Walking with Ghosts - A Honey Driver Murder Mystery (Honey Driver Mysteries) Read Free Page B

awestruck envy. ‘Well, that’s not fair! How come you saw a ghost and I didn’t?’
    Everyone in the immediate vicinity fell to silence. All eyes were turned their way waiting until Honey fired the shot that would get them going again.
    ‘Nah! Just a tosh in a tux. He’d probably been to an important dinner. I expect the woman from Ohio – or wherever it was – Lady Whatshername – saw him too. I’ll ask her.’
    She presumed that Lady Templeton-Jones had raced on ahead of her and quickly rejoined the group. Her eyes scooted from face to face. The dishevelled ghost walkers were now warming themselves up with bottled spirit. Lady Templeton-Jones was not among them.
    ‘Oh. Looks as though she’s already checked out.’
    Of course she had. And she’d probably forgotten about checking out of her present hotel and into the Green River. People reserving rooms and not checking in were a nightmare and annoying.
    Damn! I should have got her credit card number.
    A sudden whack on the bar top sent the complimentary snacks skipping out of their dishes.
    A big voice boomed out. ‘Here’s yer bag, Your Ladyship.’
    Conversation paused. Uncomprehending faces turned in his direction.
    ‘Lady Templeton,’ he added. Whether by accident or intent he’d omitted to add the more common name of Jones.
    Adrian Harris was the pub landlord. He was tall, dark and bloated. His six-pack had become a beer barrel long ago. He also had the publican’s sweaty pallor indicative of people who came out at night and slept in the day. Think vampire, but without the strong teeth and muscle tone.
    ‘I think she’s gone straight to her hotel,’ Honey explained. ‘She’s checking out and booking in with me. I presume she’ll turn up at my place later.’
    ‘It’s all yours then,’ Adrian said abruptly. He slammed the bag down in front of Honey and turned away.
    ‘But she might come back here for it.’
    ‘She’ll be out of luck. I’m closing on the dot at eleven.’ Surly was Adrian’s middle name. He didn’t give a sod for anyone.
    ‘I thought the Government brought in twenty-four-hour drinking.’
    ‘Sod the Government. Twenty-four-hour drinking’s something I do when I’m on holiday. I’m off to the Costa del Sol tomorrow and I can’t be having old bags left in my premises – of any sort.’
    ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ Honey murmured, presuming that she was one of the sorts of old bag he referred to.
    ‘Excuse me.’
    She turned to see Pamela Windsor’s pale face on a level with her own. Her eyes were brighter now, perhaps because she’d been steam dried.
    ‘I’d better take it,’ she said, reaching for the bag. ‘I can leave a message at her hotel that I have it safely in my possession. I’m sure that would be all right.’
    OK, it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. So why was it that Honey suddenly found herself feeling protective about a brown leather bag? Was it because it resembled her favourite overlarge receptacle, though on a smaller scale? Or was it because their ghost-walk guide looked less wan and more animated than she’d been all evening?
    ‘No need.’ Honey hugged the bag to her as though it were a newborn babe due for a feed. ‘Her Ladyship was checking out of her hotel and into mine. She’ll probably be there when I get back.’
    There was no guarantee that Her Ladyship would appear at the Green River. Neither did she have any real reason to be suspicious of dear Pamela. The ghost-walk guide was well meaning, but Honey couldn’t help but get the impression that something was wrong. The world and his wife passed through the doors of the Green River Hotel. You got to know how people behaved. No woman of a certain age would wander off home or wherever she was staying without a bag over her arm. Such a bag would contain everything she held dear and of value: a bunch of keys, her phone and money, perhaps a stub of lipstick, and a powder compact plus family photos.
           She