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

sensitive soul and Honey had no intention of spreading the word – intentionally or otherwise. Instead she went on to explain that by the time they’d arrived the theatre crowd had already passed and were seated beneath the vaulted gilt ceilings of the Theatre Royal next door.
    ‘So it was definitely around eight fifteen. There wasn’t a single soul around – except us.’
    ‘A bunch of nuts on a ghost walk. Right.’ He wrote it down.
    She gave him the evil eye. ‘Two out of ten for your terminology. I resent you calling me a nut. It was a fun thing. Anyway, some people really do believe in all that stuff.’
    He raised his eyes without raising his head, pen still gripped and ballpoint fixed to the notepad. ‘Some kids still believe in Santa Claus.’
    ‘So are you calling me a nut, or merely immature?’
    ‘I didn’t say that.’
    ‘Anyway, I was there at Mary Jane’s invitation, remember.’
    ‘Now she is a nut,’ Doherty said. He leaned closer. ‘What I meant is, that there you were, out in the pouring rain on my night off when you could have been tucked up somewhere warm.’
    She leaned forward too, her chin butting his nose as she smiled into his eyes. ‘Well. You’ve left it long enough.’
    He jerked his head away. ‘You told me you were busy.’
    ‘So were you. Anyway, I was getting myself into shape.’
    ‘For what?’ He spread his arms, palms facing and shrugged his shoulders. ‘For what?’
    ‘No need to shout. I heard you the first time.’
    She sniffed and folded her arms. She could turn on Miss Huffy at the drop of a hat if she wanted. ‘I wanted to achieve something.’
    He grinned. ‘So did I.’
    ‘Have you ever thought about taking more exercise?’
    ‘I’m fine as I am.’
    She sensed a change of tone. He wouldn’t be drawn towards making a confession about being out jogging. But she’d find out. In time she’d find out …
    He turned serious. ‘First things first.’
    Pen and statement were reintroduced. He rested the paperwork on his knees, which meant drawing them both together like a maiden aunt’s.
    ‘Right. So where were we?’
    Step by step, sentence by sentence, she led him through the puddles and pavements of the ghost walk all the way to the alley sloping down past the antique shops on to George Street.
    ‘I heard something. I looked over my shoulder.’
    ‘Who was it?’
    ‘I couldn’t see anyone. But I think she – Lady Templeton-Jones – began to walk faster. Amazingly fast for a woman using a walking stick. Sometimes I think she was trying to leave me behind, and sometimes trying to get in front of me.’
    ‘To lose you?’
    She considered it. Yes, she thought. That was it. Her Ladyship had been trying to lose her. ‘She obviously didn’t care too much for my conversation. Too beneath her, do you think?’
    ‘Cast your mind back. Was there anything else?’
    ‘Your wish is my command.’ Settling herself back in her chair, she closed her eyes. In her mind she could see the rumpled old pavement slabs passing beneath her feet, the wetness lying like liquid sugar on the surface. She remembered the laces of her trainers coming undone and told him so.
    ‘I stopped to tie them up and when I next looked up, there she was, gone!’
    He asked her the other question, the one she wasn’t quite sure how to answer. What exactly had she seen? Rain. Darkness. Feet. Hat. She took so long considering it that he presumed she hadn’t heard so repeated the question.
    ‘Did you see anyone else?’
    The answer was strangely elusive. Why did human lips flex and wobble like an elastic band when a question was difficult to answer?
    First things first. She took a deep breath. ‘I saw people down at the end of the alley on George Street. Even though I’d dropped behind, I presumed the group had somehow managed to get ahead of me though I couldn’t understand how. I presumed she was with them, but then I reasoned she couldn’t cover that much ground in a few