Mystique

by Charlotte Douglas

  Concern for her sister brought a sob to her throat and tears to her eyes. If Deb was lost on the mountain in this weather, she was cold and miserable and would probably give anything to be back in the relative warmth and security of these dark and gloomy rooms that Trish found so depressing and intimidating.

  A knock at the sitting room door startled her, and she felt her way through the shadows, bumping her knees and stubbing her toes against the furniture as she navigated a path to the door.

  “Who’s there?” she asked.

  “Ludie May with housekeeping,” a drawling female voice answered.

  Happy for company, Trish unlocked and opened the door and almost screamed with alarm. The light of the fluorescent lantern the maid held at her waist threw distorting shadows upward across her face, creating a gnomelike effect. Trish bit back her startled cry and remembered how she and Deb as children had played in the dark with flashlights, holding them beneath their chins to create the same scary appearance.

  Ludie May lifted the lantern and handed it to her, and her weathered face resumed its former rough hewn but nonthreatening aspect. “Thought you might want this. Storm’s knocked the power out, but Judd’ll have the generator going soon.”

  Trish accepted the lantern gratefully. “Thanks.”

  “And if you’re through with lunch, I can clear them dishes for you.”

  “Please.” Trish stepped aside to let the older woman enter.

  Ludie May rolled in a cart from the hall and began loading it with dishes and the remains of lunch. “This your first time at Endless Sky?”

  “Yes, it is.” Trish placed the lantern on the mantel where it cast a feeble blue-white glow across the sitting room.

  “Well, don’t let folks scare you with talk of ghosts,” Ludie May warned.

  “Ghosts?” Although Trish had accepted her gift of telepathy years ago as a highly developed extension of what others called intuition, her belief in the paranormal didn’t extend to roaming spirits of the dead. However, in the dark and gloomy atmosphere of the resort, almost anything seemed possible. “They’re only stories, right?”

  Ludie May glanced up from her work with a somber expression. “So some claim, but plenty folks have seen ’em.”

  “Have you?” Trish asked, humoring the woman.

  Ludie May nodded solemnly. “This hotel was built on sacred Cherokee ground. Spirits still walk here.”

  Ignorant superstition, Trish thought, but kept the conversation going, hoping Ludie May would stay and keep her company longer. “But they’re friendly spirits, aren’t they?”

  “Some are. Some ain’t.” Ludie May dropped her voice. “Just don’t go off anywhere alone. I warned that Ms. Devlin, too, but she didn’t pay me no mind.”

  “You think evil spirits are responsible for her disappearance?” Trish asked in disbelief.

  “If’n they was good ’uns, would the poor woman be missing?” Ludie May insisted with contorted logic. She loaded the last dish onto her cart, pushed it toward the door, then paused on the threshold. “Ghosts appear even in daytime here, missy. You be careful.”

  With that cryptic warning, she rolled the cart away and shut the door behind her.

  In that instant, either the custodian activated the generator or the resort’s electrical connections were restored. Every light in the room blazed, causing Trish to squint in the sudden brightness.

  Ghosts, she thought with a shake of her head. More likely, Deb had tripped and fallen some where, spraining an ankle so she couldn’t return. When the search-and-rescue teams resumed operations, she assured herself, they’d discover Deb, bring her back to the resort, and the two sisters could enjoy the rest of their stay together while Deb’s ankle healed.

  A deep chill of foreboding destroyed whatever comfort Trish’s self-assurances had given her and made her wonder if Ludie May had been right.

  Were evil spirits stalking Endless Sky? And had Deb run afoul of them?

  HOURS LATER, refreshed by a short nap, Trish entered the dining room that mirrored the architecture and mission-style furnishings of the lobby. Her earlier thoughts of evil spirits seemed silly among the lights, laughter and muted conversations of the gathered guests. Soft classical music wafted through the room, where most of the elegantly attired guests were already seated at several round tables covered with forest-green linen and set with Endless Sky’s signature china and silverware. Heavy sterling, multibranched candelabra surrounded by flowers and filled with lighted tapers centered each table and cast an intimate glow that complemented the blaze from the hearth.

