The Secrets of Ghosts by Sarah Painter Page A

backwards, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand. ‘Is that it?’
    The window of The Yellow Room was on the second floor. It had one of the tiny balconies with thick stonework around the edge. Katie saw the window darken and she looked up at the sky, expecting a cloud to have crossed the sun. It hadn’t.
    ‘Nothing,’ Max said. ‘And I’m not climbing up there.’
    He lay down on the grass and crossed his hands behind his head. ‘It’s too hot for one thing.’
    Katie sat cross-legged next to him and then, feeling stupid for being so hesitant, lay down on the grass, a few inches of space between them. They were in a very public place, in broad daylight; there was nothing to worry about.
    She put an arm across her face, shielding her from the sun.
    ‘That room we were in?’ Max said, his voice super-casual. ‘Is it going to be Barton’s when he arrives?’
    ‘How do you know that?’
    ‘Just a guess.’
    ‘But you know he’s coming here for a show?’
    Max looked embarrassed. ‘Yeah. I don’t suppose you can get me a discount on a ticket?’
    ‘Not my area,’ Katie said. ‘I thought you were just passing through.’
    Max propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. ‘Can I be honest with you?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Katie said, moving her arm so that she could look at him. ‘Experience suggests not.’
    He straightened up. ‘Wow. You’re really uptight, aren’t you?’
    ‘I’m big on honesty.’ Katie shrugged. ‘It’s my thing.’
    ‘Okay, then.’ Max folded his arms. ‘I wasn’t just passing. I came to see Greg Barton.’
    ‘The medium?’ Katie tried to think of something polite to add. ‘I’m surprised,’ she managed. ‘You don’t seem the type.’
    ‘I’m not. Usually.’ Max said. ‘But I’m very interested in Mr Barton. I’d like to know more about him. You know, the man behind the show. His friends, his habits. If you could keep an eye on him for me when he checks in, let me know if—’
    Katie moved back a little. ‘I can’t do that. I can’t spy on a customer. That isn’t right.’
    ‘He’s a public figure,’ Max said. ‘And a hotel is a public space.’
    ‘That’s not really true. Some parts of a hotel are public, some are extremely private. Plus, I can’t trust you. You could be up to something illegal. I already know you’re a liar.’
    ‘Of course you can’t — you just met me. Trust has to be earned.’
    ‘That sounds almost noble.’ Of course, he was a smooth-talking bastard. He would make it sound good.
    ‘If you trust a person you’ve just met, that doesn’t mean the person is trustworthy. It means that you’re an idiot.’ Max was clearly warming to his theme. ‘There are two sorts of people in this world: mugs and marks.’
    ‘Aren’t they the same thing?’ Katie leaned forward, interested despite her best intentions.
    ‘No,’ Max said seriously. He watched her intently as he spoke, as if it really mattered to him that she understood. ‘Marks aren’t necessarily stupid. The best marks aren’t stupid at all. You need someone with the intelligence to see the possibilities. You can trick a mug, but for a con you need a mark. Marks are a little bit twisted. They have to be willing to do something they know is a bit dodgy because they want a part of the score being offered. That’s why cons aren’t often reported — the mark knows that telling the story will reveal his own part in it. That’s what makes cons so beautiful.’
    ‘There can’t just be mugs or marks,’ Katie said, forcing herself to look away. ‘That’s very bleak.’
    ‘There are grifters, too,’ Max said. ‘Probably honest-to-God nun-types, too, but I’ve never met any.’
    ‘You’ve never met a good person? You really are hanging out in the wrong places.’
    ‘Nobody is pure as the driven snow. We’re all living in the shades.’ Max shrugged. ‘I’ve never met someone who wasn’t at least a little bit bent.’
    Katie shook her head.