Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts

by A. J. Matthews

  "1863?" Claudia mused. "Until Gettysburg in July that year, it was still anybody's war. After that, the South was never going to win."

  "Good job too." Martin read on. "It seems James thought the same. In 1864, a Pinkerton agent in Charleston reported seeing him board a blockade-runner, the Southern Cross out of Wilmington, bound for Liverpool, England. Hah!" He pointed at the next line. "It says here the vessel belonged to the late Colonel Joshua Cloverdale!"

  Claudia gasped. "The family had a shipping business!"

  "Somehow I imagined them as plantation owners."

  "You've seen Gone with the Wind too many times." Claudia grinned and poked him in the ribs. "So he went abroad, to England and all points east. I guess he had a price on his head too. With his record, he'd face the noose for sure if he stayed around. When did he come back to the US of A?"

  "Nothing here to say," Martin said, after he had checked the few remaining papers. "It seems he left the scene to cool off for a good long while before returning. Ah!" He tapped a sheet headed Baltimore Department of Police. "An attempted burglary at the house of a certain Mr. and Mrs. Palmer! The police failed to catch the intruder. And here's an unconfirmed report of a man answering James' description having been seen loitering outside the house during the week previous."

  "He was still trying to get hold of the jewels." Claudia set her chin on her hand and looked at him. "Martin, we never really asked ourselves why he wanted the necklace."

  "Humph! You're right. I always assumed his aim was to return it to his side of the Cloverdale family. Yet it looks as if he was the sole survivor. There's no record of his ever marrying. What about the family estate and the shipping business? Would he inherit those?"

  "Perhaps. I'm not sure if they would have done him any good," Claudia replied softly. "Aside from the fact he was a wanted man, he may not have had a business to inherit. Taxes in the Southern states went sky-high after the war. It was a case of the Union government screwing them to pay for the war they caused. A lot of Southern businesses went to the wall due to their inability to pay."

  "Foreclosure?"

  "Uh huh."

  "So it's possible he was ruined, even if he hired a manager to run things whilst he was in exile. Reason enough to want a few thousand dollars worth of gold and rubies."

  "Perhaps Claire inherited the Cloverdale estate!" Claudia said, sitting up in excitement. "As the widow of the gallant Captain, she'd have a good case, especially if the other family members died without issue. Perhaps the tax authorities would have been more lenient if the business was Northern-owned?"

  "Perhaps," Martin said dryly, thinking of the prosaic attitude his own office would take in similar circumstances. "But if so, it would be one more reason for James to hate her. Thinking of 'the fine Yankee whore' lording it over his family fortune would probably have driven him a bit mental."

  "Nice turn of phrase." Claudia laughed. "But apt!"

  Martin read on. "It says his rented apartment was searched by the police the next day. Nothing suspicious was found."

  Claudia held up a browning photograph showing the dead man lying on a mortuary table. Heavy bruising covered the upper parts of his body and his face was swollen. "And here he is," she said sadly. "All that passion, all that life, snuffed out, reduced to mere meat on a slab."

  "Ugly," Martin said sympathetically as he took her hand. "Yet now you know yourself, there's life beyond life."

  "It's a great comfort, Martin." She sighed and leaned close. Her lips twitched. "That's one of the great mysteries of life settled. Now, if we can figure out why people phone just as you get settled in the bath, we'll be rolling!"

  "That I can't help you with!"

  Giuseppe Loretto's folder was slim by comparison. The statements given by the hotel manager and others present at his apparent suicide were all included, along with the autopsy report.

  "'The cause of death was due to injuries sustained by a fall from a great height,'" Claudia read aloud. "’The body is in poor condition due to the impact.’ No mention of any burns on the hands. Cloverdale got away with it—at least, for a while."

  "It looks like it." Martin leafed through the rest of the report, pausing to scan any particularly relevant passages. "These statements report Giuseppe being suspected of theft. He had no previous record. Here's a police report concerning a search of his quarters along with all the others in the staff area, all negative. No jewels, not even a trace."

