The honeymoon suite was a cabin secluded from the rest of the resort, with a brick walk leading through the trees to it. I almost gawked when I saw it. Two floors with a beautiful awning and a front porch with a swing. Emily wasn’t kidding when she said it was her finest accommodation.
“I think you two will like this place better,” said Chad. “The second floor is the bedroom with a master bath.” He opened the door and let us in, after which he handed the keys to Greg. “There is a powder room here, an indoor hot tub down there. There’s a small kitchenette, but you can order all of the room service you wish. Just tell them to put it all on the honeymoon suite. Oh, and through here is your living room and a nice breakfast area that looks out onto the rest of the resort.”
I stepped into the breakfast area with it luxurious bay window. The resort did look nice with its lights, though the police scurrying about detracted from the charm.
“The closet upstairs will have some things you can wear until we are able to get you your bags.”
A knock sounded at the door. Chad opened it.
“Oh,” said the same woman who had brought the fruit basket to our original cabin, “Chad, uh, Emily sent me with these: towels, toiletries, pillows, and extra blankets. I even have some night things for you to wear, from our clothing store.”
“Bring them in,” said Chad.
The woman rushed up the stairs to the master bedroom and came down five minutes later. “I do apologize for all of this,” she said as she left. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“She’s a sweet girl, and will take good care of you, “said Chad. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”
“Yeah,” spat the ghost; of course, only I heard him, “you can ask him why he killed me.”
At that moment, my stomach growled. I tried to downplay it, but neither Greg, nor Chad would let me.
“I will have some sandwiches sent from the kitchen,” said Chad as he left.
Chapter 4
The next morning, I awoke with a ray of sunlight peeking through the slit in the drawn curtains, stabbing me in the face. I crawled out of bed; the previous night’s events were a blur, until I opened my eyes and saw Billy’s fat face in front of me.
“Well, good morning,” he said in a grumpy tone.
“Go away,” I groaned. I was in no mood to talk to ghosts.
“You need to get dressed,” he said.
“Oh, go haunt someone else,” I replied.
“Well that’s not very friendly.”
“You’ve ruined my weekend with my boyfriend,” I hissed at him.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” said Billy. “We have a murder to solve. Mine.”
“Who are you talking to?” said Greg as he sat up in the bed.
“You remember the body that was in our bed last night?” I said. “His ghost is here.”
“Tell him to go away,” said Greg.
“I tried.”
I glared at Billy, not pleased that the one weekend I did not want to be bothered by a ghost, or another case of murder, was the one time I couldn’t get rid of him.
A knock rattled our door. I hurried down the stairs to the main floor and opened it. Chad stood there.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said, “but I just wanted to check in on you and make certain that everything is all right.”
“Oh, yeah, the room is great,” I replied. “Would you like to come in?”
I opened the door wider, allowing Chad to step inside.
“Was the suite’s temperature okay? If you need any more blankets or pillows, I can have them brought to you.”
“We slept comfortably,” I said. I could tell that Emily had sent him over to placate us in case we were angry over what had happened the night before, still afraid of suffering a lawsuit.
“That’s him,” hissed Billy in my ear. “That’s my murderer.”
I did my best to ignore him. Just then, Billy picked up a vase from a nearby side table and threatened to smash it over Chad’s head while his back was turned. I rushed forward, snatching the vase out of thin air and jerking it downward away from Chad’s head. He turned and faced me, giving me a quizzical look. I just smiled, while placing the vase back on its table.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I said.
Billy crossed his arms and frowned at me. He spotted a paperweight on the coffee table and scooped it up—of course it looked as though it moved on its own as only I could see him—and approached Chad, paperweight raised. I darted around him, snatching the paperweight and tossing it behind me where it landed on the sofa with a soft plop.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Chad.
“Yes,” I said.
Greg stomped down the steps at that moment, tying his robe closed. “Morning,” he greeted us in a cheery tone.
“Morning,” replied Chad. “I am just here to make sure that you both had a restful night. The cabin is comfortable?”
“Very much so,” replied Greg.
I noticed movement in the corner of my eye. Glancing over, I saw Billy sneaking up behind Chad with a… lamp? What had gotten into him? I steered Chad towards the kitchen while motioning to Greg to look to his left. He saw the floating lamp. Greg dove over the railing for the lamp, grabbing it, trying to wrench it free of Billy’s grasp. Before Chad was able to turn around, I yanked him further into the kitchen.
“The refrigerator seems to be running warm,” I said, “and I can’t figure out why.”
While Chad opened the refrigerator and looked inside, I glanced back at Greg who still struggled with Billy for control of the lamp. They swung one another back and forth—Greg almost toppled over on two occasions—the lamp jerking with such violence that I was afraid they might break something. I cringed when the bottom of the lamp nicked the wall.
“What was that?” asked Chad.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Well, I found your problem.”
“Oh?”
“This dial here”—he pointed at the temperature control on the side of the refrigerator—“was turned a bit too high. All you have to do is turn the knob and set it to the desired temperature.”
