Chasing Ghosts by Madalyn Morgan (best fantasy books to read .txt) 📕

At the front door the housekeeper brought Claire and Thomas their coats. They were dry and the mud had been brushed off them. ‘Thank you,’ Claire said, ‘you needn’t have dried and cleaned our coats--’

‘It was no trouble, dear,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Besides, I didn’t want mud dripping all over my clean floor, I’d not long scrubbed it.’ She helped Claire into her coat and then picked up Thomas’s rucksack. ‘There was not much I could do with that.’

Dr D’Aramitz opened the front door. A gust of wind took it out of his hands and it swung back on its hinges and crashed against the wall. He winced and looked up. Claire didn’t want to delay him getting back to his grandfather but she had to try one last time to find out if Dr D’Aramitz knew anything about Simone. ‘Thank you for introducing us to your grandfather,’ she said. ‘What he told us about Heinrich Beckman will clear my husband’s name. That is if we can find him.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

The wind was so strong it drove the snow horizontally. ‘I hope you’re right. Thank you, again,’ Claire said, ‘and please thank Dr Puel. She put out her hand, but instead of shaking it, Dr D’Aramitz gave her an envelope.

‘My grandfather would like to see you again tomorrow - in Saint Gaudens.’

‘When? Where?’ Claire asked.

‘It’s in the letter. I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I really must attend to my grandfather. Good night.’ Dr D’Aramitz closed the door.

Claire looked at the cream envelope and bit her bottom lip. ‘I wonder what it says?’

‘We’ll find out when we get to the hotel.’ Thomas took the letter from her and put it in his rucksack. Buckling the bag, he gave it a tap. Then, putting his arm around her, he pulled her to him. Staying close they lowered their heads and struggled to the car through what threatened to become a blizzard.

Thomas put Claire’s wine in front of her and drank the froth from the top of his beer before opening the rucksack and taking out the letter.

‘He knows Simone. I know he does,’ Claire said, ripping open the envelope excitedly and pulling the letter from it. ‘I bet you ten francs Doctor Puel knows her.’ While they thawed by the fire, Claire read the letter. ‘Huh!’ she said, ‘He doesn’t even mention Simone.’ She turned the letter over in case he had written something on the back. He hadn’t. Disappointed, she pushed the letter across the table to Thomas.

‘He’s going to the bank first, and then his solicitor, and he’ll be here at twelve.’

‘Here?’

‘Not here, not in this bar. He says I shall be finished with the bank and the solicitor by late morning. I should like to meet you at twelve o’clock in the restaurant next door to your hotel. Thomas read the letter again, to himself, then looked up at Claire. ‘Well? Why are you frowning?’

‘There is a restaurant next door to the hotel.’

‘Which is why he said he would meet us there.’

‘But how does he know we’re staying in this hotel. I didn’t tell him. Did you?’

‘No but--’ Thomas laughed.

‘What?’

‘It’s the only hotel in town. Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go in for dinner. I don’t want you fainting on me again,’ he teased.

Doctors Puel and D’Aramitz were in the restaurant, seated at a table for four when Claire and Thomas arrived. ‘I hope we’re not late,’ Claire said.

‘You are not.’ Dr Puel held out his arm and stretched his hand to show a thin wrist beyond the sleeve of his jacket. He lifted his hand and squinted at his watch. ‘You are right on time, Madame. My grandson and I were early. Won’t you sit down,’ he said, indicating that Claire should sit in the chair nearest to him. ‘Monsieur Durand?’

Thomas sat in the remaining chair, between Claire and Dr D’Aramitz. Dr Puel picked up the menu. ‘This is one of my favourite restaurants in the Haute-Garonne area. The food is simple and wholesome. I would like steak tartare followed by rum baba, a liqueur to start, a bottle of red wine with my meal, several brandies afterwards, followed by a strong black coffee. Alas,’ he said, laughing, ‘my doctor would not allow that!’ He looked at his grandson and pulled an unhappy but comical face. When the waiter came to take their order, both doctors asked for soup, followed by poached fish and green vegetables. Claire ordered the same but with potatoes, and Thomas ordered a medium rare steak and frites.

When they had finished eating, Dr Puel ordered coffee. When it arrived, Claire poured each of them a cup while Dr Puel took a large brown envelope from his briefcase. ‘Now, to business,’ he said, handing the envelope to Claire. ‘This should clear your husband of treason. It contains everything you will need to prove that the so-called Swiss psychiatrist working under the name of Lucien Puel is the escaped criminal, Heinrich Beckman.’

Claire looked at the envelope with a mix of distaste and gratitude. ‘You won’t catch anything from it, my dear.’ A mischievous smile crept across the old doctor’s face. ‘It has been in my safety deposit box, in the vaults of the Banque Populaire de France since the month after--’

He took a second, bulkier envelope from his briefcase. Before giving it to Claire, he held it against his chest. ‘In here are the documents that will prove Heinrich Beckman killed my grandson Lucien and stole his identity. This envelope contains my grandson’s birth certificate, a photograph taken when he was born, and one of him receiving his doctor’s diploma a couple of weeks before he was murdered. It also contains the date the prison was liberated, the hospital report listing Lucien’s injuries, Beckman’s charred identity papers stating