Can I Kick a Ghost in the Nuts? Read online

  The Harper Files

  Can You Kick a Ghost in the Nuts?

  A Blue Moon Novella

  Steve Higgs

  &

  Gemma Higgs

  Text Copyright © 2018 Steven J Higgs

  Publisher: Steve Higgs

  The right of Steve Higgs and Gemma Higgs to be identified as authors of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved.

  The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copywrite law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ‘Can You Kick a Ghost in the Nuts? is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  For strong, independent women everywhere

  Author note:

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for downloading this extract from my new Novel. Amanda Harper is a character that grew from a series of stories I began writing some years ago about a chap that finds himself accidentally marketed as a Paranormal Investigator. She appears for the first time in her own story which you now have the first 4 chapters of – sorry for the tease, but I really want you to buy the book! It will be released on May 1st and is available for pre-order now for £1.99.

  If you want to read something else for FREE before committing, the first book in the Blue Moon series – Paranormal Nonsense, in which Tempest and Amanda tackle a serial killing vampire wannabe is available for FREE on Amazon now.

  Here’s the link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Paranormal-Nonsense-Blue-Moon-Investigations/dp/1521508887/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1522167450&sr=8-1&keywords=steve+higgs

  And get your FREE copy of “Zombie Granny” when you sign up to my VIP mailing list. Here is the link: https://stevehiggsbooks.com/?s=success

  Contents

  The Pentagon Shopping Centre Chatham 1412hrs Sunday October 17th

  Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris Sunday October 17th

  Maidstone Police Station Monday October 18th 0853hrs

  A Case for Me Monday October 18th

  The Pentagon Shopping Centre, Chatham Monday October 18th 1924hrs

  At the Pentagon with Patience Tuesday 19th October 1611hrs

  Wednesday October 20th

  The Pentagon Wednesday afternoon

  In My Flat Wednesday evening October 20th 1917hrs

  Ghostbusting October 21st

  Extract from The Phantom of Barker Mill – Blue Moon Investigations Book 2

  The Pentagon Shopping Centre Chatham 1412hrs Sunday October 17th

  The elevator doors swished open with the barest whisper of noise. The young man stood waiting for it was playing with his phone using just his right hand while in his left he hefted several bags that were shiny and new from a variety of shops. He looked up briefly and stepped over the threshold into the shiny metal box.

  Just as the doors were closing a hand slithered between them and two pretty girls in their early twenties got in. They were chatting about something on TV, talking about the hunk who had his shirt off last night.

  ‘What floor?’ he asked, his hand hovering over the buttons. They were on the bottom floor anyway so whatever floor they wanted the elevator would be travelling in the right direction. The Pentagon only had two floors of shops. It was one of the first indoor shopping malls built in the area way back in the seventies. The many-floored office block attached to it stood towering over the Chatham skyline. The planners had undoubtedly expected the offices to be a draw when it was erected, but now they sat mostly empty.

  ‘Three, please.’ The prettier of the two girls replied with a throwaway smile.

  He was also parked on three, so he stabbed the button with one finger as the doors began to once again slide closed.

  With a small lurch the elevator began moving. He was leaning idly against the back wall and had put his bags down so that he could use both hands on his phone. In front of him the two girls were still chatting back and forth about nothing much and one had pulled out her phone so the two of them could take a selfie. Then the elevator jerked to a halt and the lights went out. The cramped interior of the lift was split by a scream from one of the girls, an involuntary reaction but one that had caused him to jump more than the lights going out had.

  A second or so later the lights came back on and the lift started moving again.

  ‘Oh, my God. What was that?’ One girl asked of the other.

  ‘I don’t know, but I didn’t like it.’ she wailed in return.

  ‘It was probably just a power outage.’ he interjected, trying to sound authoritative and knowledgeable. Both girls turned slightly to look at him, maybe waiting for him to expand on his statement but he had nothing else he could think of to say.

  They turned back away from him and the girl with the phone lifted it once more to try taking the selfie again. Then she screamed a scream that would echo in the man’s head for years to come. She let go of her phone. The elevator jerked to a stop and pinged its arrival at their floor. The doors swished open just as the girl’s phone hit the floor. She screamed again and ran out of the elevator before the doors were even properly open. Her friend followed closely behind.

  ‘Your phone?’ The man called after them, wondering what the hell was going on. He jammed a foot up against the right had door to stop it from closing and bent down to pick up the phone. As he turned it over and saw the screen his soul froze.

  The girl had managed the snap the first selfie as the lights had gone out and there, between their heads and right next to him was the shape of a person. It was caught in motion and blurry but it was undeniably a person in the lift with them when the lights went out. The lift pinged again and the doors tried to close, shoving against his foot so that he had to increase the weight on it to keep it in place.