“Thanks,” I smiled at him, while blocking his view of Greg fighting over a lamp with an unseen force.
“I was wondering,” I said, “how far is the grocery store you talked about. I wanted to get some things for us to eat.”
“No problem,” said Chad. “The store is only a quarter of a mile from here and there is a path down that way. It’s been cleared of snow and has had fresh gravel laid on it. We also have a concierge service, that will go to the store for you and buy your groceries and deliver them to your room.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said.
Greg gave the lamp one final pull, freeing it from Billy’s grasp and shoved it behind a corner, regaining his composure.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” asked Chad.
“No,” Greg and I said in unison.
Chad’s face betrayed that he thought we were hiding something, which wasn’t far from the truth, but never voiced his concerns. “I’ll leave you to your day, then. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you require anything else.”
“We won’t,” I said, closing the door behind him. “Thanks.”
Once the door had latched, I slumped against it, breathing a huge sigh of relief. “What were you thinking?” I demanded of Billy.
“He is the one who killed me,” he replied.
“You don’t know that,” I said. “You, yourself, said that you didn’t know who struck you on the head. You’re just making false assumptions!”
“I am not,” said Billy. “You just don’t think he’s not guilty because of his good looks.”
I stared at him. True, Chad was drop dead gorgeous (dark hair, dreamy eyes), but that was not why I didn’t think he had killed Billy. The truth was, there was no evidence pointing to any particular individual as the murd
erer. I looked at Greg who watched me shouting at thin air; his face told me that he hadn’t heard Billy either.
Ghosts have the ability to decide who can see them and hear them, and who can’t. Rachel, who was the first ghost I had ever met, routinely dropped by my apartment, uninvited, and announced her presence by popping in and popping out at will so that all could see her. I think she enjoyed such things a bit too much. But there had been other ghosts, like Billy, who preferred that only a certain individual communicated with them.
“Do you care to explain what is going on?” asked Greg.
“The corpse we found in our bed belongs to a former employee here named Billy,” I said.
“And he is here, now,” said Greg.
“Yes,” I replied.
“So, why is he trying to hit the man that was just here with a lamp?”
“Billy, is convinced that Chad murdered him and he wants revenge.”
“You have to help me,” said Billy.
“Enough!” I yelled at him, growing irritated at his insistence that I help him put Chad in his grave. “I am not going to help you seek revenge.”
Billy’s face contorted in anger and he vanished. Relieved, though a bit worried about what he might do, I went back up the stairs to take a shower before breakfast.
Breakfast was uneventful, which was a relief, considering my entire stay so far had been anything but. We had gone to the only restaurant at the resort, and at Emily’s insistence, had been allowed back in, despite the fact that the manager had kicked us out the night before. I looked at Greg as he sat across the table from me, wondering how I was going to tell him that our romantic getaway would have to be put on hold. He beat me to it.
“So, what’s your next move?”
“Next move?” I asked.
Greg gave me his all-knowing look, informing me that I shouldn’t play coy. “Mel, a dead body was found in our bed last night and the ghost of the man just tried to attack one of the employees here. You’re not going to let this go, I know that. And the only way we will be able to enjoy the rest of our stay is if we find the one responsible for that man’s death. Besides, I would like to know who put him in our bed in the first place.”
“Oh, that would be Billy, the ghost himself,” I replied, without thinking.
“What?”
“He wanted to get my attention.”
“I’d say that it worked. So, what’s the plan?”
“There is a couples yoga in about an hour,” I said. “We could go to that. Not only will it look natural, but maybe we can glean some information from the other guests about Billy, if they knew him, or saw him around.”
“I don’t know if people will be talkative during a yoga session,” said Greg as he sipped his coffee.
“Maybe not, but it is a place to start. Besides, yoga is supposed to be relaxing, and we could use a little bit of that.”
“As long as your Aunt Ethel doesn’t show up in leotards,” quipped Greg.
I cringed as I remembered the time my aunt had shown up, unannounced, and tried to make us all do yoga, while dressed in polka-dotted leotards. “Promise,” I said.
Couples yoga was held in a somewhat remote area of the compound on a small hill. The morning sunlight glowed on the mound of wilted grass, which had just been cleared of its blanket of snow, giving it a golden sheen. Though chilly, people didn’t seem to mind the crispness of the air as they stretched, wearing nothing more than yoga pants and sweatshirts.
“Mel!”
I turned. Aimie waved at me as she bent over, touching her toes. I nudged Greg’s arm and steered him over to where Aimie was.
“Hey,” she greeted in a sing-song sort of way.
“Hi,” I said, returning the greeting. “Where’s Patrick?”
“Oh, he doesn’t care for yoga,” Aimie replied. “I know this is supposed to be couples yoga, but I don’t think they are going to kick me out just because I am here by myself. I just never wake up completely, unless I have my morning yoga.”
“I know what you mean,” I said.
“Oh, but you managed to bring your boyfriend,” exclaimed Aimie.
“Yeah, well,” I replied, “I had to promise to do something he loves later on today.”
