Read Online Southern Charm by Stuart Jaffe - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Jaffe
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Paranormal, Magic, Mystery, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, Ghosts, Paranormal & Urban, Occult, north carolina, winston salem, korners folly
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throughout that day, he found the release of Sandra's tensions a release for himself as well. He drove the rest of the way with a smile.
* * * *
The next morning Max and Sandra entered the office holding hands and giggling over nothing in particular. Drummond sat behind the big desk — his face drawn, his arms crossed.
"You couldn't stop by here last night? Let me know what happened? I worked hard for you and you made me wait until this morning? And to top it off, you're all cutesy together."
With a light-hearted grin, Sandra said, "We're sorry. It was a long, late night, and we just needed —"
"I know what you needed. That doesn't change the fact —"
Max motioned Drummond out of his chair. "You're acting like my mother. We couldn't make it back, so just accept it at that. We're sorry if it inconvenienced you. Now, if you want, we'll be glad to tell you about all that happened."
"I'm listening."
Max delved into a recap of the evening. When he finished, Drummond's frown continued but now it was directed at the story and not the storyteller. "When you say Hull was a young man, was he really young or did he just look that way?"
"As far as I could tell, he was young."
"That's right. No more than thirty," Sandra added.
Drummond shook his head. "Then that wasn't Terrance Hull you were dining with. Hull was born sometime in the forties, maybe the fifties at the latest. He's got to be near sixty-years-old by now."
"Maybe this was Terrance Junior."
"Possibly, but I don't recall another Hull being born in the last few decades. If it happened, they've kept it a tight secret. Which isn't to say it didn't happen. These are the Hulls after all. I just find it disturbing that he picks a place for dinner he knows I can't go to when I'm one of the few people who knows what a Hull looks like."
Max said, "It doesn't matter. We turned him down and we're not interested in his games. We'll find this painting before him and then we'll have the leverage."
Drummond clapped his hands. "Well, then, you're going to need what I have for you. I spent all night working my skills, and I have for you this present."
Drummond reached into the bookshelf wall and pulled something back. He shoved it into the client chair, his face glowing with pride. Max looked to Sandra whose expression told him little. "Well?" he finally said in frustration. "What's in the chair?"
Sandra said, "Howard Corkille."
"No," Drummond said. "That's the big news. This ghost, the one who hired us, he is not Howard Corkille."
Chapter 10
Max watched the empty chair as if he expected the ghost to spring before him. At that moment, he decided he hated art forgers and everything connected to them. "So, who is he?" he finally asked.
Drummond gestured to the chair. "This is Jasper Sullivan."
"And why are you pretending to be an old art forger?" Sandra asked before Max could clear his mind enough to do so. He bit back on a sharp remark.
As Sandra frowned at the response, Max snapped his fingers. "Well? What the heck is he saying?"
"Sorry," she said. "He says, 'Please, don't be mad. Please. I'm very sorry. It wasn't my intent to deceive you.'"
Max huffed. "You lied about who you are. That seems pretty intent on deception."
"'I know, I know. It's not like that, though. You see, I couldn't tell you the truth, but I'm prepared to tell you everything now.'"
"Because we've caught you."
"'Just listen, please.'"
Max looked to Drummond who signaled agreement. "Okay," Max said. "Let's hear it."
"'Much of what I told you was true,'" Sandra went on translating. "'I did live during the Great Depression. My wife, Clara, and I, we did suffer hard. I lost my job; I couldn't get work. All of that is true. I wasn't an art forger, obviously — just a clerk. Filing papers, keeping records, all sorts of paperwork, that kind of thing.
"'And ... I did buy a gun, and I did plan to kill myself. In fact, if you look up my name, you'll find my records indicate that I did commit suicide.
* * * *
The next morning Max and Sandra entered the office holding hands and giggling over nothing in particular. Drummond sat behind the big desk — his face drawn, his arms crossed.
"You couldn't stop by here last night? Let me know what happened? I worked hard for you and you made me wait until this morning? And to top it off, you're all cutesy together."
With a light-hearted grin, Sandra said, "We're sorry. It was a long, late night, and we just needed —"
"I know what you needed. That doesn't change the fact —"
Max motioned Drummond out of his chair. "You're acting like my mother. We couldn't make it back, so just accept it at that. We're sorry if it inconvenienced you. Now, if you want, we'll be glad to tell you about all that happened."
"I'm listening."
Max delved into a recap of the evening. When he finished, Drummond's frown continued but now it was directed at the story and not the storyteller. "When you say Hull was a young man, was he really young or did he just look that way?"
"As far as I could tell, he was young."
"That's right. No more than thirty," Sandra added.
Drummond shook his head. "Then that wasn't Terrance Hull you were dining with. Hull was born sometime in the forties, maybe the fifties at the latest. He's got to be near sixty-years-old by now."
"Maybe this was Terrance Junior."
"Possibly, but I don't recall another Hull being born in the last few decades. If it happened, they've kept it a tight secret. Which isn't to say it didn't happen. These are the Hulls after all. I just find it disturbing that he picks a place for dinner he knows I can't go to when I'm one of the few people who knows what a Hull looks like."
Max said, "It doesn't matter. We turned him down and we're not interested in his games. We'll find this painting before him and then we'll have the leverage."
Drummond clapped his hands. "Well, then, you're going to need what I have for you. I spent all night working my skills, and I have for you this present."
Drummond reached into the bookshelf wall and pulled something back. He shoved it into the client chair, his face glowing with pride. Max looked to Sandra whose expression told him little. "Well?" he finally said in frustration. "What's in the chair?"
Sandra said, "Howard Corkille."
"No," Drummond said. "That's the big news. This ghost, the one who hired us, he is not Howard Corkille."
Chapter 10
Max watched the empty chair as if he expected the ghost to spring before him. At that moment, he decided he hated art forgers and everything connected to them. "So, who is he?" he finally asked.
Drummond gestured to the chair. "This is Jasper Sullivan."
"And why are you pretending to be an old art forger?" Sandra asked before Max could clear his mind enough to do so. He bit back on a sharp remark.
As Sandra frowned at the response, Max snapped his fingers. "Well? What the heck is he saying?"
"Sorry," she said. "He says, 'Please, don't be mad. Please. I'm very sorry. It wasn't my intent to deceive you.'"
Max huffed. "You lied about who you are. That seems pretty intent on deception."
"'I know, I know. It's not like that, though. You see, I couldn't tell you the truth, but I'm prepared to tell you everything now.'"
"Because we've caught you."
"'Just listen, please.'"
Max looked to Drummond who signaled agreement. "Okay," Max said. "Let's hear it."
"'Much of what I told you was true,'" Sandra went on translating. "'I did live during the Great Depression. My wife, Clara, and I, we did suffer hard. I lost my job; I couldn't get work. All of that is true. I wasn't an art forger, obviously — just a clerk. Filing papers, keeping records, all sorts of paperwork, that kind of thing.
"'And ... I did buy a gun, and I did plan to kill myself. In fact, if you look up my name, you'll find my records indicate that I did commit suicide.
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