Free Cherringham--Ghost of a Chance by Neil Richards Page A

him.
    When his phone rang.
    Slipping it out … to see Sarah’s name.
    “One sec,” he said to Anderson.
    And he answered the call.
    *
    “Uh huh …” Jack said, walking to the window of the room. He could have meandered out to the hallway for the call.
    But Sarah had been looking into Anderson.
    Taking this call right here might have an interesting result.
    “Yes. So you found …?”
    “It was Grace, Jack. She loves those weird science shows on TV. Anderson's room was booked by a Karl Eiss. And Karl Eiss is the host of the hit show ‘Ghosthunter’.”
    Now Jack turned, looking at Anderson who was in fact watching the scene carefully.
    “No kidding.”
    Jack kept looking at the sunglasses, the comical hair.
    And he immediately guessed the truth about Anderson.
    “Well, Sarah, that explains a lot of things. Great work. And tell Grace thanks.”
    “I did! But what do you think it means?”
    “Oh, that?” Jack laughed. “Not sure at all. Let's meet up later like we planned. I’d like to …”
    He looked again straight at the room's resident, and Jack was pretty sure that “Anderson” knew something was up.
    “…have a few words here. With Mr. Anderson.”
    “Oh — I wish I was there.”
    “You'll hear it all …”
    Jack lowered the phone and ended the call.
    Then he walked over to Anderson.
    “Well, Mr. Eiss — wherever shall we begin?”
    *
    “Sure you won’t have one with me?” said Eiss with a grin. “Hate to drink alone.”
    “Not a daytime drinker, I’m afraid,” said Jack, easing back into the room’s only armchair and watching Eiss carefully.
    “Never on duty, eh detective?” said Eiss, shutting the door of the mini-bar and pulling the tab on a can of tonic.
    Jack smiled but said nothing.
    Eiss had seemed relieved when Jack broke his “cover”. He’d pulled off his toupee and flung it in a corner, then folded up the glasses and put them in his jacket pocket.
    His voice had immediately got younger with a sharp London twang.
    His only question — how the hell did you know it was me?
    Jack’s answer — that “Karl Eiss” seemed to be a household name in these parts — cemented their new “friendship”.
    Eiss had slapped him on the shoulder and then put his hand out for a fist bump.
    Jack had ignored the gesture.
    Now, he watched Eiss empty the tonic into a glass of gin. He certainly seemed more at ease without the toupee and the glasses. His totally bald head had a silky sheen.
    Jack wondered if he polished it.
    Or maybe the opposite, he thought. Gotta watch out for glare if you work in TV.
    “No point asking for ice,” said Eiss. “Not in a place like this.”
    “You must live half your life in hotels.”
    “Yeah. One half in hotels. The other half in bloody freezing cellars or crypts. Still — it’s a living.”
    “A good one, from what I hear.”
    Eiss pulled the chair out from the desk, span it round and sat. Then took a hefty swig of gin and tonic.
    “Can’t complain, Jack, can’t complain,” he said. “Show goes out around the world on cable and satellite. One hundred and fourteen territories at last count.”
    “I must catch it some time,” said Jack.
    Some time never, he thought.
    “It’s a good format.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “What’s to tell? Punters ask me to come and ghost-hunt their house or pub or church or whatever. I turn up with a crew, set up all the gear, stay for a week, shoot the film, take the stills, find the ‘ghost’, scare the shit out of the locals and then hit the road. Job done.”
    “Find the ghost? And what if the ghost doesn’t exist?”
    “Are you kidding?” said Eiss. Then with a stage wink: “The ghost always exists, Jack. And if it doesn’t — I make bloody sure it does!”
    “So … Who invited you here?”
    “Nobody.”
    “Oh really? You’re just here by accident?”
    “No, no. Look, here’s the thing. Dear old Basil — you’ve met him, yeah?”
    Jack nodded.
    “Right, well Basil got in touch with