  “I’ve reserved you a chair, Erin.” O’Neill ap peared at her elbow, and she was happy to see his familiar face among the sea of strangers. “We rotate our seating every few days, so guests have an opportunity to get to know one another.”

  “That’s great!” She flashed her best social-climbing smile and dug deep for the energy to project the right amount of ditzy enthusiasm. “As I said in the car, meeting new people is the main reason I’m here. I hope you’ve placed me with the best-looking single guys.”

  She suppressed a cringe at her blatant behavior and batted her eyelashes.

  “You’ll be at my table tonight,” he said, his expression unreadable.

  “Well, there you go.” She threw him a glance that she hoped looked hot and flirtatious and not pathetically unpracticed. Too bad she couldn’t have gone undercover as a wallflower librarian, a role for which she felt much better suited.

  As he’d been earlier at the airport, O’Neill was dressed entirely in black. But tonight he wore a black tuxedo with a coordinating black collarless shirt, severe but fashionable, the style a Hollywood star might don for the Academy Awards. Its custom fit emphasized his handsome physique, and the severe black complemented his dark tan and the unusual deep blue of his eyes. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he appeared even more handsome than he had this afternoon. And more dangerous. The kind of man who’d break a woman’s heart without a qualm or backward look.

  “I hope you weren’t inconvenienced by the temporary blackout,” he said.

  Trish shook her head. “The resort seems to have prepared for every contingency.”

  “Not every,” he murmured.

  She followed his gaze to the glass doors that overlooked a broad terrace and the lawn beyond. Headlights and the beams of powerful handheld spotlights cut through the darkness and crisscrossed the lawn. The search-and-rescue teams had returned.

  “The moon’s almost full tonight,” O’Neill said. “It will help the search.”

  Trish issued a silent prayer that they would find Deb and vowed to hit the trails for her own search at first light the next morning. Forcing another vampish grin, she slipped her hand through the crook of O’Neill’s elbow as he led her to the table nearest the fireplace.

  At well over six feet, he towered above her, and she could feel the heat from the corded muscles of his arm through the expensive fabric of his tux. He threw her an engaging smile that exposed perfect white teeth, and she wondered if he ever grew tired of playing escort to the wealthy women who moved in and out of his life every few weeks.

  Three other people were already seated at their table, and the two men stood as O’Neill pulled out Trish’s chair.

  The first was elderly, a rake-thin man, in his eighties at least, who accompanied a woman who was his contemporary. O’Neill made the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Avery, meet Erin Fairchild.”

  “Delighted, my dear,” Avery said with old-fashioned gallantry and shook her hand before taking his seat.

  Mrs. Avery, dressed in gray silk and multiple strands of pearls, inclined her head, a royal nod of both acknowledgment and dismissal.

  “And this is Chad Englewood.”

  The second man, about O’Neill’s age, blond, buff and attired in a traditional tuxedo, grasped Trish’s hand and grinned widely. His breath held the aroma of too many before-dinner drinks. “Hello, gorgeous. When did you get here?”

/>   “This afternoon, just in time for the blackout.” Trish settled in her chair between O’Neill and Chad.

  Chad took his seat and leaned toward her. “Get used to it. One of the inconveniences of living in the wilds.”

  Considering the opulence of their surroundings, Trish couldn’t help laughing. “If this is the wilds, I’d love to see civilization.” She noted the empty chair on Chad’s other side. “Will your wife be joining us?”

  “God, I hope not!” he blurted, then laughed at Trish’s shocked expression. “I have an ex-wife, who, please God, is still on the West Coast in Santa Barbara and will stay there.”

  “Victoria Westbrook will round out our table tonight,” O’Neill announced.

  “Where are you from?” Chad asked Erin, “and what brings you to Endless Sky?”

  “I’m from Palm Beach, and I’m here to escape the Florida heat.” She looked across the table to the Averys, intending to draw them into the conversation. Chad had latched on to her with an intensity she hoped to discourage, but the Averys’ attention was riveted by a platter of hors d’oeuvres as they made their selections.

