Read Cherringham--Ghost of a Chance for Free Online Page A

of a corpulent gentleman; the handle, his pudgy arm tipping to a top hat.
    “Bloody hell , what do you think you’re doing?”
    Stover shot to his feet, where he immediately saw that Jack had nearly 12 inches on him.
    Jack smiled. One look at Paddy Stover showed why this hotel was in such dire and dingy straits.
    “Your boss? Mr. Myrtle? He suggested I speak with you, Paddy.”
    Jack extended his hand. “Jack Brennan.”
    “Speak to me? Speak to me about wot?”
    Jack saw Stover wipe his hand on his t-shirt and withdrew the offer of a handshake, leaving Stover uncertain, his hand dangling.
    “Mind if I sit?” said Jack, pulling an old dining room chair from the side of the office in front of the desk then making himself comfortable.
    Jack smiled and nodded at the TV. “Sorry to interrupt your game.”
    Stover was still standing and Jack imagined the loose wheels in his brain spinning, trying to connect.
    “What do you want?” the man repeated.
    “Do you mind?” said Jack, nodding to the TV, whose tinny commentary was loud in the small room.
    Stover leaned across the desk and turned it off, then returned to his chair and squirmed back into it
    “Appreciate that,” said Jack. “So, as I said, I’m working for Mr. Myrtle—”
    “He didn’t tell me. Nobody’s told me.”
    “And I’m trying to get to the bottom of the little accident last night.”
    “What are you — some kind of cop?”
    “Kind of,” said Jack. “A detective more like it. So where were you last night when it all happened?”
    “I was down here — and what’s that got to do with anything ?”
    “Just trying to get things clear in my own mind,” said Jack. “Who was where. You know.”
    “Looking for someone to blame, eh? Typical. Bloody typical.”
    “Well, that doesn’t sound good Mr. Stover,” said Jack, shaking his head seriously. “You mean this kind of thing has happened before?”
    “Regular bloody event.”
    “Accidents you mean?”
    “Building’s falling apart! Held together with tape and filler.”
    “I see.”
    “I’m supposed to run the whole show and do the running repairs. It’s not possible. Pipes leaking, fuses blowing, plaster coming off.”
    “And you get the blame when things go wrong, huh?”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “That’s too bad.”
    “Too bloody right it is.”
    Jack paused. Paddy Stover clearly liked an audience. And that suited Jack.
    “So that chandelier — I guess you must have been mighty worried that it was going to come down any day, hmm?”
    Jack saw Stover’s eyes swivel then narrow. His brow creased as it finally must have dawned on him that he was stepping into a trap.
    “Well, no,” said Stover. “Didn’t say that, now did I? I have that checked every year. Safe as houses, it is. Was.”
    “Not safe last night …”
    “Listen — you could have swung off it like Tarzan if you wanted.”
    “Really?”
    “Rock solid.”
    “Then how come it came down?”
    “I don’t know—” said Stover, frowning.
    “But you were there this morning. You cleared up. You must have asked yourself the same question?”
    “Like I said, I don’t know.”
    “Maybe Freddy did it,” said Jack. “You buy that? You believe in ghosts Mr. Stover?”
    Stover’s mouth open, a reply forming.
    Then Jack heard the door behind him open.
    “Don’t give me bloody ghosts,” came a loud voice, and he spun round to see a tall man in his forties, dark suit, smart tie and shirt, his face hard.
    “Who the hell are you?” said the man.
    “He’s working for your dad,” Stover said quickly. “He just came in here, made me talk to him …”
    Whoa, thought Jack. The guy’s shaken up, maybe even scared. What’s going on here?
    “It’s okay, Paddy,” said the man, calmly. “Not your fault.”
    Jack stood and held out his hand to the newcomer. “Jack Brennan,” he said. “And you must be Crispin?”
    But Crispin Myrtle didn’t seem interested in shaking hands.
    Instead, he turned back to