The Gift by Deb Stover

and backpack by the front door and returned to the kitchen to turn off the lights, glancing again at the clock.
    Twenty minutes. Shit. “If you allow her to contact you, her cause of death may be resolved.”
    “Sam, don’t you think I know that? This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid the last three years.” Her voice broke. “Sorry. Sorry. This isn’t your fault. I’m sorta wrung out.”
    “I can tell. That storm you mentioned rattled you. Didn’t it?”
    “Big-time.”
    He scowled at the clock. He’d never get tenure if he didn’t make his classes on time. But this was only one class, and Beth needed him. Besides, she never asked for help. Not anymore. Not since she’d stopped drinking. He wasn’t about to turn her away when she needed him. Resigned to missing his class, he drew a deep breath and said, “Wait a minute.”
    He momentarily put her line on hold and switched to text-message his graduate assistant. Amy-Can’t come. U R on. He returned to Beth. “I’m back.” A minute of silence stretched over the line. “Beth?”
    “Oh, I’m still here.” She gave a nervous—a very un-Beth-like—laugh. “Well, see…there’s…this…man…”
    “Whoa.” He slumped against the bar. “No kidding? Wow! That’s incredible. It must be serious for you to bother telling m—”
    “It isn’t serious that way, Sam. Serious hormonal overload for both parties, I think.” She cleared her throat. “It’s serious because it’s wrong. He’s involved in the case.”
    “Ah, now I understand. Perfect Detective Dearborn mustn’t mix business with pleasure.” He rolled his eyes, remembering how uptight she’d always been about that. “Let your hair down, Beth. You only live once. When was the last time you met a man who interested you enough to make you even consider taking such a risk?”
    “Oh, gee, let me think. Like…never?”
    “My point.” He glanced at the clock. He’d been right to surrender. Amy would do just fine, and she’d been dying to lecture. “And think more about this spirit, too. Will you?”
    “Sam…Do you think you could fly down here and contact the spirit—find out what she wants and send her away?”
    He released his breath very slowly. “Our gifts are different, Beth. You know that. If she’s trying to contact you, she may not have anything to share with me. ”
    “I thought of that, too.”
    “I see…” Suspicion slithered through Sam and he stiffened. “Exactly how does this man figure into the case you’re investigating? And whose house is it?”
    “Give the man a cigar.”
    “Ah, so it’s like that.” Maybe good news, maybe bad. Sam needed to check out this guy. “So you’re staying in his house?”
    “Yep, along with his three darling children and a housekeeper who rules all. Trust me, we’re well chaperoned.”
    “How inconvenient.”
    “Or maybe it’s a good thing.”
    “I take it he’s single, at least.”
    “Well…allegedly.”
    “What?” Sam shook his head. “You’re talking riddles now, Cuz. Either he is or he isn’t.”
    “Well, it depends on whether or not his wife is really dead.”
    “Oh- ho ! I get it now. This is the case you’re investigating…? Let me guess—he’s having his missing wife declared legally dead after all these long years?” Sam definitely had to meet this guy.
    “Yup.”
    “You certainly know how to get yourself into messes.”
    “I do, don’t I?”
    He bit his lower lip, hating to ask the next question, but it needed to be asked. “So…you having any trouble…you know?”
    “Booze?” Brittle laughter rang over the line. “It’s okay to say it, Sam. I promise I am still clean and sober. Thanks for asking. And for caring…”
    “And…can you stay that way while dealing withthe spirit in that house?” He swallowed hard, waiting for her answer.
    “Why the hell do you think I asked you to come down here?” Her breathing quickened audibly. “I haven’t had to face anything like