  "We've drawn a blank, then." Claudia rubbed her face and sat back in her chair.

  "Possibly. We've learnt quite a bit, though. There must be something here which will take us further."

  "Not much time to go," she said. "The potential buyers still seemed keen on the hotel this morning. Looks like Kyle could be in for a sale at last."

  "How soon?"

  She shrugged. "Depends. Could be a couple of days, could be a month."

  "We have some time, then. Oh, well, let's pack up here and have a coffee somewhere. We need to think about the next step."

  As Martin began to replace the contents in the folders he hesitated, then drew them out again. "Odd," he murmured, looking at the covers.

  "What is?" Claudia asked.

  "These bar-code strips have the words 96th Precinct printed underneath, yet the covers read the 112th."

  "A mistake?"

  "I doubt it. We can ask the archivist."

  When approached, the archivist smiled understandingly. "No, there's no mistake. The NYPD goes through the occasional spate of reorganization, just like any other public body. The precincts were re-numbered in this borough to account for the expansion in housing, that's all."

  "When did these files come here to be archived?" Martin asked.

  "Just a minute, and I'll tell you." The archivist scanned the bar-code under the laser and checked his computer screen. "1996. Every precinct off-loads a batch of files each year just to free up storage space. Looks like they were two of a number sent in for that year."

  Martin thanked the archivist and returned the files to the stack.

  Claudia squeezed his arm. "Mike the watchman was a cop in the 96th Precinct," she murmured as they made their way out. "Could he know anything about the files?"

  "It's possible." Martin chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Having said that, why would he? They're over a hundred years old; there's nothing remarkable about them."

  "Guess you're right," she said with a frown. "It could be a coincidence."

  "The universe runs on coincidence." Martin smiled and linked arms with her.

  "Even in a case of haunting?" she asked skeptically.

  "Um…no. Perhaps not. We'd better see if we can speak to the security firm manager. There may be something he knows about Mike that could set us right."

  "We'd better go see him in person. He won't be able to evade easily if we see him face-to-face."

  * * * *

  Unfortunately the manager was made of sterner stuff. When they tackled him on the subject in his office downtown he held up his hands.

  "Look, folks, I can't tell you anything about our employees, past or present. Mike broke the rules, he paid for it. He's no longer working for this company, period."

  "Can't you even give us his address? We need to talk to him."

  "No way! I'll get sued if I let unauthorized people have that information, and you aren't authorized. Now, if you don't mind, I got work to do."

  "We could try the other security men," Martin suggested as they made their way down to the street.

  "It's all we have left." Claudia checked her watch. "That or check the hotel office, see if he left anything with his address on it."

  * * * *

  At the Chestnut Mansion, Tom let them in.

  "You just missed the showing party, folks," he told them as they made their way to the office. "That guy Marshall looked like the cat who got the cream."

  "Uh-oh!" Claudia grimaced. "I know that look of old. I think he just made a sale. Martin, we really don'
t have much time now." She turned to the watchman. "Tom? I need to get in touch with Mike, the guy who used to do this job. Do you know where he lives?"

  "I used to, ma'am," he replied, with a slow shake of the head. "I heard tell he moved recently, though. Why do you need him?" he asked suspiciously.

  "He may have information about something that happened here once," Martin replied as they headed into the office.

  "You won't get much out of that remf," Tom muttered.

  "Remf?" Martin asked, eyebrow raised. "What does that mean?"

  "A term we had in 'Nam. It stands for Rear Echelon Mother-F…" Tom glanced at Claudia who was beginning to search the desk. "I guess you can figure out the last word," he said with a wry smile and a nod towards her. "Mike was one of those. They sat around the rear areas, all nice and cozy, just heaping the tin on themselves and saying how tough it was there; but they did f-all fighting. I knew him slightly, back in '68. He was a jerk then, and he's a jerk now."

  "It would help a lot if we knew his surname," Claudia muttered moodily, flicking through a notebook.

  "Covington, Mike Covington. What? What?" Tom asked, as they stared at him.

