Ghost Times Two by Carolyn Hart

client.” She walked toward Megan’s desk.
    I moved fast. I reached the desk, that particular corner first, grabbed, found Jimmy’s elbow, tugged.
    â€œHey.” A baritone yelp.
    I reached up, placed my fingers across his lips.
    Megan stared toward the doorway. “Yes?” she called out, as if Jimmy’s voice came from that direction.
    Sharon was rigid in the middle of the room, her gaze focused a few feet to her right.
    I wondered what she would think if she could see Jimmy standing there. I imagined he was tousle haired, incredibly handsome, likely in a well-fitting (yes, I keep up with the style for young men) polo shirt, shorts, and espadrilles. Probably, as was also the fashion for his age, slightly unshaven. A stubble of beard is alluring to women. Another time, I would ponder that fact. Was the attraction the unmistakable masculinity of bristly cheeks? The hint of a bad-boy aura? Or the suggestion of careless comfort? I recalled— But I must focus on the moment.
    Megan rose, moved past the secretary, poked her head out into the hall, then returned, shrugging. “I don’t see anyone in the hall. Thank you, Sharon. I’ll be talking to Mr. Graham in a few minutes.”
    Sharon nodded, her face still puzzled as she walked toward the door.
    Megan closed the door after Sharon, stared coldly toward the desk. “Jimmy, don’t say anything else unless we’re alone.”
    â€œIt’s that woman’s fault.”
    â€œWoman?” Megan’s gaze flickered around the small office.
    â€œYou know, the one who wants me to go up the stairs.”
    Megan’s shoulders sagged. “Here I go again. One imaginary person apparently isn’t sufficient. No. I have two imaginary—” She broke off, stared in the direction of Jimmy’s voice. “Stairs?”
    â€œYou don’t see them? Over there by the window. Wherever I go, there they are, these gleaming white steps in a kind of golden haze going up and up.”
    Megan’s eyes widened. She spoke barely above a whisper. “Stairs to . . .”
    â€œUp.” He was abrupt. “Megan, you can do better than this Blaine guy.”
    I spoke out. “Jimmy, you always looked for adventure. I’ll help you help Megan to make the right choice, then you can take the stairs to the greatest adventure of all.” It always worked for me when I could persuade an adversary that really we were on the same side.
    I felt an approving pat on my shoulder. Dear Heaven, Wiggins was here. But apparently he understood and approved my approach with Jimmy. I felt a breath on my cheek. “Off again to Tumbulgum. Make every effort to resolve his presence as soon as possible.” His murmur was too low for Jimmy and Megan to hear.
    Megan was staring at the window. “If I see stairs, I’ll know my mind’s out of control.”
    As clearly as if a tattoo sounded, I knew Wiggins had departed. The dear man would surely be hurt if he knew I hoped his visit to Tumbulgum was prolonged. Tumbulgum, Australia, in July was certainly a good twenty degrees cooler than Adelaide. Dislodging Jimmy was not going to be a lark and would likely require time.
    The buzzer on the desk sounded, several quick short burrs.
    Megan said forcefully, “Jimmy, do not say another word. I don’t care what happens. Do not speak.” She grabbed a file folder, walked to the door. She stepped into the hall. She was just outside Doug Graham’s office when the door was yanked open. Megan drew back.
    Keith Porter stood in the doorway, his face flushed. He blinked rapidly, and I had a feeling he was trying not to cry. He half turned to look toward Graham. “Why won’t you listen to me? Mom and Dad didn’t want you to treat me like this. You don’t have any right to—”
    Heavy steps sounded. The lawyer was in the doorway. “The matter is closed. I told you a year and I meant a year.