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speak to the dead. By that point, the nickname Crazy Ginger had spread among the pack, and it stuck.”
     
    Oh, crap. She’d just told him her very unsexy nickname. 
     
    But he was still smiling. No matter what she said, how dorky she sounded, he always looked at her like he wanted to spread whip cream on her and lick it off.   Of course, he probably looked that way at every woman who was old enough to legally buy alcohol.
     
    “ Oooh, I think that’s a wicked cool power. Excuse me for eavesdropping.” A spiky haired girl with arms covered in tattoos walked up and stuck her hand out. Her fingernails sparkled with purple polish. “Hi, I’m Lola.  I’m a secretary here. That’s why I get to dress like a freak.  So, are there, like, ghosts right here? In this room?” she shivered in happy anticipation.
     
    “I do sense a presence.”
     
    “Really?” Lola squealed excitedly.
     
    Ginger glanced at the sheriff, who nodded. “Go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”
     
    When he said it, his gaze roved over her body, and she stifled a shiver. Why was it that everything he said felt like it was meant as a double entendre?
     
    Ginger walked over to the far left corner of the room.  The corner was empty, but she sensed that it hadn’t always been.
     
    She closed her eyes and relaxed, letting her defenses down, letting the world fall away from her.
     
    She opened her eyes again.
     
    “Eek,” she said. There was a desk and a chair in the corner now, and there was a ghostly figure sitting in the chair, a sheriff’s deputy who was slumped in the chair with what was left of his head thrown back. There was a gun lying on the floor at his feet.
     
    The top of his head was blown off, and splattered all over his lap. Her stomach lurched.
     
    “Suicide?” she said. “No, wait…”
     
    His head reformed.  He was sitting there with a handkerchief in his hand, polishing the outside of his gun, which was pointed right at his face. He was humming a happy little tune.
     
    Then the gun went off, and the top of his head exploded.
     
    She turned to look at Sheriff Armstrong in dismay.
     
    “Was it a suicide?” The sexy smile was gone. He was staring at her with concern stamped on his handsome face.
     
    “ No.  He was cleaning his gun with a handkerchief and the gun was pointed at his face. He didn’t mean to kill himself,” she said.
     
    “Whew. Glad to hear it. It happened just last month. The coroner’s inquest found that it was an accident, but there have always been questions.  Poor ole Dumb Darryl,” he added, shaking his head sadly.
     
    “That was really his nickname?”
     
    “He’d already shot himself in the foot, twice, drove the patrol car through a store window, and accidentally set his own house on fire. Nobody wanted to go on patrol with him. But his wife will be relieved to get the final word that it wasn’t a suicide.”
     
    “That was so cool!” Lola’s eyes were wide with admiration.
     
    “Unless she’s certified, it’s not admissible as evidence,” Portia snapped. She had gotten up from her desk and walked over to them.
     
    “I am certified as a post-death communications facilitator,” Ginger said.
     
    “Got the paperwork to prove that?” Portia sneered.
     
    The sheriff turned to Portia and fixed her with a cold gaze.  “I just spoke to you about this.”
     
    “You can’t reassign me. My aunt won’t let you,” Portia’s eyes blazed with anger.
     
    “Your aunt doesn’t run this department. I do.  Last chance, Portia. Now go sit down immediately.” The sheriff’s eyes turned amber, and Ginger shivered involuntarily. He was going all Alpha on Portia, and he was a damned scary sight when he did that.
     
    Portia turned stiffly and walked back to her desk.
     
    “Forget about her,” Lola whispered.
     
    Ginger winced. She had a fee ling it wouldn’t be that easy.
     
    As she walked back to the filing room, she saw another werewolf watching her with a