Ghost Wanted

Ghost Wanted Read Online Free PDF

Book: Ghost Wanted Read Online Free PDF
Author: Carolyn Hart
small office:
Bugle Editor
.
    I turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. My eyes adjusted to dimness. Though the room was shadowy, I saw a goosenecked desk light on a desk. I started across the small room, stumbled over something lumpy on the floor, recovered my balance, and moved to the desk. Remembering the near hysteria that lighted windows appeared to evoke on the campus, I punched the button at the lamp’s base and turned the flexible shaft to focus the beam on a highly untidy desk.
    â€œWhat a mess.” I began to root about. Almost immediately I uncovered a desk nameplate:
Joe Cooper
. I moved papers and uncovered a stack of tabloid-sized
Bugle
s. I picked up several, moved nearer the light, and—
    â€œOkay.” The voice was male, a male striving for bluster. “I had two drinks. That was all. Two drinks. Okay, scotch on the rocks, but I’m a big, strapping guy.”
    I looked across the desk into a shadowy corner of the office. A young man in wrinkled clothes stood by a rumpled sleeping bag.
    He rubbed his eyes with balled-up fists, then stared at me. “I’m a big guy. I can handle two drinks. That’s why I know I didn’t turn on the light. That’s why I know I don’t see anybody anywhere, even if I heard a woman’s voice. That’s why I know I’m not slopping through the stuff on my desk. It doesn’t tell me why
Bugle
s are hovering above my desk. Hovering
Bugle
s has to be a figment of my imagination. I sound like an English major. But that’s what it has to be, a figment.” He lunged toward the desk, big hand outstretched.
    I zoomed up. Now the papers and I were near the ceiling.
    Joe Cooper was a little over six feet tall, husky. His dark hair was mussed, he needed a shave, he had a nose that probably got busted in a football game, his gray sweatshirt had a hole in one sleeve, his Levi’s were pale with age, his sneakers grimy and worn. But he looked smart, tough, and utterly determined to grab the papers.
    He stumbled into the desk, looked up, clamped his hands to his temples. “Nightmare. I’m having a nightmare. Hovering
Bugle
s. I’ve been working too hard. I’ll go back to my beddy-bye. Such as it is. No wonder I’m having bad dreams. I get stood up last night, tonight my roomie boots me so he can woo his girl, I sack out on my bedroll in the corner of my office and think lousy thoughts about a girl with big dark eyes who acted happy as a mouse in a cheese barrel when I ask her to meet me, maybe get a scoop on gossip at the library, but she never shows.” He stood big as a fullback, shoulders hunched, and glared up at the papers. “I’m stupid to still be thinking about her. Hell, Wednesday night’s history. She’s history. Why should I be mooning around about her tonight?”
    He stood between me and the door to the newsroom. If I swooped down to leave, he would grab the papers and probably, from the sound of his voice, crumple them in those big hands.
    I was beginning to agree with Wiggins. Maybe this was an ill-starred venture. Immediately, I was stern with myself. That was a defeatist attitude. I was Bailey Ruth Raeburn and I could manage. I would manage.
    Joe folded one big hand, gave himself a light punch in the jaw. “Ouch. Okay, I’m awake. Fact is fact. The papers are up there. Come on down, papers.” His tone was coaxing. “Come down from the ceiling. This will be a little secret between you and me. Trust me, Ethel, I’ll never tell anybody the
Bugle
levitates. You know what? I’ll never make fun of anybody who claims Ethel made them do it. Never again.”
    I laughed. My son, Rob, majored in journalism and now has his own public relations firm. I remembered the insouciance and caustic humor of his friends, who would have delighted in citing Ethel as the source of any mishaps, major or minor.
    The big guy stiffened. I might even say he
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