Mistletoe and Spirits (Southern Ghost Wranglers #5) - Amy Boyles Page 0,2

sort of ghosts that simply wanted to be remembered. Usually there wasn’t a lot of menace to those encounters, but one time a ghost decided to play Christmas Past at a holiday dance. Unfortunately the ghost turned up looking exactly as he had died—beheaded.

Needless to say, the party had quickly come to end when everyone started screaming. Then somehow a fire erupted, the water sprinklers got turned on and the whole banquet hall wound up a dripping mess.

Yep, those were the good old days.

“Don’t you think Christmas is, like, the raddest holiday ever?”

I glanced up from my cup of cider to see my friendly neighborhood ghost, Susan Whitby, leaning against a chair, chewing bubblegum while she twisted her eighties beaded rope necklace.

“Yeah, it’s pretty rad.”

“What’re you drinking?”

“Hot apple cider. Want some?”

“Barf-o-rama. Like, no thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” I took a long sip. “Everything okay? Is there some reason why you’re here at the inn and not at my house?”

So yes, Susan lived with me. It was kind of a weird thing with Roan. He didn’t like to spend the night at my place because, well, Susan may have walked in on him once or twice while he was in the bathroom.

Susan swore that she wasn’t trying to get a glimpse of his jewels, but I knew the truth. Susan was a closet pervert. There was no two ways about it.

So because of that, whenever one of us wanted to spend the night, I did so at the inn.

Susan tugged the ghostly bubblegum she was chewing, creating a rope from her mouth to her fingers. “Well, I came here because someone stopped by.”

I frowned. It was unlike Susan to have stopped filing her nails to tromp all the way over to the inn to give me information like that. I wasn’t kidding. To Susan, filing her nails was a religion, so ignoring that task meant something big had happened.

“Who was this someone?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Some guy.”

She was avoiding the topic. “Susan, what’s wrong? What guy?”

Her gaze darted to my cider. “Even though I would rather be gagged by a spoon than drink that gasoline, I have to admit it smells yummy.”

“You can’t smell,” I reminded her. “You’re dead.”

She made a little squeaking noise as if to disagree with me.

My fingers curled around the cup, hard. “Susan Whitby, you tell me right now who showed up at the house or I swear that I will send you into the light right this second.”

Her eyes flared. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Don’t tempt me.”

“Fine, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Try me,” I ground out. “Now, who the heck was it?”

In the background I heard Ruth yelling at Alice to be still. “We’ve almost got you out,” she shouted.

Susan peeked around me. “What’s going on in there? Is there, like, some kind of Christmas party going on?” She made an obscene gesture with her fingers suggesting that it was the sort of party that didn’t require clothing.

“No,” I snapped. “There is nothing inappropriate happening at the inn. Wow. I can just about see the light opening up. The big man is ready to welcome you into his arms.”

“Okay!” She held up her hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll tell you who it was, but don’t get mad at me about it.”

A knock came from the kitchen door. My brows pinched in confusion. “Who is that?”

“My guess is it’s the spirit that followed me here.”

“Spirit?” I stopped. “You didn’t say it was a spirit. You said it was a someone.”

Now my hackles were up. Why was a spirit showing up at my house? And why did this same spirit have Susan’s panties all in a knot?

“Who is it?”

“Just answer it.” Susan whistled while staring at the ceiling. “Like y’all say nowadays—you’ve got this, girl.”

Cold dread washed over me. Was a spirit seeking revenge standing on the other side of that door? If that was the case, I needed to be ready. It was Christmas, after all, the time for revenge in the spirit world. “You tell me who it is, or I swear that I will never ask Roan over ever again.”

That got her. She loved trying to see him naked. I knew it! “You wouldn’t dare!”

I smirked. “I would. Now, spill it.” I pointed to the door. “Before I open that, I want to know who or what I’ll be facing.”

“You are most seriously not going to like it,” she said in her Valley Girl voice.

“I know. That’s why I want to be prepared.”

“Okay. You