  * * * *

  A check at Mike's last known address drew a blank as the day drew to a close. Claudia paced the lounge of her apartment, in animated conversation on her cell phone whilst Martin sat quietly watching her, admiring her energy.

  "No forwarding address!" she fumed, closing her cell. "It's as if the guy expected trouble and he's covering his tracks."

  "It makes me more certain than ever that he knows something of the jewels." Martin sighed and leaned back in the sofa.

  "You're sure he's related to James Cloverdale?"

  "It would be an awful coincidence if he wasn't. That's why we drew a blank over James marrying and having kids. If he did, it wasn't under his family name but his alias."

  "And Mike is his descendant!"

  "And he knows about the jewels, either through family legend or something he once found in the police archives." Martin leaned forward and stared at her. "Think about it. If he knew that a fortune in jewels was possibly hidden in the hotel, he'd be in a perfect position to search for them without being disturbed. I'm sure it's why my sensors were interfered with; he didn't want us to know what he was doing whilst we were out of the building."

  "Could he have found the jewels? It'd be a good reason to bug out of his job and his apartment."

  "No," Martin said slowly. "All we've experienced so far would be pointless if he'd found them. They must still be there."

  "Could he have been contacted by his great-grand-pappy or whatever, the way this presence contacted us?"

  "Possibly. Without seeing the man, I couldn't say."

  "Well…" Claudia was interrupted by her phone ringing. She swore softly when she saw the name of the caller on the tiny blue screen. "Hi, Kyle…" She pulled a sour face at Martin as she listened. "Yeah… Yeah? I'm not sure… Well, yeah…" The other voice went on at some length, with Martin catching only the faint angry buzzing of the bombastic manager. "Whatever you say, Kyle. Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye."

  Claudia snapped the phone shut.

  "Trouble?" he asked, rising to take her in his arms.

  "Trouble, Martin." Claudia sighed, cuddling close.

  "What kind?"

  "As in the Kyle Marshall kind. The hotel's all but sold. The potential buyer doesn't care about ghosts." She squeezed him gently. "Martin, I'm sorry. There's no easy way to say this, but the case is closed. Marshall has told me to tell you your services are no longer required. He's paid you in full to date and terminated your contract."

  Chapter Ten

  Claudia leaned on one elbow beside Martin, tracing a finger through his chest hair. They lay together quietly in her bed, listening to the hum of traffic in the street far below. "How are you feeling?" she asked at last.

  "Not too chipper." He sighed. "It was all rather abrupt."

  "I know, and I'm sorry. Maybe there's something we can still do to close the case without needing to go into the hotel."

  "Perhaps. We'll have to sleep on it."

  "If we sleep!" She laughed wickedly. "Look, are you planning to go home to England just yet?"

  "And leave you so soon?" He smiled up at her in the soft half-light and stroked her chin. "No."

  Claudia nestled her cheek into the palm of his hand. "Would you like to stay with me? If you don't need to rush home, I'd love to spend time with you. You haven't seen much of New York while you've been here, and I'd like to make up for the way you were treated. My girlfriend got me tickets for an off-Broadway comedy production, so we could take in the show."

  "I'd like all of that, Claudia. Thank you very much," he replied happily.

  "Great!" She smiled wickedly at him as her hand slipped down over his stomach. "In the meantime, let's find something to do nearer home."

  She kissed him deeply as she fondled his cock. A delicious thrill of anticipation ran through her as she felt it hardening in her hand; that unique, living feel of a man, a handsome, charming man, so warm and tender and passionate.

  "Mmmph!" he mumbled, stirring against her, and she felt his strong, dexterous fingers stroking along her arm and then down to her breast. He had already found what she liked, for he pinched her nipple, rubbing it between finger and thumb.

  "Ooooh!" She gave him a sultry look. "I like that. Is there something I can do for you?"

  "You could suck me, if you like?" he whispered.

  "I like," she said, smiling at the hopefulness in his voice. So reserved, these Brits! "I think you'd best lie back for this."