  “Don’t mind them,” Chad said in a loud whisper. “They’re not only deaf as posts, she won’t have anything to do with the rest of us. Old money from Atlanta. She doesn’t mix with riffraff.”

  Trish cut a glance at O’Neill, but his expression, as usual, was inscrutable. She had the distinct impression, however, that he was keenly aware not only of the conversation at their table but of everything else that was happening throughout the room as the uniformed waiters served the first course.

  Hurried footsteps and the rustle of fabric announced the arrival of Victoria Westbrook. The striking redhead in her late twenties wore a strapless dress of copper silk that exposed creamy shoulders and showcased a necklace of diamonds, topaz and gold filigree. Her upswept hair called attention to spectacular matching earrings. With flushed cheeks and a harried demeanor, she slid into the empty seat beside Chad.

  “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find my bracelet. I could have sworn I’d packed it, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Ms. Westbrook,” O’Neill said with his usual smooth manners, “this is Erin Fairchild from Palm Beach.”

  Trish held her breath, then released it with relief when no one queried her about the Fairchilds. She’d picked the name from thin air, not knowing such a Palm Beach family actually existed.

  “Hi.” Victoria’s smile was friendly. She gazed at Trish and her brown eyes widened. “Great dress. I love Versace.”

  For a second, Trish’s mind went blank. Then she realized that Victoria was referring to the second hand designer gown she’d purchased last year in a consignment shop. “Thanks. Me, too.”

  Panic was beginning to set in. With O’Neill silent but vigilant on one side and the Averys incommunicado across the table, Trish worried how she’d keep up a conversation without exposing the fact that she didn’t belong among these wealthy guests. Her concern soon dissolved under the constant patter of Victoria’s words. The woman chatted nonstop about her shopping expedition the previous day to Cashiers and Highlands and monopolized the conversation throughout the main course. Somehow, she managed to eat and talk while displaying impeccable table manners.

  When Victoria finally paused for breath, Chad glanced toward the terrace doors. “Any sign of the reporter?”

  O’Neill tensed, but said nothing. Trish feigned ignorance. “Reporter?”

  “The woman who’s missing,” Chad said. “She’s a reporter for the Tampa Tribune.”

  Victoria made a face. “What’s a reporter doing here?” She fixed O’Neill with a look of annoyance. “People expect their privacy at Endless Sky.”

  “Are you suggesting,” O’Neill said mildly, “that I should run background checks on everyone who registers?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Avery shifted her attention from her veal piccata and spoke for the first time. Her haughty gaze swept the others at the table before focusing on the resident manager. “You could weed out undesirables that way.”

  “I know why Debra Devlin is here,” Chad announced with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

  “Really?” Trish didn’t have to fake surprise.

  “She’s looking for the same person I am,” he said.

  “And who would that be?” O’Neill’s well-modulated voice revealed only the slightest interest.

  “Quinn Stevens.”

  “Mr. Stevens isn’t here,” O’Neill said.

  Chad shrugged. “That’s what I’d expect you to say. He owns the place, so he’s your boss. If he wanted to stay here incognito, it would be your job to protect his privacy.”

  “It’s my job to protect the privacy of all our guests.”

  “How do you know this reporter was looking for Quinn Stevens?” Trish asked Chad.

  He paused while a waiter served his dessert, flan garnished with a blackberry sauce. “She questioned me. She was convinced Stevens is among the guests, and she was using the process of elimination to find him. She seemed hell-bent on getting an interview with him.”

  “And why are you looking for Stevens?” O’Neill asked.

  Angry color suffused Chad’s face. “I have a score to settle with the Last Man Standing.”

  “A score?” Trish asked.

  “Like a duel?” Victoria’s eyes blazed with interest. “How exciting!”

  “Stevens cheated me in a real estate deal.”

  The venom in Chad’s voice made Trish shiver.

  “That’s a serious allegation,” O’Neill said in his usual calm tone.

  “His interference cost me serious money,” Chad said with a scowl. “And I intend to make him pay.”

