Judith McWilliams - Anything's Possible!

“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.

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?”

“Meaning that Buczek has aspirations. Aspirations that you have just put a nasty crimp in, and he is not a forgiving man. The word on the street is that he’s put out a contract on you.” Harry finally got to the point.

Dan sagged back against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed as a feeling of utter exhaustion washed over him. Ten years ago, even five, he’d have found the news that his articles had upset a crook to that extent exhilarating. He’d have relished the challenge of pitting his wits against a hired assassin. But now...

He shifted restlessly, wincing as a sharp pain shot up his thigh.

“Hell!” Harry exploded in frustration. “You haven’t even healed from the last attempt on your life.”

Dan’s lips lifted in a grim caricature of a smile. “Ah, but there was nothing personal in that attack. They were simply firing at the UN convoy, and I just happened to be in the truck that took a direct hit.” He snorted. “Nothing personal at all. I was just caught up in the generalized hatred that mankind spreads around.”

“Careful, my friend. You’re beginning to sound like a cynic.”

He was beginning to feel like one, too, Dan thought uneasily. Somehow he was finding it increasingly difficult to care very much about the corruption and graft that he was continually uncovering. Exposing it didn’t seem to help. It simply went on and on. Only the names and nationalities of the victims changed.

“Thanks for the warning, Harry,” he finally said. “But as for hiding out up here, I have never run from a two-bit thug before, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Think, man. The stories you normally write are about international upheavals. The people you expose can’t get to you because by the time your stories appear in print you’re out of their country. This is one of the few times you’ve done a story about corruption in the States.”