[Not Just Any Other] Ghost Story

Chapter 15

"He could have died," Sarah said as she stepped out of the hospital, the glass doors sliding closed behind her with a whoosh. It had been almost twenty-four hours since Caleb was admitted, and it was the first time she'd been allowed to see him.

Jane wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulder. "Any of us can die at any time, honey."

Sarah scoffed. "You know that's not what I meant."

Jane looked both ways before entering the crosswalk. "Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. I know exactly what you meant, but I've told you before, it wasn't your fault."

"If he hadn't given me a ride home, if I hadn't taken so long in the bathroom, if—"

As they got to the other side of the street, Jane stopped and spun Sarah around to face her. "You had no way of knowing that Caleb would find that old space heater in the back of the closet. If anyone is to blame, it's me for buying the darned thing at an antiques mart years ago and then forgetting that I even had it. But if his parents can accept it being just an unfortunate accident, then so should you."

"But—"

"But nothing. Carbon monoxide poisoning is no joke for that exact reason: it's odorless and practically undetectable if you don't know what to look for. Thankfully we got to him in time, and Caleb will make a full recovery in a few days. So stop thinking in 'what ifs.' Otherwise you'll just drive yourself crazy."

Sarah sighed. She knew that her aunt was right, but the guilt she felt over what almost happened yesterday still gnawed away at her insides. She needed a distraction. And as if fate had heard her silent plea, a police car pulled up to the curb beside them.

"Hello, ladies. Anyone up for a cup of flat white, caramel spiced whatever they sell at this place? I'm buying," Quinn said, leaning across the passenger seat and pointing to the nearby coffee shop.

"You know I would, but I ditched work early to come here and there is a stack of geography quizzes that I need to grade before tomorrow," Jane said, the regret evident in her voice. "Come by the house later?"

Quinn smiled and nodded. "You bet. Sarah?"

Knowing this was her chance to get an update on the last big thing that happened before the most recent big thing, she jumped at the offer. "Yeah. You know me? I can never refuse a sugar rush."

With the squad car neatly parked under a "No Standing or Stopping Any Time" sign—irony was dead in New Bedford—they entered the coffee shop and placed their orders.

"Any update on the black house murder?" asked Sarah after she took her drink from the barista.

Quinn shushed her and motioned to a two-person table by the window. "The forensic analysis came in yesterday, and the case is now closed," they said softly once no one was in immediate earshot.

Sarah's eyes popped open at the unexpectedly good news. "So you've identified the victim and found the killer already?" she asked, unable to hide her excitement.

But Quinn shook their head. "No. The DA decided not to pursue it further for the lack of public interest." They took a sip of their tall Americano.

"What do you mean lack of public interest?" Sarah repeated, barely believing her ears as her heart rate spiked. "A woman got walled up in a fireplace, and I'm no detective, but I'm pretty sure she didn't put herself there on her own. Which means that there's a killer on the loose somewhere around here."

Quinn shrugged. "Based on the evidence, those bones are at least eighty years old. I'm sorry, Sarah, but it's not my decision."

She clenched her fist under the table to stop herself from saying something she'd regret later. Taking a deep breath, Sarah struggled to remain reserved. "So? Who cares if the bones were old? Don't senior citizens deserve to live—"