Randall #02 - Ghost Writers in the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

seemed to have an awfully tough time holding on to its celebrities.
    The old woman finally released my arm to reach into her large plastic tote bag.
    “ I’m famous, too. For my poetry.” She pulled a conference folder from the bag. “But I don’t go to workshops any more. Not with that Toby around.”
    She did have the dreamy look of a poet. Had Roarke humiliated her too?
    A tall man with mocking dark eyes approached from the lobby.
    “ Suffering from Cowboy fatigue, you two?”
    His nametag said, “Rick Zukowski/Mystery-Thriller.”
    “ Mr. Roarke seems a little hard on the beginning writers.” I tried to hide my shredded skirt with my bag, wondering if I should try to explain my state of dishabille . “But of course he’s the expert. I’m just a non-fiction person.”
    Rick Zukowski/Mystery-Thriller had a delicious smile.
    “ Don’t let that sleazebag intimidate you. God knows what Gabriella sees in him. I’ve heard he hasn’t published a thing in decades, except as a ghostwriter.” He laughed. “You ladies headed for the bar?”
    “ Toby’s not the ghost that writes,” said Mrs. Boggs Bailey. “That’s Old Obadiah. You don’t want to tangle with the Rancho ghosts.” With a shudder, she turned and shuffled toward the lobby, clutching her gold folder to her chest like a shield.
    Rick Zukowski shrugged his impressive shoulders.
    “ Lots of legends about this old ranch. The foundation dates back to the Californios . But the craziest parts are from Prohibition, when this was a dude ranch—party central for illegal boozing. There’s secret rooms and passages all over the place.” He pointed to a door covered with furry brown and white cowhide. “That’s the infamous Longhorn Room. Can I buy you a drink?”
    “ I probably shouldn’t…” I wished I had clothes to change into. I felt so vulnerable without my wardrobe. “I look like a ragamuffin. I ran into some trouble getting here…” 
    “ Car trouble?” Rick gave a sympathetic laugh. “Then you really need that drink.”
    I couldn’t help returning his scrumptious smile. Why did I have to look like a tornado survivor when I was finally meeting a man who wasn’t hand-picked by my mother?
    “ Dr. Manners!” Mrs. Boggs Bailey called over her shoulder. “You pay attention if the ghosts write to you. They won’t put up with your shenanigans.”
    I wished I could explain to her—to everybody who had seen that awful article—that my entire thirty-eight years had been remarkably shenanigan-free.
    Rick opened the furry door. I followed. He had a brotherly/boy next door manner that made me feel safe. But the noisy, crowded room didn’t feel safe at all. With a scarred mahogany bar, spotted cowhide everywhere, and dead horned-animal heads on the walls, the place looked as if Jesse James might walk in and start shooting things at any moment.
    “ Quite a spot, isn’t it?” Rick gave me that smile again.
    “ Halfway between gruesome and cowboy heaven.” I tried to shake off the ghost-story creepiness. “What are those dead things on the wall—giant cows?”
    “ Gabriella tells me they’re Texas Longhorns.” He waved at a little woman with a big, platinum hairdo. Same hairstyle she’d been wearing for forty years. Gabriella Moore was unmistakable. She sat at a table by the fireplace in conversation with a large, bearded man. “Have you met Gaby yet?”
      Gabriella beamed her famous smile. “Camilla!” she called. “Sorry about your airline hassles. We’ve rescheduled you for tomorrow. Captain, come on over!”
    Nobody turned to stare at me. I relaxed a little. Maybe not everybody had read the Post. I would so much like to be able to spend this four days with normal people who didn’t have preconceived notions about me. Like nice Captain Rick. What was he—a sea captain? Army, maybe. His bearing seemed slightly military as he introduced me to Gabriella and the man with her, whose name was Silas Ryder.
    Mr. Ryder was the owner