Inspector Specter by E.J. Copperman Page A

together,” I noted.
    â€œYeah, but even then he didn’t tell me much of anything. The point is, Martin didn’t gossip. He didn’t complain about the other cops on the force. He just did his job, and did it well. And he pissed some people off because that was the kind of guy he was.” I felt it was best not to pass along Paul’s contention that the afterlife held at least one person who thought Detective Ferry had been working hand-in-glove with the local mob.
    â€œI get it. You don’t know the people in Seaside Heights, but you’re concerned that they might be sweeping Detective Ferry’s death under the rug.” I heard Melissa quicken her step behind me so she could hear better. A thought struck me, and I almost stopped walking. “Do you think someone in the department he was working in might have killed Detective Ferry and covered it up?” I asked.
    McElone’s mouth might have twitched just a little in irritation; not with me, but with the suggestion. “I’m not saying anything like that. The point I’m making is that I don’t know what the situation is here, or there. And that’s why I’m not ever going to mention your name to anyone. That, and the fact that if they knew I was checking with a ghost person, they’d laugh me out of the job.”
    It took me a moment to decipher what she’d just said, and then I lowered my voice so that Melissa couldn’t hear. “You think I might be in some danger?” I asked.
    McElone gave me one of her patented sardonic sideways glances. “No,” she said with emphasis. “I’m telling you this so that you’ll use the proper caution, though I don’t really believe there will be any reason whatsoever for you to put it into use. Understand?”
    â€œWas that sarcasm?” Sometimes it’s hard to tell. We’re from New Jersey. I’ve heard people say hello sarcastically.
    She shook her head. “I mean it sincerely. I’m giving you some backup folders because this case is not on the books. I’m giving you my cell number so you can find me when I’m not at work. And I’m suggesting that you not mention any of this to people you don’t know and trust because I still have no idea who killed Martin. Is that clear enough?”
    â€œCrystal,” I said.
    â€œGood. Now forget everything except the being-careful part until you talk to some ghost who has a story to tell. Then you call me. Got that?”

Seven

    After McElone turned around and walked away, no doubt to pack up the one stray paper clip on her impeccably neat desk and take her leave of absence, Melissa and I took Wendy to the Stud Muffin, where her mother, Barbara, reported a lovely evening out with her husband, and we reported a lovely evening spent in with Wendy.
    The whole way back home, Melissa peppered me with questions about Detective Ferry, what McElone had told me when Melissa couldn’t hear (I answered with something terrifically helpful like, “Oh, it was nothing important, honey”) and what we were going to do to help.
    â€œ
I’m
going to do exactly what I promised the lieutenant I’d do,” I told her. “Wait for Paul to get some information to pass along, and then pass it along. The rest of the time, I’m going to be a good innkeeper and a fabulous mother, just like always.”
    She didn’t even chuckle at the “fabulous mother” crack. “But we can’t find Paul,” she said. “How can he report anything if we don’t get to talk to him?”
    Liss had a point, but I didn’t want to hear it. “He’ll be there when we get home,” I said with some very shaky confidence in my voice. “You’ll see.” I made a mental deal with myself that if Maxie wasn’t in the house either when we got back, I was going to call Kitty and ask if everything was all right. Let Maxie get mad