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Archie stopped in his tracks. That hadn’t been a trick of the light. He wasn’t having hallucinations. And he still did not believe in ghosts.

Sure as hell, someone had been wafting around this gazebo in what looked a lot like a thousand-thread-count silver bed sheet, but was probably supposed to represent burial shrouds. Even if Archie didn’t believe in ghosts, he’d heard plenty of ghost stories growing up. He’d lived with the founder of the Twinkleton Paranormal Society, for god sakes—in a, theoretically, haunted house. He got the joke.

If it was a joke.

Either someone was gate crashing John’s ghost walk—uncomfortable memories of a couple of his and Beau’s less finer moments returned to him—or John had hired someone to play Jacqueline McCabe. Jacqueline McCabe being the resident ghost of the Victorian domicile formerly known as McCabe House.

Either scenario seemed dubious. Yes, John had a sense of humor, but he was a true believer; it was unlikely he’d fake a ghost at his own ghost walk—and Archie could more easily buy a kid pulling a prank than Jacqueline finally making an appearance.

He walked slowly up the steps to the gazebo, switched his phone flashlight on and had a quick look around. Nothing seemed out of the place. No footprints from the wet grass other than his own. No conveniently discarded matchbook or lace hankie embroidered with initials. There was not so much as a dead blossom or stray leaf on the bare wood floor. Nor was there an abnormal chill in the air or a mysterious ghostly fragrance.

The eerie hush had given way to evening birdsong and the sound of music drifting from the house.

Stan Getz. Getz Au Go Go. His mother had loved that album.

It was peculiar for sure, but the figure was gone now, no doubt having spotted him advancing across the garden.

Archie checked his watch. 8:51. Yeah, no well-bred lady ghost would be seen dead making an entrance before midnight. Some dumbass kid for sure.

He grimaced. Clicked off the cell’s flashlight.

Speaking of entrances, it was time he made his, lest he seem like an even more ungrateful prodigal shit than he already did.

“Oh, my God! Archie. It is you!”

A voice that could disintegrate a forcefield greeted Archie as he slipped through the French doors and entered the large formal dining room. He was startled to realize the space was already crowded with guests. He’d been so lost in thought he’d somehow missed what had to have been a caravan of arriving cars.

He rearranged his features into a pleasant, okay, benign, expression. “Hi, Desi. Nice to see you.”

Desi was a younger, softer version of John’s sister, Judith. Same light eyes and fair hair, though Desi’s features were prettier and less patrician. Her long-deceased father was supposed to have been short and stocky, but on Desi the genetic code had translated to cute and curvy.

“You haven’t changed at all!” Desi managed to balance both a plate of hors d’oeuvres and a glass of champagne while leaning in for an air kiss. “Why were you out there skulking in the garden?”

“I wasn’t skulking—” Archie let it go and kissed her cheek.

Pretty much every conversation he’d ever had with her had been some variation on this brand of barbed friendliness. As a kid, he’d been confused. Now he recognized that Desi had probably been a little resentful of his place in John’s life. It hadn’t mattered that Archie had wanted to take that place as little as Desi had wanted him to have it.

“You’re still in the FBI?” She sounded skeptical.

Like, surely the FBI would have seen through him by now?

Before Archie could answer, a bald, tanned, broad-shouldered man in his late sixties forged his way through the crowd to them. “Archie, my boy! Great to see you! And looking so well.” He pumped Archie’s hand, beaming warmly.

Three minutes in and Archie was starting to feel like he’d wandered onto the set of a Coen Brothers film.

He smiled feebly. “Hey, Leo. How are you?”

Leo Baker’s face was flushed. His hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. “Never better! Do you think we’ll see Jacqueline tonight?”

So tempting. But no.

Leo was John’s oldest friend, financial advisor, and another original member of the Twinkleton Paranormal Society. They shared a love of golf, yachting, and all things paranormal, which pretty much described every founding member of the society, with the possible exception of Professor Azizi. Hard to picture Azizi on a golf course. Or in broad daylight.

Comfortable rich people living comfortable lives.

Not that there was anything wrong with that. Archie had certainly benefited from having a wealthy guardian. It was just that all of this was in such stark contrast to, well, his life as of late. Granted, everything felt a little surreal after a concussion.

“John told us you were injured in the line of duty, but you’ve obviously bounced right back.” As Archie managed to detach himself from Leo’s grip, Leo leaned past him to shout, “Pris! Look who’s here!”