recognizable as being on a trading estate between Bath and Trowbridge.
    ‘Do you know it?’ Honey asked as Doherty studied the details she’d written down.
    ‘Assured Security Shredding? Can’t say that I do.’
    ‘ASS for short. Unfortunate choice for a company name.’
    He was frowning and didn’t smirk at her comment. A bit unfair seeing as she’d smirked when he’d said it. On the other hand, she could guess what he was thinking. What would an elderly American woman who’d bought an old English title want with a security shredding firm near Bath?
    Doherty was good at his job and could withdraw into himself when he had a lot of thinking to do. He was doing that now; there was a closed look in his eyes, as though he couldn’t possibly let in any trivialities until he’d got rid of the serious stuff. All banter was dead in the water for the time being.
    ‘I’ll pay them a visit. Let’s get the formalities out of the way first.’ Pen in hand, he was ready for her to make her statement.
    They went through the details: what time she and Mary Jane had left the hotel, what time they’d arrived outside the Garrick’s Head.
    ‘Are you sure of that? How did you get there?’
    ‘I’m sure. We walked – obviously.’
    He looked up. ‘On a night like that? Why didn’t you drive?’
    ‘Hah!’ She smiled, waving the idea aside. ‘It was a short walk.’
    He didn’t pursue it. Just as well. The truth was delicate. When she’d relocated to England, Mary Jane had brought over her most cherished possession from the good old US-of-A: a two-door coupe Cadillac convertible – a pale pink Cadillac convertible. One ride and Honey had dreaded going out in it again. The colour was not too much of a problem. Mary Jane’s driving was. Ghosts were far more scary, but Mary Jane was a