The Ghost Wore Gray Read Online Free PDF Page A

like that.
    â€œIt’s wonderful!” said Chris.
    â€œYes, I know,” said Dieter, putting his hands behind his back and rising up on his tiptoes. “I am a genius.”
    My father was looking longingly at the pastry in my hand. I was just about to offer him a bite when we were interrupted by a familiar shriek. “Baltimore! Baltimore Cleveland! You come here this minute.”
    Baltimore sighed. “I guess the rest of our tour will have to wait,” he said. “Gloria wants me for something.” He handed my father the tube he had been carrying. “Here are the old floor plans I promised you. Dinner’s at seven. I’ll see you then.”
    â€œIt was supposed to be at seven,” said Dieter, looking gloomily at his ruined cream sauce. “Now, I don’t know.”
    â€œBaltimore!”
    The innkeeper winced. “Coming, dear.” He turned toward us. “Seven o’clock,” he said. Then he hurried off.
    â€œWell,” said my father, nodding at the tempermental cook, “I guess we’d better be going, too.”
    â€œGo, go!” cried Dieter, turning back to the stove. “I must create! I want dinner tonight to please the young ladies!”
    Dad gestured toward the door with his head, and we followed him out of the kitchen.
    Martha and Isabella were just finishing up in the dining room. “Lucky you,” said Isabella, when she saw the goodies Chris and I were carrying. “Dieter doesn’t pass those out to just anyone.”
    â€œObviously,” said my father in a mournful voice. I laughed and handed him my pastry. He took a bite, then laid his hand over his heart. “Ruined!” he cried. “I’ll never eat another sweet again without remembering this glorious moment.” He looked at it greedily. “Are you sure you want it back?”
    â€œPositive,” I said, taking it out of his hand.
    â€œI’ll tell Dieter you liked it,” said Isabella. “He’ll be pleased.”
    Martha snorted, which seemed to be the extent of her vocabulary.
    â€œWell,” said Chris, slipping a blue dress over her head, “I think we’re in for an interesting three weeks.”
    I nodded in agreement. I would have answered out loud, but I was holding my brush in my mouth while I tried to work an elastic band over my hair.
    There was a knock at our door. “Ready?” called my father.
    I spit the brush onto my bed. “Just a minute,” I yelled. I turned my back to Chris. “Button me,” I said.
    Sixty seconds later we presented ourselves to my father, who looked us over approvingly. “Very nice,” he said. “It’s not every man who gets to go to dinner with two such lovely ladies.”
    We giggled and took his arms to walk down the hall. I braced myself as we passed the old photographs, but there was no repetition of the cold chill I had felt earlier that day.
    Baltimore was waiting for us at the entrance to the dining room. “I decided to make dinner a bit of an occasion tonight,” he said. “We sometimes do this midweek, when there aren’t too many guests.”
    Looking past him, I saw that some of the tables had been pushed together to create a large table in the center of the room. I did a quick plate count. It was set for ten. Three of the chairs were already filled—two by a pleasant-looking older couple, the third by a very good-looking younger woman.
    The pretty woman turned out to be an editor from New York City. Her name was Mona Curtis. She had dark hair, enormous brown eyes, and long fingers. She also had a thing for my father. He didn’t notice it, of course. He’s pretty dense about that kind of thing. But I spotted it the minute they were introduced. Maybe it’s just something one woman can tell about another. It’s not the first time it’s happened. I mean, my father is not a bad-looking guy. The thing is, he