Anything's Possible!. Judith McWilliams
Cassie wondered as she went in search of her aunt, to tell her that her reservation had arrived and she was taking him into town with her.
She found Hannah in the attic, happily reliving the past as she sorted through the trunks that lined the walls. As Cassie had expected, she had no objections to her borrowing the car to go into town.
Cassie had just located her aunt’s car keys on the kitchen counter when she heard a thump at the back door. She pocketed the keys and cautiously peered out the window over the kitchen sink. After twelve years of living in New York, being careful was second nature. Spying a man outside, she observed him carefully. Because of the way he was standing, she couldn’t get a clear view of his face. All she could tell for certain was that he wasn’t all that tall. Not much more than her own five-four.
Curious as to why he would have come to the back of the inn instead of the front, she opened the door. Her eyes widened as she studied the man standing on the stoop. He was wearing a rusty black suit of an antiquated design. Clutched in one of his large hands was a battered, black felt hat. Dusty boots covered his oversize feet, but it was his face that Cassie found fascinating. He had a full, black, bushy beard that almost totally obscured his features and piercing black eyes that snapped with some emotion.
“Well?” he demanded.
Impatience. Cassie identified the emotion with an inward sigh. She saw a lot of it in her line of work.
“Well what?” she shot back, refusing to be intimidated by someone who looked like he’d wandered out of a Broadway rehearsal. Broadway rehearsal? She examined the man more closely. He looked exactly like one of those old paintings of whaling captains hanging in the town library. She grinned happily at him. He was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Aunt Hannah’s friend at the amateur theater group had done them proud. And on such short notice, too. Now, if only his command of acting was as good as his knowledge of period costumes, and he didn’t demand a fortune for the impersonation. She hastily wiped the eager expression off her face.
“Won’t you come in?” She moved aside.
“Thank ‘ee.” Jonas stepped into the kitchen. “I’ve come about the haunting job. I want it.”
“You certainly look the part.” Cassie gave credit where it was due. “Did Aunt Hannah’s friend explain what we want?”
“Someone to scare the bejammers out of your guests.”
“I think it would be better if you were just to shake their bejammers a little. I don’t want to send anyone into shock.”
Jonas shook his head in bemusement. “Beats me why anyone would want to be scared, even a little. But then there’s no accounting for tastes and that’s a fact.”
“It’s also one of the first premises of any advertising campaign. Now then, Mr.... What did you say your name was?”
“Didn’t. You can just call me Jonas. Captain Jonas Middlebury.”
Role immersion, Cassie thought in approval. “What we need, Jonas, is for you to put in an appearance most days for a few hours and judiciously allow yourself to be seen once. At most, twice. We don’t want to saturate the market and destroy our credibility.”
“Do you speak English, gal?” Jonas frowned at her. “Didn’t understand a blamed thing you said. Ain’t natural for a woman to talk like that.”
“Don’t get too far into the nineteenth century,” Cassie said dryly. “Some modern woman is liable to strangle you. What I meant was that I don’t want you to show yourself too often because people won’t believe it.”
“They’ll believe in me,” Jonas stated with a conviction Cassie found heartening. “I’ll give you good value.”
“What do you charge?”
“Hadn’t thought about it.” Jonas scratched his beard reflectively. “Haven’t got much use for money, being a ghost and all.” He shot a covetous glance at the freshly baked raspberry tarts sitting on the counter. “But now food, that’s another matter.”
“Ghosts don’t eat.” Cassie couldn’t resist pointing out the flaw in his logic.
“Don’t know about ghosts in general, but this ghost eats.” He inched a little closer to the tarts.
Cassie found herself smiling at him. He was such an interesting mixture of belligerence and charm. “How about if we say five dollars an hour and all the food you can eat?”
“Deal.” He sat down at the kitchen table, still staring at the pastries. “Starting now.”
“Starting now,” Cassie agreed, well pleased with their bargain. Jonas was absolutely perfect for the role. She couldn’t have done better if the real Jonas Middlebury himself had materialized. She scooped a tart onto a plate and then, at his hopeful expression, added a second.
Yes. Things were definitely shaping up. This was going to be a very interesting vacation, she thought happily. Anything was possible with a ghost in the kitchen and Dan Travis in an upstairs bedroom.
Two
Dan unlocked the door to Room Fourteen and pushed his bag through with his foot, wincing when his leg protested the jerky movement.
He absently rubbed the healing flesh of his abused thigh as he looked around for the phone. He located it on the maple nightstand beside the king-size, white iron bedstead.
Gingerly, he sank down on the antique blue-and-white Irish-chain quilt, sighing when the pain in his leg eased. He wiggled slightly, finding the most comfortable position on the firm mattress and then reached for the phone. The sooner he let Harry know he’d arrived, the sooner he could find out exactly what his assignment in this godforsaken corner of the New Hampshire coast was.
To his surprise, Harry himself answered, and on the first ring. It was almost as if he’d been sitting at his desk waiting for the call.
“You all right, Travis?” Harry demanded.
Dan smiled at the impatient tone. He could almost see the man’s bushy mustache quivering.
“Careful, you’re starting to sound more like a mother hen than a hard-boiled newspaper editor,” Dan said.
“I asked you if you were all right?” The volume of Harry’s voice went up considerably. Dan shifted the phone to his other ear.
“Of course I’m all right. New York to New Hampshire is hardly a suicide run.”
“I know, but...”
“But what?” Dan asked curiously. “Suppose you tell me exactly what this earth-shattering news story that only I could cover is?”
“Well...actually, I sent you to New Hampshire to avoid a story.”
Dan frowned at the delicate floral prints hanging on the wall above the bed. “Harry, have you been drinking?”
“No, dammit! I’ve been thinking.”
“Which might turn out to be every bit as dangerous in the long run,” Dan said dryly.
“This is serious,” Harry replied slowly. “You remember those articles you wrote on Buczek last month while you were still in the hospital?”
“Termite Buczek is not the kind of vermin one is likely to forget.”
“Yeah, well, he’s about to become even more memorable. The district attorney has decided to ask a federal grand jury for an indictment against him on racketeering charges. Directly as a result of your articles.”
“Score one for our side.”
Harry’s sigh sounded across the phone line. “As long as that score doesn’t come with a body count.”
Dan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Meaning exactly what?”