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    Let's Get Ghastly
    Let's Get Ghastly
    Let's Get Ghastly
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    Let's Get Ghastly

    By Gary Weston

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    About this ebook

    Francine Finch had her life wrecked by a heartless conman. He broke her heart and stole everything she had. But she wasn't alone and his victims join forces to take their revenge. Can she get back what was hers and find true love as well? First they have to hunt down Ghastly. A fast paced novella

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGary Weston
    Release dateDec 4, 2013
    ISBN9781507008225
    Let's Get Ghastly
    Author

    Gary Weston

    Hello again.I've added Drifta's Quest 2 on this site. Unlikely to be a Drifta's Quest 3 but never say never. I am already working on a new book to fit in between other creative projects. As a mere lad of 68 I have a good few years to tell my stories so I hope people will keep enjoying them.

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      Book preview

      Let's Get Ghastly - Gary Weston

      Let's Get Ghastly

      Chapter 1

      'I would kill him.'

      Francine Finch heard those words, obviously not intended to be taken literally, but in her mind it created a pivotal moment. Carla James was not the injured party here, but as that not so delicate flower sipped her latte, simultaneously poking her phone to check her messages and reapplying her mascara, Francine had already considered nine different ways of putting that suggestion into practice. The ones involving lots of blood made her smile.

      'I gotta go,' said Carla. 'Meetings, a presentation and I have to fire somebody.'

      'You have to fire somebody?'

      'Between three thirty and three forty five, and I still haven't decided who it is yet. Are you on for Saturday?'

      'I'll check my diary.' Francine hadn't kept a diary since her eleventh birthday.  After the third week of having nothing to write in it other than what she had had for dinner, watched on television and worrying about her weight, it was dumped. Her job in the local library was far removed from that of her long time friend and high flier Carla James, executive corporate planner for some mega-conglomerate.

      'Saturday. It'll do you good to have a night out.' said Carla, dropping a twenty on the table. It meant nothing to Carla, but it was one and a half hours wages for Francine.

      'I'll be there.'

      Francine watched Carla walk away, fitted business suit cosseting her pert bottom, a product of her personal trainer's strong finger massage for three hours each week, her high heels, one of seventy five pairs, giving her a waddle that wasn't even consciously thought about, waived a hand in the air that had two cabs screeching  instantly to a halt. Carla got in one,  taking out her second phone, and with one pressed to each ear, was whisked away to send some unsuspecting soul to the ranks of the unemployed.

      Francine couldn't afford cab money, so she walked the four blocks in the shoes that let in water when it rained, tried to pull the panties from her backside without being conspicuous,  hopefully, and contemplated retribution.

      Chapter 2

      Predictably, Saturday was a nightmare. Francine Finch knew she was out of her comfort zone. Carla James was a friend from high school, and for reasons neither could fully comprehend, they kept in touch including the occasional lunch-date. Francine always assumed she was the one that made the others feel better about themselves. They had legs up to their chins, breasts, pick a number from plastic surgeons in the yellow pages, teeth only costing a minor despots ransom, clothes mostly worn once before being offered to their maids, jewellery and perfume that redefined the word exclusive.

      Francine hoped that they would think her best seven year old dress was old enough to be considered retro, but she was at least wearing her one and only comfortable fitting underwear that didn't ride up. The occasion was a charity fund-raiser at an art gallery. It was to promote up and coming artists and Francine had gotten an invite because of her friendship with Carla. She did her best to mingle, but felt like a goldfish out of its tank. Sipping her complimentary champagne, she made a pretence of studying a painting.

      'Like it?'

      She turned to find a man behind her. He was, she guessed, in his late twenties, a few years younger than she was. He also seemed to be as out of his depth as she was. His clothes were clean, but well worn and mismatched. His brown hair desperately needed the attention of a hairdresser. What she noticed most about him was his smile, a little wonky, and his eyes, a friendly blue.

      'Not my thing, to be honest. Then again, I don't know much about art.' She looked hard at the painting, trying to form what might sound like an intelligent opinion about it. 'It is ....too dramatic for my taste. I think it's those heavy bold lines converging on the centre, drawing me in. I find it a little too disturbing.'

      He smiled at her, his eyes drinking her in. 'You wouldn't buy it, then?'

      'I'm sure it's a bargain at two thousand, but my salary wouldn't run to it.'

      'Pity. I was hoping to eat this week.'

      'Oh, my God. You painted it?'

      'Guilty as charged. Jake Carson,' he said, offering a hand to shake.

      'Francine Finch,' said Francine, taking the hand. His hand was warm and dry, and yet surprisingly rough to the touch. Not what she expected for the hand of an artist. 'Are things that bad?'

      'I'll survive. I do real work from time to time. I have a friend in the building trade. I've spent the last two weeks labouring for him.'

      Carla left a couple of friends and walked over to them. 'Francine. I see you've met Jake.'

      'Yes. I was just admiring his painting.'

      'I've been admiring his stuff myself. Are you interested?'

      Francine was well aware Carla wasn't referring to the painting. 'A little modern for me. Not quite what I'm looking for at the moment.'

      'It isn't about the art, Francine. It's about investment. I've bought five paintings tonight. All different artists. If only one does well in the future, I make a profit.'

      'A little mercenary if you don't mind me saying so,' said Jake. 'What about the aesthetic qualities of the paintings?'

      'I didn't say I didn't like them,' said Carla. 'But there's no harm of seeing art as part of a diverse portfolio.'

      'That,' said Jake, 'Is probably why I'm a starving artist.'

      'Perhaps not,' said Anton Fordel, gallery owner, joining them. 'Jake. There's a potential sale for two of yours, but I leave the arm wrestling to you.'

      'Excuse me ladies.'

      'Fancy him?' said Carla, when Jake was out of earshot.

      'What?'

      'Jake. Nice bum.'

      'I can't believe you, Carla. After what Simon did, you think I'm ready for some action?'

      'A mere distraction, I was thinking. If you don't want him, I might have a use for him.'

      It was so typical of Carla to think of a man as just a commodity. But at the end of the day, which of them had been gutted after being dumped and dumped on from a great height? It hadn't been Carla, that's for sure.

      After another half hour of mindless banter with the well heeled, Francine made her excuses and left the party.

      Chapter 3

      It was a little after ten the following morning when Francine answered a knock on her front door. The man in the suit said, 'Miss Finch. I did try to phone.'

      'Detective Williams. Come on in.'  Detective Senior Sergeant Gavin Williams took his hat off and entered. Francine picked up the laundry basket off the armchair for him to sit down. 'My phone's been cut off. Things are tough at the moment.'

      'Sorry to

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