by Lyn Gardner
Other than the one ogling incident in the kitchen, for the rest of the morning, Robin had acted like the mature, non-pervy woman she had grown up to be. She hadn’t gawked or gaped. She hadn’t imagined or daydreamed, and she had kept her mind on the task at hand, but as soon as Judy’s innocent words found her ears, Robin felt a flutter between her legs. “Such as?” she managed to say before gulping down some water.
“I’d like to help you.”
Inwardly, Robin groaned, and tucking her legs underneath her, she tried to suffocate her libido. “How so?”
“You said last week some rooms need painting or new wallpaper.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, how about when I get back from vacation, I give you a hand with that?”
Robin’s shoulders fell just a tad. “You’re going on vacation?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving for Indiana on Wednesday.”
“Wednesday?” Robin said, sinking heavier into the sofa. “This Wednesday?”
“Yep.”
Robin tried her best to seem interested. “What’s in Indiana that’s so exciting?” she said, with absolutely no inflection in her tone.
“I wouldn’t say they’re all that exciting, but my family lives there,” Judy said, smiling. “Every fall it’s a tradition that we all get together and spend a few weeks helping out at the orchard. Actually, it’s probably more like a duty, but since a lot of my nieces and nephews travel in, it’s nice to see them and catch up.”
“Your family owns an orchard?”
“Yes,” Judy said with a bob of her head. “Originally, we just grew Gala apples, but as my father bought up more land, he added other varieties of apples, plus raspberries and plums. Then, about ten years ago, my brothers bought the adjoining farm and not only extended the orchard, but also the market.”
“The market? You mean like a farmer’s market?”
“Exactly. It started out as just a roadside produce stand that my grandparents ran. They sold apples and vegetables from their garden, stuff like that, but over the years, it’s grown just like the orchard. It went from a just a simple stand to a few sheds my father built when they kept getting busier, and then my brothers replaced those with a huge metal building, so they’d have the room to sell local produce, too.”
“It sounds popular and hectic.”
“Oh, it is,” Judy said. “And between the apple picking, the pumpkin patch, the hay rides, and a corn maze my brothers put in a few years back, this time of year the place is overrun with kids and families, which is why they need all the help they can get.”
“Do you ever take a real vacation? I mean one where you aren’t working?”
“Yes, it’s called winter,” Judy said with a laugh. “And it’s not really like work. I grew up doing it, so it’s second nature, but by November, I’ll be ready to come back.”
Robin tallied the days until November, and if she could have sunk into the sofa any further, she would have found herself underneath it. Lowering her eyes, she quietly said, “Wow, that’s a long vacation.”
“True, but like I said, it’s a tradition and getting out of it isn’t an option.”
“I suppose.”
“Are you okay?” Judy said, noticing how Robin’s expression seemed to have saddened.
“What?” Robin said, returning her focus to Judy. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I guess I was kinda looking forward to going through all the rooms with you and seeing if we agreed on what needs to be done, but if you’re leaving in a few days, that’ll have to wait until you get back.”
“No, it doesn’t. I don’t have to pack until Tuesday, so we have until then,” Judy said, and getting to her feet, she held out her hand. “That is unless you can’t keep up.”
The broadest smile Robin owned spread across her face, and taking Judy’s hand, Robin sprang to her feet…at the same time Judy tugged her arm.
Action and reaction are the subjects of Newton’s third law of motion. The force of a push or a pull upon any given object can result in an interaction with another object, so when Robin pushed, and Judy pulled, interaction was inevitable.
Robin plowed right into Judy, and like two football players celebrating a touchdown, the two women chest-bumped, the force of which sent Robin scrambling to stay upright.
“Shit,” Judy said, and reaching out, she grabbed Robin by the hips to steady her. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
It was yet another snapshot Robin would forever have embedded in her mind. They were standing so close she could see the threads of sapphire in Judy’s pale cobalt eyes, the edge of the blue beautifully defined by the thinnest rim of black. Her eyelashes needed no enhancement for they were long and thick, and when Robin finally managed to remember how to inhale, she breathed in the bouquet of the woman’s perfume. It was crisp like a spring morning, yet had just enough of a hint of cinnamon to add a touch of sultry, and it was that touch of sultry that caused Robin’s body to ignite. As if she’d been burned, Robin took a quick step backward. Her body was on fire. Her face was on fire, and Robin had two choices. Either stand there and smolder or get the hell out. Robin chose the latter.
“No, it was totally my fault,” she said, straightening her sweatshirt. “But since you have time, I’ll meet you upstairs.” Like a speeding bullet, Robin raced toward the stairs, taking them two at a time and reaching the top at breakneck speed. She knew she had forgotten her list. She knew she had forgotten her measuring tape, and she knew she had forgotten her pen, but the one thing Robin would never forget was still burning...into her hips.
