Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance by Amy Patricia Meade Page B
Authors: Amy Patricia Meade
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fantastic stories.”
Marjorie smiled and watched as he drank his coffee and continued nibbling at his cinnamon roll. It was during moments like
these when she realized how appealing her companion actually was.
With his wit, charm, and urbane good looks, Creighton was very
attractive indeed. Damnably attractive, she concluded, recalling the
incident beneath the gurney. How far would things have gone had
Robert and Dr. Heller not returned from the autopsy room?
She returned her attention to the dish of berries and chided
herself for entertaining such ideas. After all, she was soon to be a
married woman.
“So,” he continued, “if you haven’t given up the sleuthing game,
then it’s safe to assume that you’re not here just to give Jameson
and me a grand send-off. In fact you’re not looking to send us off
at all, you’re looking to join us, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” she replied evasively as she swallowed her last berry.
Creighton finished his roll and started on his grapefruit half.
“And you think Jameson will go along with that?”
She finished her last drop of coffee and retrieved a roll from
the basket. “Who says I’m asking his permission?” She tore the roll
in half and placed part of it on Creighton’s plate.
“What are you planning? To hitch a ride on a passing gurney?”
“Ha ha. There are other ways to get to Boston,” she stated cryptically.
Arthur appeared in the doorway. “Detective Jameson is here to
see you, sir.”
The detective pushed past him and onto the slate patio.
“Morning, Jameson,” Creighton called. “Come join us for some
coffee.”
Jameson silently eyed Marjorie and took the seat opposite her.
“Good morning, darling,” she greeted sweetly. “What? No kiss
hello?”
“No,” he snapped. “No kiss hello.”
Marjorie tried on a look of concern. “Dear, you look all out of
sorts. Didn’t you sleep well?”
He ignored her question and replaced it with one of his own.
“Why are you here?”
“I told you yesterday; I wanted to see you off.”
“The best send-off you could have given me this morning was
for you to stay home in bed.”
Marjorie smiled to herself. For her plan to work, she needed
to leave Kensington House before Robert and Creighton did; now
was her chance. She pushed her chair away from the table. “If that’s
the way you feel, I’ll go home. I know where I’m not appreciated.”
Jameson watched as she rose from her seat and headed toward
the house. “So long. I’ll call you when I get back tonight.”
“Hmph,” she grunted over her shoulder.
“Oh, and by the way,” he added with a smirk, “I intend on performing a thorough check of the car before I leave to make sure
you aren’t stowed away anywhere.”
Marjorie thrust her tongue in his direction and took her leave
through the main house. Arthur and Agnes, busy with their chores,
were nowhere to be seen. She let herself out the front door and scurried down the driveway and then up the road, where, as planned,
she encountered Freddie, the drugstore clerk, waiting behind a cluster of trees.
Beside him was parked his trusty bicycle and, next to that, the
1911 Ford Model T once belonging to the late Mr. Patterson.
“Boy, you were gone a long time,” the teenager exclaimed. “I
was startin’ to get nervous. Why’d ya need me to wait all that time,
anyway?”
She removed her hat and threw it into the backseat. “Because,
Freddie, you know I can’t crank this car all by myself. I need the help
of a strapping young man like yourself.”
“Yeah, but I already cranked it once today,” he whined. “Couldn’t
ya just have driven it here and left it running?”
“And run the risk of someone stealing it?” She pulled a pair of
driving goggles from her handbag and strapped them on her head.
“Convincing Mrs. Patterson to lend it to me was difficult enough.
I don’t need the added aggravation of telling her it was
Marjorie smiled and watched as he drank his coffee and continued nibbling at his cinnamon roll. It was during moments like
these when she realized how appealing her companion actually was.
With his wit, charm, and urbane good looks, Creighton was very
attractive indeed. Damnably attractive, she concluded, recalling the
incident beneath the gurney. How far would things have gone had
Robert and Dr. Heller not returned from the autopsy room?
She returned her attention to the dish of berries and chided
herself for entertaining such ideas. After all, she was soon to be a
married woman.
“So,” he continued, “if you haven’t given up the sleuthing game,
then it’s safe to assume that you’re not here just to give Jameson
and me a grand send-off. In fact you’re not looking to send us off
at all, you’re looking to join us, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” she replied evasively as she swallowed her last berry.
Creighton finished his roll and started on his grapefruit half.
“And you think Jameson will go along with that?”
She finished her last drop of coffee and retrieved a roll from
the basket. “Who says I’m asking his permission?” She tore the roll
in half and placed part of it on Creighton’s plate.
“What are you planning? To hitch a ride on a passing gurney?”
“Ha ha. There are other ways to get to Boston,” she stated cryptically.
Arthur appeared in the doorway. “Detective Jameson is here to
see you, sir.”
The detective pushed past him and onto the slate patio.
“Morning, Jameson,” Creighton called. “Come join us for some
coffee.”
Jameson silently eyed Marjorie and took the seat opposite her.
“Good morning, darling,” she greeted sweetly. “What? No kiss
hello?”
“No,” he snapped. “No kiss hello.”
Marjorie tried on a look of concern. “Dear, you look all out of
sorts. Didn’t you sleep well?”
He ignored her question and replaced it with one of his own.
“Why are you here?”
“I told you yesterday; I wanted to see you off.”
“The best send-off you could have given me this morning was
for you to stay home in bed.”
Marjorie smiled to herself. For her plan to work, she needed
to leave Kensington House before Robert and Creighton did; now
was her chance. She pushed her chair away from the table. “If that’s
the way you feel, I’ll go home. I know where I’m not appreciated.”
Jameson watched as she rose from her seat and headed toward
the house. “So long. I’ll call you when I get back tonight.”
“Hmph,” she grunted over her shoulder.
“Oh, and by the way,” he added with a smirk, “I intend on performing a thorough check of the car before I leave to make sure
you aren’t stowed away anywhere.”
Marjorie thrust her tongue in his direction and took her leave
through the main house. Arthur and Agnes, busy with their chores,
were nowhere to be seen. She let herself out the front door and scurried down the driveway and then up the road, where, as planned,
she encountered Freddie, the drugstore clerk, waiting behind a cluster of trees.
Beside him was parked his trusty bicycle and, next to that, the
1911 Ford Model T once belonging to the late Mr. Patterson.
“Boy, you were gone a long time,” the teenager exclaimed. “I
was startin’ to get nervous. Why’d ya need me to wait all that time,
anyway?”
She removed her hat and threw it into the backseat. “Because,
Freddie, you know I can’t crank this car all by myself. I need the help
of a strapping young man like yourself.”
“Yeah, but I already cranked it once today,” he whined. “Couldn’t
ya just have driven it here and left it running?”
“And run the risk of someone stealing it?” She pulled a pair of
driving goggles from her handbag and strapped them on her head.
“Convincing Mrs. Patterson to lend it to me was difficult enough.
I don’t need the added aggravation of telling her it was
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