  What was he seeing? He needed to show this to someone. The police? Or maybe the ghostbusters? He could feel his hair standing on end. Staring at the screen on the phone the lift pinged again and he realised he needed to move, go and find the two girls or something. He would send himself the photograph first though. He turned to get this shopping from the floor where he had placed it.

  It was no longer there.

  Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris Sunday October 17th

  As we boarded the plane home I looked back at the last thirty-six hours. Like all weekend city breaks it had passed in a blur, leaving my memory trying to connect all that had happened into a coherent sequence. My date for the weekend was a man I knew almost nothing about but had arrested a few days ago on suspicion of murder and then arranged for his release less than twenty-four hours later. His name was Brett Barker. He owned the Barker Steel Mill in Dartford, Kent and was a single, attractive, athletic multi-millionaire. My name is Amanda Harper. I am a police officer working for Kent police, but I already quit that job in favour of going to work as a private investigator. But actually, that fails to capture the truth of my new career. I think I will leave it at that for now though as this bit is about the ridiculously delicious hunk I am salivating about.

  Brett had approached me before I had arrested him and expressed t
he desire to see me socially. He was quite charming and he had a confident nature that bordered on being arrogant but never went that far. He had shown a touch of nervousness when he asked me to come to Paris for the weekend and that had been what had convinced me to go. Had he been certain I was going to say yes then I would not have done.

  We were flying first class, the first time I had ever done that but clearly it was the only way he travelled anywhere. He had been intending to fly his helicopter, but the weather predictions had been ominous, and this was safer.

  When we boarded the plane yesterday morning I realised a little too late that I had not yet been on a date with him or even kissed him and now I was planning to spend the night away with him in the penthouse of the Ritz, just off of Rue Saint Honore in Paris. He was being a perfect gentleman and had not tried to so much as hold my hand, but all men are more or less the same so I set some ground rules and explained that I would not be sleeping with him that night. He took the news very well, as if that was entirely expected and thoughts of getting into my knickers could not have been further from his mind. He explained that he had booked the penthouse because it came with three separate bedrooms, each with an en-suite bathroom, and that I would have total privacy when I wanted it throughout the weekend.

  Halfway through the first evening I had almost changed my mind about the sleeping arrangements though. I was being swept off my feet. Being with him was how I imagined it would be to be famous, but without all the unwanted attention. Everywhere we went he was greeted like an old friend. We were given a private tour of the Louvre, we took a helicopter tour above Paris as the predicted storm had not come to pass and had eaten at the fanciest restaurants I had ever seen let alone been in. Obviously, he would not let me pay for anything. After dinner I had most of a bottle of champagne in me and I was starting to wonder what he looked like naked.

  I don’t make a habit of one-night stands, in fact I abhor them and have only had two in my life, many years ago and best forgotten. This would not be a one-night stand though, I told myself, as I was planning to see him again and again and again if there were any more dates like this to be had. Instead this would be having sex on the first date; something else I advocated against but boy was he looking tempting now.

  As we got in the lift to go up to the top floor I slid my hand into his. It was the first time we had touched apart from when he charmingly offered me his hand to get out of the Rolls Royce we were travelling around Paris in. As the lift doors closed and we were thankfully alone I turned into him, looped my left hand behind his head and pulled him down into a kiss. I had been just very slightly concerned that he was gay because he had not made a single suggestive comment or move on me and that had never happened before, but my worries were instantly alleviated as his tongue gently slipped between my lips and the kiss deepened.

  We were still kissing ten seconds later when the lift binged to announce our arrival at the top floor. Neither one of us broke the kiss though until someone coughed politely. The lift had stopped before arriving at the penthouse suite floor to let someone else on. As Brett opened his eyes and realised, he quickly broke the kiss off and stood up straight again. In the doorway were a cute older couple in their late seventies, dressed for dinner and holding hands. Brett said something to them in French that I could not follow and they both laughed.

  The man waved a hand and replied but they made no attempt to get in the lift with us. The doors closed once more, and we continued up the last bit to the top floor.

  Brett did not kiss me again but kept hold of my hand and led me to the room. As we crossed the elegantly styled lobby, he let go of my hand to retrieve the key. I was having a tough mental debate with the sensible, rational version of myself that knew no good could come of sleeping with him this early in our relationship and the utter whore persona that wanted to whisper that the dress he had bought me to wear tonight really didn’t allow for the person inside to also wear knickers. They were still arguing when he opened the door and let me inside, and had come to no conclusion by the time the door was shut and we were alone.

  Thankfully, I suppose, Brett decided for me.

  ‘Goodnight, Amanda.’ He said taking my hand and kissing it. ‘I have work to do but will see you in the morning.’

  Dammit.