“Oh, like what?” asked Aimie.
“Stargazing,” said Greg, before I could respond.
“You don’t like looking at the stars?” asked Aimie.
“Normally I do,” I said, “but in the summer, when it’s warmer.”
“I’m sure there is a way you two can keep warm tonight, while staring at the stars,” Aimie said, with a wink.
“Stop talking to me like that you old crone!”
We all turned towards the harsh voice behind us. It belonged to a man, who looked to be in his 60s, as he continued to berate his wife.
“Don’t you call me an old crone you flabby old fart. You know, a few sit-ups, and a little less beer, wouldn’t hurt you!” His wife put her hands on her hips, daring him to respond with a snappy comeback.
“One of these days, I am going to—”
“Oh, you’ve been saying that since the day I married your sorry butt.”
We watched the two as they continued to berate one another. “Who are they?” I finally asked.
“Morgan and Burt,” laughed Aimie. “The old, married couple around here. I overheard Emily congratulating them on their 35th year of marriage. Hard to believe, right?”
“Hello, everybody,” said a female voice as the instructor arrived.
We all took our places, spreading out our mats.
“I know that it is a bit chilly this morning, but I think we will be okay,” the instructor continued. “I want everyone to stand with their hands pressed together out in front of you, with your feet together. Breathe in slowly and exhale.”
I glanced around as the people around me followed the instructions, each had their eyes closed, while meditating. Aimie seemed to be enjoying herself. Chad walked past the yoga group. Unable to stop myself, I allowed my gaze to follow him, wondering where he was going, but that was the least of my worries. A broken tree branch followed after him. I watched in astonishment as it floated after Chad, who remained unaware of the danger that trailed after him.
“Billy,” I whispered to myself.
I couldn’t see Billy—he was remaining invisible—but knew that he was the one with the tree branch. Why else, would a piece of wood be following after Chad?
While the others in the yoga class prepared for the downward dog pose, I bolted for the hovering tree branch. My shoes made squishy noises as I ran through the class, knocking a few of the attendees over in the process, focused on stopping Billy from whatever it was he planned to do. The broken tree branch raised higher into the air. My shoe caught on a mat just as I reached the edge of the cleared area and I stumbled forward, grabbing onto the hovering branch to stop myself from falling. My sudden impact forced the branch away from Chad.
Billy jerked the branch away from me, but I held on, tightening my grip. I tugged it away from him. In retaliation, Billy yanked hard, trying to hit Chad with the branch. I refused to let go. I planted my feet into the snow and leaned back, doing my best to maintain my balance as Billy jerked the branch in every direction in his attempt to free it from my grasp.
“Let me at him!” Billy yelled at me.
I refused. As splinters from the branch’s bark dug into my skin, I gripped it harder, giving one last yank. Billy let go. I fell backward, landing on my rump with the snow forming a mound around me.
“I’ll get him, yet!” shouted Billy, but only I heard him, thank goodness.
I dropped the branch. As I rose to my feet, brushing the snow off of me, I noticed the confused faces staring at me. “Uh…” I began.
“Mel, that was amazing!” said Greg as he ran up to me, giving me a hug. “Though I don’t think this was the appropriate time for a spectacle, but those mime classes have really paid off.”
“Mime classes?” I
said to him, wondering what he was talking about.
“Just go with it,” Greg whispered in my ear.
“What is going on here?” asked someone.
“You’ll have to excuse us,” began Greg, “but Mel has been learning how to be a mime and I guess she wanted to give us a show.”
“That was interesting,” Chad said before leaving.
“That was awesome!” said Aimie. “I almost believed that you were really struggling with someone.”
“Thanks,” I said, still catching my breath.
Judging by the looks on the faces surrounding me, I could tell that only half of them believed Greg’s story.
“All right,” said the instructor, irritated at having her class interrupted, “time to move into child’s pose.”
Greg helped me back to my mat. The rest of the yoga class went smoothly, but I kept a wary eye out for Billy, in case he decided to show up again.
After the morning yoga session, Greg and I decided to go get something to eat. I was famished. We went back to the restaurant. We walked into the crowded area, with its tables, made just for two people, spaced around the area, each with a tiny lamp in the center.
“Welcome,” said the host. “This way please.”
Greg and I followed the man. At first, I was curious as to why he didn’t ask how many needed to be seated, before remembering that this was a couples retreat; and what couple wants a third party along?
Our waiter showed up. “Anything to drink?” he asked.
“Two coffees, please,” I replied, before realizing that he was the same waiter who had served us last night. “Matherson,” I read the nametag. “Is that a first or last name?”
“Oh, sorry,” said our waiter. He recognized us. “It’s you two.”
“We can go, if it’s a problem,” said Greg, getting ready to stand up.
“No, it’s quite all right,” said Matherson. “Turns out, you were telling the truth last night. It’s my last name”—he pointed at his nametag—“I don’t use my first name much.”
“Oh? What is it?” I said, curious.
Roses Are Red; He's Dead (A Mellow Summers Paranormal Mystery Book 9) Page 4
