Read Online Cherringham--Ghost of a Chance by Neil Richards - Free Book Online Page B

mayhem. People wondering what happened, racing from their rooms.”
    Jack smiled. “I can imagine.”
    Mr. Anderson seemed resolved to be as elusive as he could be.
    But the real point of this visit was soon to be clear.
    “And you've been in this room for …?”
    “Three nights now.”
    Jack looked down at the floor.
    If someone had tampered with the strong fastenings holding up the chandelier, it would have been right here.
    But the floor looked as though no one had touched it, or even cleaned it, for a long time.
    Then as Jack crouched down for a closer look, a knock at the open door.
    Jack turned.
    “Todd! So good you could come over.”
    Todd Robinson, the village electrician, knowledgeable and someone Jack thought of as a friend, walked in.
    “W-who’s this?” Mr. Anderson said.
    “Oh. Didn't mention this. Todd here is an electrician. Going to check the wiring, how the light was attached. See what happened.”
    Todd nodded.
    “But I have work—” Anderson started …
    The electrician — as warm and affable as they make them — walked over to Anderson.
    Wonder what Todd makes of him, Jack thought.
    “Not to worry, mate. Just got to pry a few boards up, take a look-see. Ten — fifteen minutes max .”
    Trapped, Anderson nodded then turned to look out the window. His body still blocking the small table.
    And arousing Jack's curiosity about what was there.
    But for now, Jack watched as Todd bent down, opening his tool box, slipping on a headlamp held in place with an elastic band.
    And then grabbing a crowbar and hammer, Jack watched as Todd — making it look effortless — began prying up the floorboards right where the chandelier must have hung below.
    *
    Sarah heard the phone to The Bell Hotel ring a fourth time.
    The receptionist’s not the speediest, Sarah thought.
    Then with a heavily accented, “‘ ello — Bell Hotel” — the call was answered.
    Sarah was hoping the receptionist would prove to be as ineffective a guardian of The Bell's patrons’ privacy as she was in her answering of calls.
    “Yes, Suzie isn’t it? I’ve been helping Mr. Myrtle, and he said I should give you a call.”
    Not actually the truth, Sarah knew, but if it got the job done …
    “All right … Yeah. And what did he say I should do exactly?”
    “You have the information for all the guests on file?”
    Sarah assumed that the hotel hadn't quite migrated to the twenty-first century, and they still collected data on paper.
    “Yes, I do. Everyone checks in, we need the information.”
    ‘Right. You have a Mr. Anderson staying …?”
    Sarah waited until Suzie confirmed that they did indeed have such a guest.
    “You do, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    Hmm … Sarah thought, maybe something else there, as if Suzie had a comment to make and then was barely able to squelch it.
    “We’re trying to find where all the guests come from.”
    “He said ‘London’.”
    Interesting choice of word.
    ‘Said’ …
    “So, he gave you an address, photo ID, showing he lived in London?”
    A pause.
    This chat was proving far too interesting.
    “Not exactly. You see, another bloke, another man made the booking with his credit card information. For Mr. Anderson. Must be his friend or somethin’.”
    “You don’t have Mr. Anderson’s data—” she quickly altered the terminology, “information on file. But this other man …?”
    “Yes, it was his credit card, after all.”
    Sarah saw Grace looking over, a bemused expression on her face as if she was imagining the conversation.
    “Well, then — it might help us — might help Mr. Myrtle — if you tell me who that man is.”
    “Really? That … all-right? If Mr. Myrtle says so, I guess it can’t hurt. Let me get the form.”
    Sarah could imagine Suzie flipping through the papers with credit card information — probably the most insecure method one could have of storing such da—
    Information …
    “Ah, here it is. The room was booked and paid for by a Mr. Karl Eiss.”
    Sarah