Free The Kiera Hudson Prequels 2 by Tim O'Rourke

hands.
    “ Go on, Kiera, it will be fun,” Tom beamed, that sparkle back in his eyes. “It will be fun trying to figure it out. Besides, this guy is nothing more than a conman. He’s got to be. After all, there are no such things as ghosts.”
    I looked at him across the table, a grin stretched right across his face. It was the first time I had seen him truly smile since throwing away that waitress’s phone number. Rolling my eyes and sighing, I said, “Okay, I’ll go with you. But if we do figure out how this guy Splitfoot is conjuring up this dead girl’s voice – spirit – whatever you want to call it, we keep it to ourselves. A lot of people believe in this stuff. It brings some people a lot of comfort.”
    “ Okay, okay,” Tom said, springing up from his chair. “You can help me make a cake.”
    “ Cake?” I frowned. “I thought we were going to revise for our police exams.”
    “ We can do that while we bake,” Tom said, rubbing his hands together with glee.
    “ Why do we need to bake a cake?” I asked.
    “ Everyone who attends the séance has to take a treat along for the little girl…” Tom started to explain.
    “ What? The freaking ghost?” I tried not to laugh.
    “ Yeah, I know, sounds crazy, right?” Tom chuckled. “But this Mr. Splitfoot reckons that the more sweets and treats that are brought the more likely his spirit guide – this dead girl – will come through. She must have had a real sweet tooth when she was alive.”
    “ Either that, or Mr. Splitfoot owns a sweetshop,” I said. “So the cake is instead of payment?”
    “ No, you have to buy a ticket as well as taking along sweets and cake,” Tom said.
    “ How much are the tickets?” I asked.
    “ Twenty pounds each,” Tom said.
    “ Twenty pounds!” I cried.
    “ I told you he was a conman,” Tom said.
    “ And I guess you want me to pay for you, too?” I asked, knowing that he was skint.
    “ No, I can pay for myself,” Tom said, reaching into a nearby cookie jar. He pulled out a bunch of notes. “My mother’s emergency stash – pay the window cleaner, that sort of thing.”
    “ I’m beginning to suspect this Mr. Splitfoot isn’t the only conman around here,” I said, prodding Tom in the ribs with my finger.
     
    Tom
     
    While I baked the cake, Kiera sat with the textbooks open in her lap and asked me questions about police evidence and procedure. In the background the radio played. When a particular song came on that we both liked, Kiera would put the textbook to one side and we would either sing raucously together or I would chase her about the kitchen table with my flour covered hands. I had never had so much fun studying – if that’s what we were really doing. With James Blunt singing Heart to Heart blasting from the radio, I managed to ensnare Kiera in my arms. With her giggling and trying to push me away, I flicked flour from my fingers at her. Kiera yelped with delight as I chased after her again, arms out before me like one of those zombies I enjoyed shooting so much in video games.
    Trapped in the corner of the kitchen and her hands to her face, I looked at her, and smiling said, “Come here.”
    “ No,” she said, shaking her head of long black hair. “You’ll put flour on me again.”
    Reaching for a nearby tea towel, I wiped the flour and cake mix from my fingers. “All gone,” I said, raining my hands in the air.
    “ What do you want?” she half-smiled, stepping away from the corner toward me.
    When she was within touching distance, I pulled her close. “You’ve got flour on your nose,” I said, brushing it gently away with my thumb.
    Giggling at my touch, she looked up into my eyes. “Has it all gone?”
    “ Nope,” I said. “There’s a smudge here.” I brushed flour from her cheek.
    “ Anywhere else?” she said, no longer laughing but looking at me.
    “ Here,” I said, one arm about her waist as I lightly brushed white dust from her chin.
    “ Is that the last of