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

‘How are we doing for time?’ Mitch asked, throwing their suitcases into the boot of Guillaume’s car and leaping into the back seat next to Claire.

‘We are in good time. We should reach Paris-Orly airport in just over an hour.’

Guillaume dropped Claire and Mitch off at the entrance to Orly airport. With only time for a brief goodbye, he shook Mitch’s hand and gave him a customary hug. ‘Be careful,’ the Frenchman said, his voice hoarse with emotion. Mitch nodded but couldn’t speak. Guillaume hugged Claire. ‘Take care.’

‘I will.’

As they entered the Departure Hall Claire spotted Thomas leaning against the Trans-Canada Air Lines desk. She waved, and he walked quickly to the centre of the hall. Claire ran to meet him. ‘There’s no need for Mitch to know about the keys,’ she whispered, hugging her friend.

‘Okay.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She knew what Thomas had to do and held him until she felt the weight of the lock picking keys in her coat pocket. Mitch joined them with Claire’s ticket. ‘Darling, this is my friend Thomas Durand.’ Mitch put down the suitcases and shook Thomas’s hand.

‘Thank you for looking after her,’ Mitch said, ‘and thank you for telephoning me at the hotel.’

Thomas gave Mitch a friendly nod and looked at Claire. ‘No problem.’

While they were talking two airport officials arrived, asked Mitch and Claire their names and after a quick look at their passports, each picked up a suitcase. ‘The plane is on time, Captain,’ the older of the two men said, ‘we would like to get you on board before the rest of the passengers.’

The plane to Montréal left on time. Once they were settled in their seats, Claire and Mitch slept.

Claire woke to the sound of a stewardess asking passengers if they would like tea or coffee. ‘Coffee for me please,’ she said and nudged Mitch. ‘Do you want a coffee, darling?’ He nodded sleepily.

When the stewardess moved on, Mitch rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s my fault Beckman’s secretary is dead.’

‘How do you make that out?’

‘I told you she came into the office while I was copying my medical report and Beckman’s letter and she didn’t try to stop me. It’s hard to explain, but she looked at me as if she agreed with what I was doing. When I’d finished she took the original papers from me and put them in another envelope. It appeared to be identical to the one I had ripped open, but Beckman must have noticed there was a difference because it got her killed.’

‘By Beckman’s nurse?’ Claire queried, more to herself than to Mitch.

Mitch shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring true, does it?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Claire agreed. ‘But if she loved him--?’

The stewardess brought their drinks and Claire relaxed back in her seat to enjoy her coffee.

‘What did Thomas Durand put in your pocket?’

Claire choked. ‘This coffee is hot!’

Mitch rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll ask you again. What did--?’

‘All right!’ It was pointless lying to Mitch, he knew her too well. ‘Lockpicking keys.’

‘Lockpicking--?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Claire put her coffee cup on the tray in front of her and reached into her coat pocket. ‘These,’ she said, showing him a leather pouch with a pattern of the fleur de leys embossed on it. The small red case looked like a lady’s purse, or a manicure set. Opening it, she jangled the long needle-like keys in front of him.

‘I wish I hadn’t asked.’ He put out his hand and Claire whipped them away.

‘Do you know how to use these?’

Mitch didn’t answer.

‘Well I do, so they’re staying with me.’

‘Why do you want-- No! No way!’ He looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was. He lowered his voice anyway. ‘You are not getting involved in the situation at Dad’s house.’

Claire returned the lockpicking keys to her pocket. Her argument was, the years he had spent in the prison in France were the years she had spent working with the French Resistance, and, although she didn’t want to say it, she could probably handle herself better than him in a hostage situation. She could open locked doors better. André Belland taught her, and he had taught her well.

She was saved from saying anything when the stewardess arrived with their meal.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Today the weather in Montréal was bright and sunny, though a little colder than in Paris-France. If you haven’t already changed your watches to conform to the time difference, I suggest you do so now. We are now making our descent. I won’t be speaking to you again as we will soon be in our landing pattern. It was a pleasure to have you aboard. We hope to have you with us again, soon. Thank you.”

Claire looked at her watch. It was 3.30am. The flight, with landings to refuel in Northern Ireland and Detroit had taken ten hours. They both wound their watches back six hours to 9.30 in the evening. Mitch buckled his safety belt and leaned back in his seat. ‘Are you all right, Mitch?’

‘Yes, honey. I’m just worried about Dad and Marie.’ Claire held his hand, as she always did when they took off or landed. She liked flying, she just didn’t like taking off and landing. The rise and fall in altitude hurt her ears and made her deaf. She was deaf now and would be until she was on the ground. She swallowed a couple of times, hoping her ears would pop. They didn’t.

Claire felt the aeroplane land, the wheels bump as they touched down, and the pull of air from the reverse thrust. She looked out of the window. As the plane taxied towards the airport building the sprinkling of tiny lights she saw from a distance grew bigger until she could see they were lights to