The Ghost Wore Gray by Bruce Coville Read Free Book Online Page B

possibilities open.”
    We had been walking down the hall as we talked and had reached the set of old pictures. “Do you think he has anything to do with it?” I asked, indicating the photograph of the long dead Confederate soldier who had stood in our room the night before.
    Chris shrugged. “Doesn’t seem likely,” she said. “For one thing, ghosts don’t seem to move things around much.”
    I nodded.
    â€œBesides, he’s just too gorgeous.”
    I laughed. “Now who’s not thinking like a detective?” I asked. But as I stared at the picture, I knew what Chris meant.
    â€œAh,” said a voice behind us. “I see you’re admiring the ghost of the Quackadoodle Inn!”
    I turned and saw Porter Markson standing behind us. His hands were tucked behind his back, and he smiled as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
    â€œDidn’t you know the inn is supposed to be haunted?” he asked, misinterpreting the surprised look on my face. “Well, don’t let it scare you. Captain Gray has never been known to harm anyone.”
    â€œCaptain Gray?” I asked.
    Porter nodded. “Captain Johnny Gray. Legend has it he was the most handsome man in Charleston, South Carolina.”
    â€œWell, what’s he doing haunting an inn here in New York State?” asked Chris.
    Porter shrugged. “Who knows? To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually seen him. Sometimes I think the whole legend was cooked up by one of the previous owners just to get people interested in the inn.”
    I decided not to tell him how wrong he was about that!
    â€œAre you ladies heading down to breakfast?” he asked.
    â€œYes!” said Chris emphatically. “I’m starving!”
    That was no surprise. Hunger is sort of a permanent condition with Chris.
    â€œWell, if you don’t mind some company, I’ll come with you.”
    That was fine with us. I figured we could pump him for more information about the ghost while we ate.
    Breakfast turned out to be coffee and pastries, set out in the dining room for anyone who wanted them. They called this a Continental Breakfast. That means it’s European. For some reason sophisticated people call Europe The Continent—as if the other six didn’t exist! It sounds stuck-up to me, but that’s the way it is. Chris happily poured herself a cup of coffee from the big silver urn. I made a face and went looking for some milk. I don’t know how she can drink that stuff!
    When the three of us finally settled down to start stuffing Dieter’s glorious pastries into our mouths, it struck me that we were the only ones in the dining room.
    â€œWhere’s everyone else?” I asked.
    Porter blew across the top of his coffee. “Well, probably people have either eaten or decided to sleep late. Dieter leaves breakfast out until eleven o’clock.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Of course, there are only seven guests anyway.”
    â€œI wonder why?” asked Chris.
    Porter shrugged. “The inn’s not doing very well. Things will pick up a little this weekend. It’s Thursday, so probably a few people will show up today. There might be a fairly good crowd come Friday. And, of course, there’s the dance on Saturday. That should draw some extra guests.”
    â€œWhy isn’t the inn doing well?” I asked, thinking Porter might know something useful.
    Before he could answer, Mona Curtis came sailing into the room. “Oh, there you are, Nine,” she said. “I was just looking for you! Could you come and talk to me a minute?”
    â€œGood grief!” whispered Chris. “Do you suppose she proposed to your father already?”
    I glared at Chris, then tried to get my face back under control before I went to talk to Mona. I don’t think I quite managed it, because when I got to her table the first thing she said was,