  Martin lay back, trembling with barely controlled lust as she straddled his thighs and closed both her hands around his shaft. She leaned over it and inhaled discreetly. It smelled sweet and clean. Nice to know some guys take that little extra care. Tenderly she rolled back his foreskin, exposing the heavy purple bulb. A trickle of pre-cum dripped from it and she licked it away, savoring his taste. Moistening her lips, she glanced up at him, winked, then set to work.

  *

  Martin tipped his head back and sighed deeply as Claudia's tongue and lips began to weave a spell on him. He was astonished at how deep into her mouth she could take him, and trembled at the feel of her fingernails lightly scratching his balls. He looked down, marveling at the sight of the beautiful woman engaged so earnestly in pleasuring him. His shaft slid in and out of her mouth as her head bobbed rhythmically, the picture framed by her long red hair. Claudia's hand was between her parted thighs; she was masturbating, using her only her fingertips to stroke herself.

  Jenny would never do anything like this! He thought ruefully. Martin hoped that this wonderful relationship, unlooked-for but oh so welcome, would develop. He was falling deeply in love with this smart, beautiful Indianan.

  The feel of her lips and tongue around his cock and balls were having a huge effect. It was so different from entering a pussy. He was so looking forward to the time they could make love without a rubber. He wanted to experience Claudia's wonderful body in every way possible.

  He stroked her hair, running his fingers through the shining coppery strands, teasing it out to the very ends. With his long fingers he caressed her head, following the shape of her ears and jaw. A weird feeling, almost of detachment came over him as his senses quickened with every stroke of his cock in and out of Claudia's mouth. His nerves trembled, a tingling rose up the back of his neck and into his ears. The room suddenly became brighter.

  "Oh! Oh! Oohh!" He gasped as a feeling of pressure rose in the root of his cock. "Gonna cum!"

  Claudia stopped briefly and looked up at him with sultry eyes. "That's it! Cum for me, Marty, cum for me!" she whispered.

  She engulfed his cock once more, running her tongue all over his throbbing head, feeling the heat of his blood pounding in the thick meat. Martin twitched and shuddered, then gasped. "Oh God!"

  He gave a jerk and his cock thrust deep into her throat.

 
; *

  Claudia was prepared. She drew back quickly and took the first jet of cum in her open mouth, tasting the salty bitterness. Holding his shaft she watched through blinking eyes as jet after jet of creamy white cum shot up from Martin's engorged cock. Hot wet cum impacted on her face and throat and trickled downwards. Moving his cock, she directed more of it at her breasts until they swam with his juice.

  At last he was spent. She looked up at him, smiling with deep pleasure at the brief look of stupidity that always came over men's faces in the aftermath of climax. When his eyes stopped rolling enough to focus on her, she slowly wiped his juice from her breasts, her eyes fixed on his. Raising her fingers to her lips, she deliberately licked them clean.

  The look on his face made her fall even deeper in love with Martin Grey.

  * * * *

  In the morning Martin breakfasted on a piece of toast whilst he read the paper. Claudia bustled about getting ready for work, a pleasant background sound of domestic activity he realized he'd missed over the years of a single life.

  "I'm going to look into what we can do in the hotel," she said decisively. "Maybe the new owners will concede a point and let you finish the job if they don't have to pay for your services. If not, there's always that Baker guy. You could see what he wants."

  "It's a possibility. There's one ploy I'd like to try at the hotel if I can."

  "What's that?"

  "A séance."

  Claudia stopped short and looked at him. "A séance? Are you serious?"

  "Yes. I think it's time we forced the pace; see if we can persuade the presence, or spirits that time is running out."

  She looked dubious. "I've never done anything like that before. Will it work?"

  "It should do. To be honest, I can't think of anything else."

  "Okay, I'll see what I can do. You're sure you'll be okay until I get back?" she asked, stooping to kiss him.

  "Apart from missing you terribly already, I think I can cope," he smiled, cuddling her.

  "Good to hear it!" She smiled, kissed him again, and picked up her attaché case. "And Martin? Try not to brood on all this."