Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance Read Free Page B

friends choose for him.”
    She placed a hand on a well-curved hip. “Is that so? And what,
pray tell, was your nickname?”
    Creighton cleared his throat with a sideways glance. “That’s of
little relevance to our conversation.”
    “I see. It must not have been very flattering.”
    He shot her a sour look.
    “That’s okay, Creighton. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll try to guess.
Let’s see … you were younger then, so you weren’t quite as tall as you
are now, but you were probably just as irritating, with the same uncanny knack for showing up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Hmm.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. They called you `Wart”’
    “Very funny. You’re just sore because I proved you don’t know
Jameson as well as you claim,” he taunted.
    “I’m not sore. And just because I don’t know Robert’s boyhood
nickname, doesn’t mean I don’t know him well enough to marry
him.” Her face saddened. “If anything, I’m disappointed. I expected
Mrs. Patterson to have some reservations as to my marriage, but I
thought you, at least, would be happy for me. What’s the matter?
Don’t you like Robert?”
    Aside from the fact that he was nauseatingly good looking, lacked
a viable sense of humor, and was set to marry Marjorie, Creighton harbored no feelings of ill will against the detective. “He’s okay,” he
shrugged.

    “Then what’s the problem? Why don’t you want us to get married?”
    He drew a deep breath. This was it. It was now or never. Taking
her by the shoulders, he declared, “Because I love you.”
    Marjorie stared at him, open-mouthed and flabbergasted. Encouraged by her reaction, he was about to repeat the sentiment,
but soon realized that the look of excitement upon her face was not
due to his shocking revelation, but to the piercing scream that had
drowned out his every word.
    Marjorie stabbed at the air with her index finger and motioned
violently toward the opposite end of the fairgrounds. “Over there,
by the Ferris wheel. It’s Mrs. Schutt. Come on!” She grabbed her
companion by the hand and yanked his arm in the direction of the
disturbance.
    Creighton dug his heels into the ground and stood firm. Louise
Schutt was the last person he wanted to see. “I’m sure it’s nothing.
Sharon probably has a hangnail or something.”
    “Oh come on. Mrs. Schutt doesn’t scream like that over nothing-especially in public. You know how she is-trying to be a ‘lady’
at all times.” With a spirited gleam in her eye, she gave his arm another tug. “Let’s find out what it is.”
    Creighton recognized that look. It was the one that had drawn
him to her-that look of curiosity and sheer determination. With
a slight grin, he unlocked his knees and allowed her to drag him
across the fairgrounds and through the throng of onlookers. They
arrived at the front of the crowd to find a distraught Mrs. Schutt, a
man’s lifeless body lying face-up at her feet.

    Marjorie gasped. “What happened?”
    “I-I don’t know,” Mrs. Schutt cried. “I opened the door and
he fell out of the car. I-I think he’s dead.”
    Creighton took the gold calling card case from his jacket pocket,
knelt down, and held it before the man’s open mouth. The case retained its bright yellow gleam. “He’s dead.”
    The words sent a shockwave through the crowd.
    “Someone call Detective Jameson,” Marjorie ordered.
    “I’ll go,” came a voice from the crowd. It was the fifteen-yearold soda jerk at the local drugstore. “I’ll go, Miss McClelland!”
    “Thank you, Freddie,” Marjorie shouted as the boy was swallowed up by the huddled mass of bodies.
    He was replaced by the spherical figure of Sharon Schutt.
“Mother!” she wailed as she waddled to her mother’s side. “Mother,
how horrible!”
    The Schutt women embraced in a fit of tears as the tiny, birdlike figure of Mrs. Patterson appeared from amid the sea of worried
onlookers. Like the