I was sitting alone in my favorite cafe, enjoying a coffee and minding my own business, when a shadow passed over me. I looked up to see a man slipping into the chair opposite me, his expression haggard, his eyes dark.

I set my coffee down and leaned away. “Can I help you?” I asked warily.

The man swallowed and looked around. He looked sketchy, like he was making a drug deal or something. It made me nervous.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “But are you Sid Sheridan, the ghost whisperer with the San Diego police department?”

I blinked, surprised. I had been called many things in my consulting career, but usually nothing as nice as ghost whisperer. Usually it was things like whackadoodle, charlatan, lunatic. I wrinkled a brow. “Yes, that’s me,” I said.

He let out a breath of relief and his expression softened. “Thank God,” he said. “I need your help.” He waved over a waitress and ordered a coffee. Black. My kind of guy. “Are you familiar with the Chloe Barber case?”

I nodded. “Sure. She’s that actress who went missing last year, right?”

The man looked around again, his anxiety redoubling. “Yeah. Listen. I know this sounds crazy. But I’m pretty sure she was murdered. And I need you to prove it.”

I took a sip of my coffee, unmoved. Lots of people got murdered in this town. I thought of it as job security. “If you think someone was murdered,” I said, “you should go to the police. The actual police. Why come to me?”

His face squinched, and his shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes flicked to me, to the exit, to the waitress bringing his coffee, and back to the exit. If I had to guess, I’d say he was trying to decide whether to bolt or not.

Finally, he picked up his coffee, took a gulp, then narrowed his eyes as he set it back down. “It’s complicated,” he managed.

“Complicated how?”

The man groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” he began. “But … I saw her ghost.”

My eyebrows shot up. I was wary, but now I was also intrigued. “Oh, yeah? What did the ghost say?”

He shivered as a chill passed over him. His voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “Nothing. At least, nothing I could understand. It was all…garbled. But she seemed distressed. That’s why I need you. I need someone who can see and talk to ghosts.”

I folded my hands atop the table. I didn’t want to appear too eager, but this was actually pretty interesting. The ghost of a celebrity? That was something I didn’t have on my Bingo card. I mean, I didn’t have a Bingo card, but I’d heard people say that before, anyway. “And where did you see her ghost?” I asked.

He let out a breath. “Out at the old farmhouse where she grew up.”

That was an interesting tidbit. If she was murdered at her childhood home, there was a good chance she was murdered by someone who knew her. Maybe even a family member.

Despite myself, I felt my heart rate pick up. It wasn’t every day someone came to me about a murder. I was usually playing second-fiddle to the cops. And I had to admit–being sought-after felt pretty good. “What were you doing out at the old farmhouse?” I asked. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. But if I learned one thing from working with the cops, it’s that you have to ask a lot of annoying questions or else you end up jumping to terrible conclusions.

The man sighed with annoyance. “The farmhouse is being sold. I’m an assistant to the realtor. Listen, I don’t think we have a lot of time. I don’t know much about ghosts, but I have a feeling her spirit might move on once the property changes hands. I need you to talk to her. Can you help me?”

I picked up my mug and finished my coffee. There was nothing in my contract with the San Diego police department saying I couldn’t take cases on my own. Still, it felt strange not to have Detective Hidalgo at my side. So I said, “I can take a look, but I need to bring my partner along. You’re OK with that, aren’t you?”

He sat still a moment, considering what I said. Finally, he offered a nod. “Fine. But we need to head out there today.” He stood up quickly then and extended his hand, which I accepted. “My name is Seymour,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind? I’d like to get moving.”