by Chanel Smith
“Investigators,” Ellen quickly provided the word. Saying ghost hunters often made people uncomfortable.
“… investigators concerning the issues along the Vauxhall to Stockwell line. Listen, I was hoping to arrange a time when you could meet with them. Say tomorrow around ten?” He listened again and his expression changed. “Well, yes, those might be connected.” Another pause. “I’m afraid those are questions that you’ll have to ask them. Okay, so tomorrow at ten. Very well, and I will call you back about those other matters in about ten to fifteen minutes.”
He set the phone back into its cradle and glanced from me to Ellen. “It seems that I misspoke before when I said that nothing had happened in the excavation tunnel. There seem to have been some things occurring down there as well, but they had gone unreported until the recent hubbub stirred things up. I’m afraid that I don’t know which stories to believe any more.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Ellen reassured him.
“That’s right, we’ll find an explanation for you,” I added.
“Mr. Jackson Hayford will be meeting with you tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I will send Rochester to get you at a quarter of 10. I do appreciate your time and your expertise. You’ve come highly recommended and I can already tell that you take a professional approach to the matter.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ellen smiled.
“Penelope should have those copies for you and she’ll snap the photos and get the badges prepared as well. I hope that you have an opportunity to take in some of the sites while you’re here. Also, anything you need, just let Rochester know and he will secure it for you or find someone who will.”
“There is one thing,” I spoke up, suddenly remembering that our equipment was with our luggage. “Our luggage was hung up at the airport and all of our equipment is in it.” It was worth a shot; if he was in charge of transportation, perhaps he would be able to pull some strings and get our luggage to us.
“Yes, of course. I’ll look into that for you posthaste.”
He said the word with such aplomb that I was hoping I would have an opportunity to make use of it myself: posthaste. “That would be very helpful; thank you, sir.”
“It was indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mister Black,” Ellen said, extending her hand gracefully.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, moving from her hand to my own. “Penelope,” he called out. The sharp-looking redhead appeared in his doorway within seconds. “Please take very good care of our guests if you don’t mind.”
“It will be a pleasure. Come along.”
I felt like a schoolboy being escorted to his next class. In only a few moments, posthaste, we were outfitted with our badges and a file folder with what looked like several dozen sheets of ghost stories for our light, bedtime reading. When we left the building which housed the TFL offices, Rochester was standing by, ready to return us to the hotel… posthaste.
Ghost Crypt
is available at:
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Amazon AU
About the Author:
Chanel Smith was born and raised in Los Angeles, California. She has since moved to Portland, Oregon, where she lives with her husband and two dogs. When not writing, she spends her time training dogs, hiking, biking and anything else that will get her outside in nature.
Please find her on Facebook.