GHOST OF A CHANCE, a paranormal short story by Caridad Pineiro Page B

law.
    “Just getting there, Detective Daly,” Angelo replied with the kind of indulgent tone that said he was used to dealing with law enforcement types.
    “Inside the packets is basic information about the mansion and nearby grounds.  Also some details from the original police investigation, as well as material that no one else has seen before.”
    With an almost theatrical flourish, Angelo flipped open his packet and removed a sheath of papers from one side.
    Tracy opened her folder and did the same, fascinated by what appeared to be a decades old journal.
    Peter Angelo skimmed his gaze over the various individuals he had assembled at the behest of his father.  Each one was arguably a specialist, if not an expert in their particular field, but the one person that kept on drawing his attention was Tracy Gomez.
    She looked younger than the photo on her book jacket, but then again, he supposed that was the purpose of those professional headshots.  Make the author look suitably studious and authoritative.
    Tracy was much more eye-catching than her photo, with an expressive heart-shaped face that was currently registering surprise as she read over the contents of the pages he had provided.  Her eyes widened as she set the papers down and met his stare.  Almond-shaped eyes in a rich shade of chocolate narrowed as she considered him.  They were filled with questions.  She raised her hand and after he had acknowledged her, asked, “Are you sure about the provenance of these pages?”
    “The journal was found in a trunk which supposedly belonged to my great-grandmother.  Unfortunately it was water damaged by leaks in the attic.”
    She nodded, but resumed reviewing the pages as he continued.  “To win the prize you must determine if then Senator Ryan did in fact murder his wife and son, and if it is possible for my father to be his grandson.  You have access to this mansion for the weekend.  If you require any other assistance you may ask me or my assistant, Mr. Parker,” he said and motioned to the young man by the door.
    “What about my séance?” blurted Nancy Finch, the psychic who had been busier eyeing him than the papers she had been given.
    “Ah, yes.  The séance.  Ms. Finch has requested the assistance of all of us—”
    “Except the cop.  I can feel his negative vibes all the way from here,” she said with a practiced wrinkle of her nose and flip of her hand in the detective’s direction.
    “Damn straight, lady.  I don’t buy into cheap movie tricks,” Detective Daly replied with a growly snarl.
    And this was getting to be just like one of those low budget horror flicks, Peter thought.  Put six people together in an old and supposedly haunted mansion, make them want to kill each other with a prize they can’t refuse and let the mayhem begin.  If his father wasn’t gravely ill, he would never have agreed to this whole fiasco.  But this crazy quest was the one thing that his father had requested and that seemed to be keeping him alive.
    “Ms. Finch wishes to channel the spirits in this home.  We will be holding a séance tonight after dinner for anyone who wishes to participate,” Peter said and eyeballed everyone around the table.
    “And what if she claims to hear ol’ Skippy and gets his confession?  Is this entire gig done?” asked the detective.
    Peter shook his head.  “I want definitive proof.  If Ms. Finch somehow communicates with the departed Senator Ryan or his wife Anna, Ms. Finch will have to elicit from them some other detail which can be corroborated and that was previously unknown.”
    “Something which is in this journal, I presume?” said the older gentleman sitting beside the detective.
    By process of elimination, since the young star of a ghost hunting show was at the far end of the table, Peter assumed this was none other than John Marcovic, the bestselling mystery author.  The man had to be at least eighty which meant that the headshot on his book jackets