Free The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion by Alice Kimberly Page B

Tuttle waved her hand. “You three can go in now.”
    Glancing at me again, Aunt Sadie wrinkled her forehead. “Three?”
    The door opened and Mr. Stoddard stepped out. When his delicate, small-boned hand shook mine, I noticed a bulky gold ring on his right middle finger. I glanced at it, expecting to see a university insignia, but it was engraved only with a stylized cross, the top of which appeared open, like a sewing needle.
    “Is that an Egyptian ankh?” I asked. “On your ring?”
    A flash of annoyance momentarily soured Mr. Stoddard’s welcoming expression. “How nice of you to notice,” he said after a pause, but his tone didn’t sound pleased. “A gift from a client. Sign of good luck, I believe.”
    While the man spoke, he deliberately twisted the gold circle, hiding the ankh design on the palm side of his hand.
    Odd, I thought. Jack agreed.
    You said it, honey .
    After greeting my aunt, Mr. Stoddard looked around the small waiting room. He glanced at the young woman in the black dress.
    “Miss Tuttle, you said over the intercom that all three had arrived? Where is Mr. Tarnish?”
    The young woman smirked at Stoddard, as if he were being ridiculous. “There’s a third with her .” She pointed at me, her tone implying this should have been obvious to everyone. “The man wearing the fedora and the double-breasted suit.”
    I held my breath as the girl stared at me.
    “Jack?” I silently whispered. “Can she see you?”
    How should I know? Ask her!
    The moment Jack spoke in my head, the young woman’s annoyed expression changed to surprise. “Oh,” she said, shifting her focus back to the lawyer. “It’s not Seymour Tarnish. Excuse me, Mr. Stoddard, but I was mistaken.”
    “No harm done,” Stoddard replied.
    Aunt Sadie shot me a that-was-weird look. I shrugged, trying to look clueless, but I couldn’t shake the young woman’s penetrating gaze. Like a high-intensity floodlight, I continued to feel Miss Tuttle’s focus on me as Mr. Stoddard ushered us into his small office. Frankly, I was relieved when Stoddard closed his door and cut off the girl’s vision.
    “Seymour Tarnish is on his way,” I assured Mr. Stoddard. “He gave us a ride over, but he couldn’t find a large enough space for his VW bus.”
    “He has a VW bus?” Stoddard asked curiously as he moved around his desk.
    I nodded. “Lime green.”
    “What year?”
    “From the seventies,” I said. “You should ask him about it. He’s very proud of it; keeps it in perfect running order.”
    The décor in Stoddard’s office was fractionally better, with expensive-looking red leather chairs instead of the folding variety in the waiting room. The cheap paneling might have made the room as unappealing as the waiting area, but Stoddard had hidden most of the scuffed wood behind elaborately framed original artwork as well as diplomas, award plaques, and certificates.
    As we took our seats, Stoddard sank into a high-backed executive chair of quilted leather. It looked costly and brand-new—unlike the dull, nicked surface of his walnut desk. Before we could exchange more than a few words, a strident buzz interrupted us.
    “Seymour Tarnish is here now,” Miss Tuttle announced, loud enough to be heard without the intercom.
    Seymour entered a moment later. He nodded at us, shook Stoddard’s hand, and sat down in the chair next to mine.
    “Let’s begin, shall we?” Mr. Stoddard said. “All three of you are here because you’re specifically mentioned in the last will and testament of Miss Timothea Todd, amended for the final time on March 24 of this year.”
    Stoddard steepled his fingers. “This won’t be a formal reading of the will because other beneficiaries are also mentioned in the document, and for now those sections will remain confidential.”
    “Other beneficiaries?” I silently repeated. “I wonder who they are.”
    So do I, Jack said. And why all the hush-hush? Why are you three the only ones invited to this