  Trish turned the conversation back to Debra. If her sister had discovered Stevens, would the man resort to violence to guard his privacy? “But this reporter…had she figured out who Stevens is?”

  “If she had, she didn’t tell me.” Chad drove his spoon into his flan with a fury probably intended for Quinn Stevens.

  “O’Neill,” Victoria said, apparently tiring of talk of Stevens, “what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  “A white-water rafting expedition leaves at dawn. And the helicopter will be available to ferry guests into Asheville for the afternoon. There’s an arts-and-crafts street festival, with mountain music and clogging demonstrations.”

  “Will you be our pilot?” Victoria asked.

  “Not this time,” O’Neill said. “I have other duties tomorrow.”

  “You fly?” Trish wondered if O’Neill was ex-military, which would explain both his phenomenal build and possibly his taciturn personality.

  “Yes.”

  She waited, expecting more explanation, but O’Neill didn’t elaborate.

  Instead, he stood and placed his linen napkin on the table beside his untouched dessert. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see that the rescue teams have food and drink for themselves and their dogs.”

  He crossed the room toward the terrace, moving with the grace and confidence of an athlete in superb condition.

  Victoria watched him go and sighed. “He’s the best-looking man here. And the least approachable. I’m tempted to start a pool among the female guests. First one to be kissed by O’Neill wins.”

  Mrs. Avery sniffed. “Such vulgarity.”

  Eyes filled with mischief, Victoria grinned at the old lady. “Does that mean you’re in or out?”

  In response, Mrs. Avery stood with as much speed and dignity as her old bones allowed and stalked away with her husband trailing in her wake.

  “Put your money on kissing me, gorgeous,” Chad whispered in Trish’s ear, “and you’ll win the pool tonight.”

  “I’m flattered,” Trish lied, “but I can’t.”

  “Don’t tell me you left your heart in Palm Beach,” Chad said. “Who’s the lucky man?”

  Trish assumed what she hoped was an enigmatic smile and shrugged her shoulders. “Please excuse me. I’
ve had a busy day. I’m going to turn in early.”

  BACK IN HER SUITE, Trish shed her dress and Aunt Samantha’s diamonds for a soft T-shirt and sweat-pants. Someone, probably Ludie May, had a fire crackling in the sitting room fireplace. In the bedroom, the covers had been turned down and Godiva chocolates placed on the pillow. A basket on the night table held bottled water and several of the latest bestsellers. But, in spite of the amenities, her suite seemed more foreboding at night. More pronounced than earlier was the sensation that she wasn’t alone, a ridiculous notion, she assured herself, since the room was obviously empty.

  She recalled Ludie May’s warning about spirits, a claim Trish had laughed at in the light of day. Tonight, however, the eerie atmosphere at Endless Sky made anything seem possible.

  Too agitated to sleep, Trish opened the balcony doors and stared across the dark silhouettes of roll ing ridges that stretched as far as she could see. She remembered reading somewhere that these mountains were more ancient than the Rockies, and, therefore, more worn and less rugged. But beneath the wash of pale moonlight, they appeared rugged enough.

  Thoughts of Deb lost in that wilderness were too painful, so Trish picked up the latest Robert Parker mystery and tried to read. After a chapter, unable to concentrate on the printed page, she gave up and turned her mind to O’Neill. The man’s mystique had captured her imagination and made her want to know more about him.

  Yeah, right. She and every other woman at the resort, she thought, remembering Victoria’s fascination. O’Neill probably assumed his enigmatic facade to match the mystical atmosphere that pervaded the resort. He’d no doubt even trained the staff to mention ghosts and American Indian legends to the guests to enhance the effect.

  Knowing she needed rest if she planned to hike the trails in search of Deb in the morning, Trish turned off the bedside lamp and scooted beneath the covers. She’d never feared the dark, but the isolation and strange atmosphere of Endless Sky made her jumpy. She debated leaving a light on, then laughed at her own fears. Worry about Deb had made her understandably edgy. There was nothing to fear.