Page 87 of Unalive On Air

“So, animals can see ghosts?” I ask.

“Oh, yes. Animals, especially cats, are very astute like that,” Jeanie adds.

A thought pops into my head. Something that had been nagging me since day one.

“Jeanie, whatever happened to your dogs?”

Jeanie whirls around on the spot. Her expression is a mix of nostalgia and sadness. “Didn’t you hear the policeman on the news after they found my skeleton?”

I think back to the other day, when Trystan, Josh, and I were half focusing on the breaking headlines and half reading Josh’s phone. “No, sorry, I don’t remember.” Damn, I’d been so carried away with my Peggy in the Middle revelations that I hadn’t been paying attention to the actual evidence rolling out right in front of me.

“Buried with me they found the partial remains of what they believe to be Poppy and Marsha,” Jeanie says.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” I say, because I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re meant to say in these situations. “Partial remains, though?”

“They found bones belonging to dogs of Corgi size, apparently, but they must not have been as well buried as I was because I guess some other animals had dug them up.”

To an extent, it rules Jeanie out of my suspects list. Suicide, maybe, but peticide? Okay, not technically a real word, but it’s the type of thing only psychopaths do. Like, literally, pet murder is one of the first indicators that something is amiss with a person.

“Helga said your dogs were noisy?” It’s a question designed as a statement.

Jeanie smiles. “Oh, yes. They loved a good yarn.”

“She told me she couldn’t get within a few metres of you before the dogs quote unquote, ‘screamed bloody murder at her and tried to bite her fingers off,’” I say.

“No, of course not. I was their mother, their alpha. Naturally, they would protect me. Especially Marsha. She was a rather vicious bitch, but you know what they say about dogs and their owners?” Jeanie says with a laugh.

“Was there anyone they allowed near you? Anyone who they didn’t attack?” I ask.

Beside me, Trystan makes an “ooh” sound. He’s so close to me that his fingers accidentally brush my knuckles. I suck in a breath.

Jeanie either hasn’t noticed this or doesn’t realise the earth-shattering significance of Trystan’s ghost flesh touching mine.

“I suppose if they knew a person well enough, they wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Take Franny, for instance. She and I go way back, and they’ve never bothered with her.”

I glance at Trystan to see if he’s thinking the same as me. His eyebrows disappear into his hairline.

“So, the dogs wouldn’t have attacked Franny if, say, she’d turned up unannounced in your room in the middle of the night?” I ask.

Jeanie shakes her head. “Oh, no. I know what you’re suggesting, and Franny would never.”

I stop floating. Mostly because I’m frightened that any second now I’m going to vanish into the ether and reappear in the honeymoon suite, and I really need to get these words said. “Listen, Jeanie. You called me out here to solve your murder and finish your unfinished business, and yet it can’t be Helga because Helga’s been a godsend to the hotel. And it can’t be Angel because Angel collects memorabilia from the show and is your number one stan. And it can’t be Franny because you were BFFs with Franny and the dogs liked her. So, who is it? The only suspect we have left is the sergeant. Was it him? Or someone else entirely?”

Jeanie adjusts the eye mask on her head. “Well, uh . . .”

“What’s the real reason you wanted me here? Why did you make Pixie listen to hours upon hours of twenty twenty-six dystopian headlines in order to hash out a letter to me?” My chest is heaving, adrenaline pumping, but I need to ask these questions. Finally, the past few days of reality are catching up to me. “Why am I here, Jeanie? Imogen Savona. Why did you bring me here to die?”

At this, she bursts into tears. “I never meant for you to get hurt. I’m so sorry. Believe me. I thought I could keep you safe. I thought . . .”

“You know who your killer is, don’t you?!” I’m accidentally yelling, but I don’t think I could lower my tone if I tried.

Jeanie opens her mouth to answer, but I cut her off.

“Wait.” I raise my hand and glance over at Trystan. I’ve pieced together enough info to understand that solving Jeanie’s murder won’t finish her unfinished business, but that’s not to say Trystan is the same, and . . .

I’m just not ready for him to leave right now.

“Don’t you dare say anything right now,” I say to her.