Chapter Thirteen
The Safe Harbor Inn wasn’t the largest bed-and-breakfast on Mackinac Island nor was it the smallest; however, its Victorian architecture and location drew tourists to its door like moths to a flame. Overlooking Julia Point, the tourists aboard the ferries from St. Ignace could see the Inn from the boat once their attention moved from the spectacular Grand Hotel. While appearing minuscule compared to the magnificent landmark to its north, Safe Harbor still garnered its fair share of attention and even those having no reservations would often find their way to its porch, if only for a photo opportunity.
Some would wander inside, hoping for a tour or possibly a vacancy they could fill, but all they ever managed to see were the few guest areas on the ground floor. They would ooh and ahh at what little they saw, vowing to return sometime in the future, and for those who did, they were not disappointed when they climbed the stairs.
In 1982, when Adele bought the home that would become Safe Harbor, it contained only five bedrooms and four baths, but within three years, she had more than doubled her rentable space. The study across from the dining room soon became White Birch, and walls were constructed on the second floor, dividing the most massive bedrooms, until two became four. The third floor, originally designed as a playroom for Lyman Major’s six children, and used by other owners for storage, was Adele’s most significant undertaking. Massive, and with windows throughout, by the time the workmen had finished in the winter of 1985, Adele had not only added three more suites, but she also ensured the guests in those rooms would be afforded awe-inspiring views of the island, something not always found in other B&Bs.
Adele knew her competition. She had visited all the bed-and-breakfasts on the island, as well as others on the mainland. She had studied what they offered their patrons, so when Adele began her renovations of Safe Harbor, she included in her plan private bathrooms in each. The four existing bathrooms were spacious, and each held all the conveniences, including claw-foot tubs, but with the only remaining space Adele had to work revolving around closets of varying sizes, the bathrooms she added required a little ingenuity. Tubs unable to fit into converted closets were placed into alcoves in the suites themselves, while angled showers were installed in others. Although modern in design, with the help of china pedestal sinks, high-tank toilets, and tile work reminiscent of vintage bathrooms, Adele accomplished what she had set out to do, and the historic flavor of th
e old Victorian cottage was never lost. It could be seen in the paint and the wallpaper, in the antique sconces on the walls, in the window treatments and the woodwork, and even in the pattern of the carpet running down the hallways upstairs. A carpet, which, as Judy climbed the steps, appeared to have Robin’s full attention.
“You forgot something,” Judy said as she reached the second-floor landing. “I saw this stuff on the reception desk and figured we were going to need it.”
Robin had only been upstairs for a minute, but it was enough time to get back on track. Even though she jumped when Judy appeared and interrupted her thoughts, at least they had returned to being chaste thoughts. A definite plus.
“Thanks,” Robin said, and slipping the notepad under her arm, she clipped the measuring tape to her belt, but as she began to slip the pen in her pocket, her eyebrows drew together. “Where did you find this?” she asked, holding up the ballpoint.
“Oh, I didn’t see one on the desk, so I grabbed it out of my backpack. Why?”
“Because I’ve lost at least a dozen since I moved in, and I thought you may have found my cats’ stash. I have no idea why they’ve developed a fixation on pens and pencils, but if I don’t find some soon, I’m going to be writing in eyeliner.”
Judy pressed her lips together to smother her smile, but there was no stopping the twinkle in her eyes from appearing. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say it wasn’t the cats.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because it was probably Isobel.”
Robin leaned her head to the side. “Who’s Isobel?”
“The ghost,” Judy said nonchalantly, and completely ignoring the fact Robin’s mouth had just dropped open, Judy walked toward Sunset Shores. “How about we start in here?”
Robin wanted to laugh. She really wanted to laugh, but her mirth was being strangled by a noose in the form of a memory.
On her first night in the house, gripping a lamp for protection, Robin had crept upstairs in search of a noise. It was a noise that had traveled down this hallway, the oaken planks creaking as if they were being walked on, and it was a noise Robin had never identified. She had methodically checked every room, and she had also closed every door along the way.
Robin’s heart began to race as she looked down the hallway, her eyes shifting from one open door to the next. The hairs on the back of her neck sprang to attention, and she slowly calmed them with a swipe of her hand.
The drizzle of the morning had long since gone, and sunlight was flooding the hall from the windows at each end. Everything that would have been lost in shadows was illuminated, and Robin had never been so happy to see dust bunnies in her life. Gathered like tumbleweeds in the corners and under accent tables, they lay motionless, and Robin breathed a little easier. Nothing was lurking in the hallway except for her.
Judy was standing near the window, and she grinned when the scent of Robin’s cologne alerted her that she had finally made it into Sunset Shores. “I don’t know about you,” she said without turning around. “But I think the only thing this room needs is some fresh paint on the trim and maybe a little updating in the bathroom.”
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
Judy’s heart sank. She adored the color scheme in Sunset Shores, and with a heavy sigh, she turned around. “You don’t like this room?”
“I’m not talking about the room,” Robin said, taking another step inside. “I’m talking about what you said in the hallway?”
“Huh?”
“The ghost?”
“Oh, you mean Isobel,” Judy said with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about her. She’s harmless.”
Robin opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, and then opened it again. “I’m...I’m not sure what’s more ridiculous here. You saying there’s a ghost in this house or the fact it doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“It doesn’t really bother anybody. You kind of get used to it.”
