Page 19 of Not That Complicated

I might not be a morning person, but I did consider myself to be a day person.

I tried to tell myself it was okay, a nap was completely understandable due to the stress of Adam catching up with me—oh, and the corpse—but it didn’t make me feel any better, and great. I was back to thinking about Adam again.

The text message and brusque voicemail I found waiting for me from Detective Nash didn’t make me feel much better.

I slumped on the edge of the rumpled bed and called him back at the number provided, wondering what fresh horror he had for me.

“Nash,” he said.

“Hello, Detective. This is Ray Underwood, returning your call.”

In a dramatic change from how things were going thus far, Nash had good news for me.

“…and that’s it?” I said. My tired gaze had drifted around the room while Nash was talking, and had landed on the generic landscape that hung on the wall opposite the window. It hurt my graphic designer’s soul. It probably hurt everyone’s soul. “I can go home?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed.

“Huh.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Right. Thank you for letting me know. And for removing the body.”

“All part of the job.”

“Where...where is he?”

“At the hospital mortuary.”

Something other than Adam and the honeymooners had kept me awake last night. I didn’t want to ask in case I didn’t like the answer, but on balance, not knowing was worse. “Was he murderedthere? In my room?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Are you at liberty to hint?”

“No.” Nash cleared his throat. “You can go ahead and return home whenever you like.”

I clutched the phone, pressing it hard against my face. I knew better. I kept hanging up on people or randomly opening apps with my cheekbones.

But I was freaking out a bit here, okay? It had taken a while for it to sink in that not only was the poor guy stuffed in a tub and nailed under my bedroom floorboards, but he could have expired right there.

Things like that left a mark on the world, didn’t they? They had to. What if...what if he was restless? A restless spirit?

I didn’t realise I’d spoken the last bit out loud until Nash sighed in my ear. “Are you talking about ghosts?”

“Yes!”

“I’m sorry, Mr Underwood, but ghosts are not in my job description. You know who to call.”

My face twisted in suspicion. “Ghostbusters? Was that a joke? Are you making fun of me?”

“Absolutely not. I am a police officer. I have no sense of humour whatsoever. Mr Underwood, I’m off duty, and I really don’t have any more information for you.”

“Oh. Of course, sorry. You’ll keep me updated on how it goes, then?”

“Yes. Although you should be aware that, as you are not personally involved in the crime, there are limits to what I can share.”

“I feel pretty involved, detective. I’ve been living with the man for five years. My house was a crime scene.”

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