Blue Dahlia

ghosts?”
    “I’ve never come across one.”
    “If you take on this job, you will. What might your fee be, Dr. Carnegie, to dig up the history and identity of a family ghost?”
    He leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen on his chin. “You’re not kidding around.”
    “I certainly wouldn’t kid around to the tune of fifty dollars an hour, plus expenses. I bet you could write a very interesting book on the Harper family ghost, if I were to sign a release and cooperate.”
    “I just bet I could,” he replied.
    “And it seems to me that you might consider finding out what I’m after as a kind of research. Maybe I should charge you.”
    His grin flashed again. “I have to finish this book before I actively take on another project. Despite evidence to the contrary, I finish what I start.”
    “Then you ought to start washing your dishes.”
    “Told you not to look. First, let me say that in my opinion the odds of you having an actual ghost in residence are about, oh, one in twenty million.”
    “I’d be happy to put a dollar down at those odds, if you’re willing to risk the twenty million.”
    “Second, if I take this on, I’d require access to all family papers—personal family papers, and your written consent for me to dig into public records regarding your family.”
    “Of course.”
    “I’d be willing to waive my fee for, let’s say, the first twenty hours. Until we see what we’ve got.”
    “Forty hours.”
    “Thirty.”
    “Done.”
    “And I’d want to see your house.”
    “Perhaps you’d like to come to dinner. Is there any day next week that would suit you?”
    “I don’t know. Hold on.” He swiveled to his computer, danced his fingers over keys. “Tuesday?”
    “Seven o’clock, then. We’re not formal, but you will need shoes.” She picked up the plant, then rose. “Thank you for your time,” she said, extended a hand.
    “Are you really going to take that thing?”
    “I certainly am. And I have no intention of giving it back and letting you take it to death’s door again. Do you need directions to Harper House?”
    “I’ll find it. Seems to me I drove by it once.” He walked her to the door. “You know, sensible women don’t usually believe in ghosts. Practical women don’t generally agree to pay someone to trace the history of said ghost. And you strike me as a sensible, practical woman.”
    “Sensible men don’t usually live in pigsties and conduct business meetings barefoot. We’ll both have to take our chances. You ought to put some ice on that bruise. It looks painful.”
    “It is. Vicious little ...” He broke off. “Got clipped going up for a rebound. Basketball.”
    “So I see. I’ll expect you Tuesday, then, at seven.”
    “I’ll be there. Good-bye, Ms. Harper.”
    “Dr. Carnegie.”
    He kept the door open long enough to satisfy his curiosity. He was right, he noted. The rear view was just as elegant and sexy as the front side, and both went with that steel-spined southern belle voice.
    A class act, top to toe, he decided as he shut the door.
    Ghosts. He shook his head and chuckled as he wound his way through the mess back to his office. Wasn’t that a kick in the ass.

twenty

    LOGAN STUDIED THE TINY FORM BLINKING IN A patch of dappled sunlight. He’d seen babies before, even had his share of personal contact with them. To him, newborns bore a strange resemblance to fish. Something about the eyes, he thought. And this one had all that black hair going for her, so she looked like a human sea creature. Sort of exotic and otherworldly.
    If Gavin had been around, and Hayley out of hearing distance, he’d have suggested that this particular baby looked something like the offspring of Aquaman and Wonder Woman.
    The kid would’ve gotten it.
    Babies always intimidated him. Something about the way they looked right back at you, as if they knew a hell of a lot more than you did and were going to tolerate you until they got big enough to handle things on their own.
    But he figured he had to come up with something better than an encounter between superheros, as the mother was standing beside him, anticipating.
    “She looks as if she might’ve dropped down from Venus, where the grass is sapphire blue and the sky a bowl of gold dust.” True enough, Logan decided, and a bit more poetic than the Aquaman theory.
    “Aw, listen to you. Go ahead.” Hayley gave him a little elbow nudge. “You can pick her up.”
    “Maybe I’ll wait on that until