Lost Souls by J. Bishop (the giving tree read aloud txt) 📗

was comfortable calling in favors, Mason was the opposite. Half debating whether he should call and tell them not to bother, he settled back, and jumped again when another slam rattled the walls.

Cursing, Mason almost dropped his tea. He put it down, stood, and returned to the hall, finding the closed bathroom door. That cool air returned and prickled his skin. “What the hell are you trying to tell me?” asked Mason aloud.

He tuned in again, but there was no answer.

Chapter Five

Detective Aaron Remalla opened the door to the diner and waved his partner, Detective Gordon Daniels, through. “Age before beauty.”

Daniels shook his head. “I’m eight months older, and you’ve got a mustard stain on your shirt.” He entered the diner.

Rem swiped at the yellow blotch. “The jacket’s covering the stain. Nobody can see it.” He eyed his partner’s pressed pants, ironed collared shirt and gelled-back blonde hair. “I’ll admit, though, you make a better impression.” He pulled up his baggy, worn jeans. “Good thing I’m the brains of this organization.”

“That’s not the word I’d use.” Daniels pointed. “Mason’s here.”

Rem saw Mason Redstone sitting at a far table, waving them over. “Man’s punctual.”

“Something I can appreciate.”

Rem snorted. “I wasn’t that late this morning.”

“You got your oil changed on the way to work.”

“My car needed it. You’d rather we break down on the side of the road?”

“Then take it after work, not before.”

They walked up to the table. “Details,” said Rem. He pulled out a chair across from Redstone. “Hey, Mason.”

“Remalla. Daniels. How are you?” asked Mason.

Daniels took a seat beside Rem. “I think I need a vacation.”

Rem sat. “Really? Where do you want to go?”

“I’m going with Marjorie,” said Daniels. “You can stay here.”

Rem frowned. “Somebody’s grouchy this morning.” He regarded Mason. “How are you? Better than him, I hope.”

“Doing well.” Mason reached for some cream and added it to his coffee. “I appreciate you helping me out.”

“Well, after all you did for us, it’s the least we could do,” said Daniels, picking up a menu from the table.

“We owe you,” said Rem, shifting in his seat, the uncomfortable memories swirling of how they’d met. “Mikey said your friend was joining us?”

“Yes,” said Mason. “He is. Sorry he’s running late. Apparently, Cissy Howard is securing bail this morning. Her parents paid it, and Trick is with them, but he should be here soon.” He put his menu down. “There’s no need to wait, though. I’m sure you two are busy.”

The waitress came over and took their drink orders. “We’re fine,” said Daniels. “It’s actually been quiet.” He knocked on the table. “Knock on Formica. Or whatever this is made of.”

“Mikey said your friend lost somebody close, and he wants you to help him investigate?” asked Remalla. He didn’t bother checking the menu. His mouth was watering for the grilled cheese and fries.

“Yes. For the most part.” Mason filled them in on his former partner and the death of Trick’s stepbrother.

“Old partner, huh?” asked Daniels. “You think you two can work together again or do you prefer being on your own?”

“Especially now that you’re, you know, talking to dead people and all that,” said Rem. “How’s Trick handle that part of the deal?”

The waitress brought their drinks and freshened Mason’s coffee, then took their orders and menus.

“It’s an interesting dynamic, to say the least,” said Mason. “To be honest, I miss certain aspects of a partnership. Someone to bang around ideas with and talk to. We were close once, much like you two.”

“We have our moments.” Daniels sipped his water.

“Ain’t that the truth,’ said Rem.

“I know. I’ve seen them.” Mason looked between them. “You two can bicker all you want, but when the smelly stuff hits the fan, you’d die for each other.” He put his napkin in his lap. “Trick and I had that once.”

Rem made eye contact with Daniels. They’d had plenty of close calls, and had relied on each other more than once to survive. “I am lucky in that regard,” said Rem. “I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

“You and me both,” said Daniels. “Remind me to tell you about the time he almost killed me, though.” He cocked his head at Rem.

Rem dropped his jaw. “That was a total accident. It’s partly your fault anyway. Why’d you put the rat poison next to the sugar container?”

“I didn’t think it would be too much to ask of you to read a label,” said Daniels. “Especially when it’s got a skull-and-crossbones on it.”

Rem rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he said to Mason, “outside of the occasional near poisoning, I can understand why you’d miss a partnership.” He added sugar and cream to his coffee. “What does Trick say about the paranormal stuff?”

“He accepts it,” said Mason, “but don’t think he likes it. I’m sure if he saw a ghost, he’d outrun Usain Bolt.”

“That we have in common,” said Rem. “Too bad we didn’t meet you sooner. You could have joined us in the lovely town of Dumont. You’d have had your fill.”

“You didn’t outrun Usain Bolt,” said Daniels.

“Because I was too scared to move, plus I had to save your ass,” said Rem.

“I suppose,” said Daniels.

Mason smiled. “It seems you two did fine. I find most ghosts just want to tell you their story, be heard, and then move on.”

“If you’re lucky,” said Daniels. “How’s business? The paranormal world staying busy?”

“It’s brisker than you might expect,” said Mason. “You’d be surprised how many people encounter spectral problems and are open to mystical solutions, or who just want to reconnect with their loved ones.”

“Seems to be the world we live in now,” said Rem.

“Seems so,” said Daniels.

Mason raised an arm. “There he is.”

Rem swiveled to see a tall, narrow-waisted man wearing jeans, a checkered shirt, cowboy boots and hat, enter the diner and approach their table. “Sorry I’m late.” He hooked his hat on the back of the chair and sat. Rem noticed his bloodshot eyes and pale pallor. “You must be Red’s friends.” He offered a