“Wait,” Robin said, holding up her hands. “Are you saying that everyone on the island knows there’s a ghost living in my house?”
“No, of course not.”
“Thank goodness.”
“I’m saying that everyone on the island knows there are ghosts all over Mackinac.”
“What!”
It was clear by the disappearance of Robin’s eyebrows into her hairline, she wasn’t too keen on the idea of ghosts, and Judy tried not to laugh. “Why is this news to you?” Judy said, sitting down on the bed. “I know you haven’t been here since you were a kid, but didn’t you at least research Mackinac before moving here?”
“I did, but there weren’t any mention of ghosts on the island’s website.”
Judy’s smile rose to the surface. “That’s the only site you went to?”
“I was in the middle of packing and rearranging my flipping life,” Robin said, waving her hands in the air. “I didn’t delve into the deep, dark secrets of the island. I just found out what I needed to know to move here.”
“Well, it’s hardly a deep, dark secret, Robin. Mackinac is known all over the world as having one of the largest ghost populations around. Some even say there are more ghosts here than there are residents.”
“Okay, now you’re shitting me.”
“I am not!” Judy said, amused that Robin’s complexion was getting whiter by the second. “There are dozens of books written about the hauntings on Mackinac. Paranormal groups come up here all the time to do research, and even one of those ghost hunting shows on television was here to film an episode not too long ago. I’m serious, Robin. When it comes to ghosts, Mackinac has most everybody beat.”
“I think I need to sit down,” Robin said, and going over to the bed, she sat next to Judy.
“Are you okay?” Judy said, her smile fading as she placed her hand on Robin’s leg. “You look a little pale.”
“I just need a minute,” Robin said softly.
“Are you afraid of ghosts?”
Robin had heard the question, and she did indeed need a minute to get her head around the concept of living on a ghost-infested island, but once she felt the warmth of Judy’s hand on her leg, Robin decided to take as much time as she needed.
Between the black of belief and the white of doubt is an area called gray. A zone that exists in all, it holds the teeter-totter of possibilities that fluctuate as information is provided. For some, the black of belief is unwavering. Whether it is in God or in country they go forth in faith, yet for those doubtful or ambiguous, until the belief is etched in stone in front of their eyes, until they are given proof, they live comfortably in a fog of gray...and Robin was no longer comfortable.
There was no reason to doubt what Judy was saying. It if had been a stranger, some practical joker just trying to get a rise out of her, Robin would have easily laughed it off, but this wasn’t a stranger. This was a woman who had lived on Mackinac for twenty-five years. A woman who had no reason to lie. A woman who had rattled off facts easily checked if Robin so desired, and a woman whose hand now felt like a brand on Robin’s thigh.
“Robin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t know you were afraid of ghosts.”
“I-I’m not. Not really,” Robin said, raising her eyes to meet Judy’s. “It’s just...um...well, a minute ago, I didn’t believe in ghosts, and now I find out I’m living with one. It kind of takes the wind out of your sails, you know?”
“Yeah. Been there, done that,” Judy said, sniggering under her breath. “When I first moved here, I think it was three months before I took a bath with the lights on.”
The modicum of color that had returned to Robin’s face faded in an instant, and closing her eyes, she fell back onto the bed. “Oh crap. I didn’t even think about that. I’m never going to be able to take a bath again.”
Judy got to her feet, waving her hand through the air to disperse the billion particles of dust Robin had dislodged from the blanket. “Sure you will. You'll just do it in the dark for a while
until you get used to the idea of being spied on by the spirits of the dead.”
Robin opened one eye. “You’re not helping. I hope you know that.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll behave,” Judy said, giggling as she held out her hand. “No more talk about ghosts.”
“No,” Robin said, and taking Judy’s hand, she allowed herself to be pulled back into a sitting position. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want to talk about ghosts. I want to know what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well...” Robin stopped for a moment. “For starters, what makes Mackinac a magnet for poltergeists? Why not St. Ignace or Lansing or Chicago, for Christ’s sake? Why here?”
Merriment danced in Judy’s eyes. “You mean besides the fact that almost the entire island was once an Indian burial ground?”
Robin’s jaw went slack. “I swear to God, if the next thing out of your mouth is that coffins have popped out of the ground on this flipping island, I’m seriously out of here.”
Judy threw back her head and laughed. “I can honestly say that’s never happened on Mackinac, but the residents still get a kick out of that movie.”
“Hits a little close to home, does it?”
“Maybe just a little,” Judy said with a shrug. “And to tell you the truth, it’s really not the whole island that was a burial ground, but between the areas that were and all the people who died here during the wars and plagues and stuff, there are a lot of bodies buried on Mackinac. Actually, it’s rumored when the Grand Hotel was being built, they discovered so many bones they just decided to build the hotel on top of them instead of moving them all.”
Robin wrinkled her nose. “Oh, that’s gross.”
“Yeah, but it’s just a rumor. It’s never been proven as far as I know.”
“Except for all the disembodied spirits, you mean.”
