Free Witch at Heart: A Jinx Hamilton Witch Mystery Book 1 (The Jinx Hamilton Mysteries) by Juliette Harper Page A

There was a lot of empty space around me and this . . . thing . . . coming at my head,” I answered, rubbing my forehead. “I actually felt it hit me, and then everything went black. It looked familiar. I should know what it was, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
    From behind us a voice said, “It was a tri-pod, wasn’t it?”
    Tori and I both swiveled around.
    “Who said that?” Tori asked, swinging her head from side to side.
    “She did,” I answered.
    “She who?” Tori asked, perplexed.
    “Left shoulder,” I directed.
    Tori shifted and looked again. “Aw crud,” she said. “Jane wasn’t the only one.”
    The ghost of a young girl was standing just at the edge of the forest. “Who is Jane?” she asked, frowning.
    “Someone we know who is like you,” I said. “What’s your name, honey?”
    The girl looked like she was about to cry. “I don’t know,” she said forlornly. “Every time I try to ask someone, they either don’t seem to hear me or they run away like I scared them or something.” She faltered for a second and then blurted out, “Am I dead?”
    Trust me. This talking-to-dead-people thing is not all it’s cracked up to be. Dead or not, they have feelings and it is not fun to tell them what they don’t want to hear.
    “Yes,” I said gently. “You are.”
    The girl began to cry softly, “Do you think someone has told my mother?”
    “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been here?”
    The girl shook her head.
    “What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked.
    She made a face, “That awful new Coca Cola had just come out. I drank a can and it tasted so bad I thought I would throw up.”
    Tori took out her phone and started typing. After a couple of minutes she looked up and said, “1985.”
    Ten years before Jane was killed. Not good. Not good at all.

11
    “ W e have to report this ,” Tori said in a low voice as we both watched the nameless girl wander around the clearing.
    “And say what?” I asked. “Yes, Officer? I’d like to report a 30-year-old haunting up by Weber’s Gap.”
    Tori made a face. “Very funny,” she said. “There could be more dead girls up here. What if this guy is a serial killer and this is his dumping ground?”
    She said that like discovering such a gruesome truth would be a good thing. Personally, I was in favor of getting the heck out of there before any more ghosts showed up. Of course, I was far too responsible to do that, but I wanted to -- I really, really wanted to.
    I sighed and gave in. “Do you have a bright idea about how to go about this?” I asked.
    “It’s really not going to be all that hard, “Tori said confidently. “You hear about this kind of thing happening all the time. People just go out for a walk in the woods and stumble on a body, or a skeleton.”
    “Note to self,” I muttered. “Stay out of the woods. That’s all well and good, Tori, but we didn’t find her body so what exactly do we report?”
    “That’s the part of the plan she has to help us with,” Tori said, nodding toward the girl.
    “Help us how?”
    “We have to ask her.”
    I had a sneaking suspicion Tori was being intentionally obtuse because she knew I wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
    “Ask her what?” I said suspiciously.
    “To show us what’s . . . left . . . of herself.”
    Oh. Ouch. I was pretty confident not even Miss Manners had an etiquette rule to cover that conversation.
    “And just how do you suggest we broach the subject of her mortal remains?” I hissed. “Not five minutes ago she was asking us for confirmation that she’s actually dead.”
    “Exactly,” Tori said. “Confirmation. She knew, she just didn’t want to know.”
    Which, when you think about it, was a perfectly reasonable reaction.
    When I didn’t say anything, Tori went on. “We just ask her, or rather, you just ask her,” she said, hastily correcting herself. “You’re the official