  I bid him goodnight and went to my room, hurrying lest I lose my final drop of willpower and throw myself at him. I got undressed hoping he might come and knock on my door and fell asleep wondering if I should go and knock on his.

  That was last night. I had woken alone with a dry mouth and a dull ache in my head from the overindulged champagne. I had showered and dressed and found Brett sat at a desk on the main room inspecting a complicated spreadsheet of numbers. Steel futures he assured me. I did not know what that meant.

  He had ordered breakfast up to the room and taken me on a boat down the Seine to a place that sold champagne by the case and then to a gallery and then to lunch. The day had disappeared and before I knew it we were back at the airport.

  The flight back from Paris was seventy minutes; barely enough time to get comfortable in the enormous, luxury leather chair/beds in first class. The cabin crew offered me champagne again, which this time I declined. I did not have to drive when we landed as he had sent a car to collect me from my flat but I had drunk enough last night and I felt that my evening might be best spent at the gym. Secretly I was worried/hopeful that I might be seen naked in the not too distant future and felt a need to get some squats and cardio in.

  I had packed only a carry-on bag to avoid the baggage queue but I now had a Louis Vuitton suitcase that he had supplied to make sure the Versace dress he bought me to wear to the Opera last night would get home safely. Somehow though the super-rich don’t need to worry about carry-on limits so I had not had to check my bag anyway.

  I could get used to this.

  He kissed me lightly goodbye outside the terminal where the same car and driver that had collected me was once again waiting to take me home.

  Brett Barker. What a revelation. Gentleman, millionaire and… lover?

  Maidstone Police Station Monday October 18th 0853hrs

  The following morning, I awoke to an alarm which I had reluctantly set last night to go off at half past five. I only hit the snooze button twice before I accepted the inevitable and forced myself out of bed. I had told myself that I needed to keep up my gym hours and I was actually feeling quite motivated as I swung my bag over my shoulder and left my flat.

  At the gym in town though my motivation abandoned me. The weights were mocking me from their stand. “We are far too heavy for your girly muscles.” They chimed in my head. Why the hell are the small weights all pastel colours anyway? I don’t need them to be pink for me to know that they are the ones I might be able to lift. I had ignored their taunts and climbed onto an elliptical trainer where I spent forty minutes sweating, grunting and groaning. Next to me had been an overweight man with a beard who had his machine on the minimum resistance setting and was barely even elevating his pulse. He had tried to talk to me – a regular gym hazard, so I had indicated my headphones and made out like I could not hear him.

  Now I was sat at my desk with my bum cheeks already sore from the kettlebell squats I had forced myself to perform before I left the gym. My second cup of coffee was cooling next to my mouse mat and I was idly working out how many hours I had left in the Police. I had quit my job a week ago, or slightly more than that now. I worked out that I had eleven shifts left. That was all. It would be ten by the time I finished today. I had been doing this job since I was twenty-one. What had I got out of it? I wanted to say not a lot, but I suppose the honest answer was that I had learned lots of life skills and I felt ready for my next job.

  My next job of course was working with Tempest Michaels at the Blue Moon Investigation Agency. It had been my idea. I had approached him for the job rather than responding to a job advert as there was no advertised post. I couldn’t work out
what to make of Tempest, or how I felt about him. It was all fairly moot now as I was semi-officially dating Brett and quite happy about it, but I could not deny the fleeting interest. Tempest was good looking. Not as good looking as Brett but few were. He was polite, funny and engaging and I found that I liked spending time with him. I had thought he was single but then went to his house early one morning to find a woman there who had clearly spent the night. He was attracted to me, he had let that slip, but had failed to make any kind of move. Anyway, we were both seeing other people it seemed.

  Working at an investigation agency probably sounds quite glamourous, evoking images of Sam Spade and black and white movies where the lady detective is resourceful and tough as nails while wearing silk stockings. Well, the reality is a little different and most especially at the Blue Moon Investigation Agency where what we investigate is paranormal crimes. That sounds stupid doesn’t it? Tempest came to it by accident. There was a mess up with his business advert and suddenly he had clients calling with crazy cases where they believed they were being targeted by a witch or haunted by a ghost or whatever. He solved each case by finding the perfectly rational explanation for the situation they were experiencing and got to charge them for it. You may think is sounds like he is conning the people involved, but they are queuing up and begging him to take their cases.

  ‘Hey, girl. Where you been all weekend? I sent you messages and snapchats and you didn’t reply to any of them. And I know you read that shit because the iPhone told me.’ The voice was coming from Patience Woods, a fellow police officer who was just arriving to sit at the desk next to me. She was late. Again. We had been friends for about five years since she transferred to Maidstone from Chatham. She was currently stood with her arms crossed and was glaring down at me.

  She had a good glare.