The Secrets of Ghosts

by Sarah Painter

  He smirked. ‘I’m Max, by the way.’

  ‘Katie. So, big drama tonight.’ She indicated the looming building behind them.

  ‘Yep.’ Max sat down again, his elbows on his knees.

  ‘What were you doing in Mr Cole’s room?’

  ‘I was just passing, the door was open and I heard a noise.’

  ‘Did you know him? The one who—’

  ‘No.’ Max shook his head quickly.

  He was lying. Katie felt sick. It was unlikely that he had anything to do with the poor guy having a heart attack, but still. He was a liar. And he crashed the wedding which made him a thief, too. She felt a crushing sensation of guilt. She ought to have told the police about him. Ought to go back inside and tell them right now. He’d just lie to them, of course. And he seemed to be awfully good at it.

  Like it or not, he was her responsibility. She sat down on the step next to him, probably a little too close for comfort but she’d always found this particular trick easier if she was physically near to the person she was trying to read.

  She took a deep breath, concentrating hard, and trying to ignore the fact that she was close enough to catch the scent coming from his skin. ‘Did you have something to do with his death?’

  She watched him closely.

  He frowned. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Just answer the question,’ Katie said. Her voice was calm.

  ‘No,’ Max said. He looked disgusted. ‘No, I didn’t have anything to do with his death.’

  He was telling the truth. Thank God. It wasn’t his expression or the tone of his voice or the way his eyes met hers, it was something else. A certainty. Another of the Harper family intuitions but one that came in handy more often than most. ‘Sorry.’ She smiled, more at ease now. ‘I’m just a bit shaken up, I guess.’

  ‘Well, that’s understandable—’

  ‘It must have just happened when I found him. He’d called room service twenty minutes before. He was really cold, though.’ Which was odd. Maybe. How long did it take for a body to get cold? Katie swallowed, feeling suddenly sick again.

  ‘Oh, Christ. That can’t have been fun.’

  ‘Worse for him,’ Katie said.

  ‘No wonder you passed out. Are you sure you’re okay? You still look really pale.’

  ‘I’m always this colour,’ Katie said. She started to unwrap the cheesecake. Dessert would help. She needed some sugar to give herself the energy for the walk home. ‘So, how’d you know the guy, Mr Cole. Were you two close?’

  ‘I told you. I don’t — I didn’t — know him.’

  Katie raised an eyebrow. ‘If you keep lying to me I won’t give you any cheesecake.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m lying?’

  ‘I know when people are telling the truth.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a gift.’

  Max tilted his head back and regarded her for a moment. Then he said, ‘Remind me never to play poker with you.’

  ‘So?’ Katie used her fingers to break off a piece of cheesecake; it was messy. Messy and delicious. She closed her eyes to enjoy the creamy perfection and opened them to see Max looking at her with an odd expression. ‘What?’

  Max shook his head slightly, then said, ‘He owed me money.’

  ‘A lot?’

  ‘Fair bit.’ Max reached for the plate.

  Katie moved it away. ‘Why did he owe you money?’

  ‘Do you play poker, as a matter of interest?’

  ‘No,’ Katie said. The sugar was helping, making her feel less weak and fuzzy. ‘I used to play gin rummy with my dad all the time. I like whist but you need more than two and mum wasn’t a card player.’

  Max snagged the plate while Katie was talking and dug in.

  ‘You know I’m not staying here, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, I’m just kind of passing through. When I’m moving around I incur expenses. Petrol. Accommodation.’

  ‘Food, when you’re not crashing weddings, presumably.’ Katie paused. ‘Don’t you get found out all the time?’

  ‘Not really. I prefer corporate events, but big weddings are pretty easy. No one ever knows everyone at those things. If someone chats, you make sure to ask them first whether they know the bride or the groom and then you say the opposite. As long as you avoid the happy couple, you’re golden.’

  Katie shook her head. ‘All for a free lunch?’

  ‘I usually play poker in casinos or backroom games, but sometimes they’re hard to come by, so I check out places like this that hold functions, turn up and make friends and play a few games of cards. For money.’

  ‘You conned him?’

  ‘No. Not really.’ Max stared at the cheesecake. ‘Maybe a little. Light hustling, perhaps.’

  ‘And he croaked before you could collect your ill-gotten gains. Sucks to be you.’ Katie stood up. ‘Are you staying in town?’

  ‘Uh-huh. At the delightful Cosy Inn.’ He re-wrapped the cling film over the remaining cheesecake and got to his feet. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  Katie stifled the urge to laugh. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ She was Katie Harper. She was the latest in a long line of magical women. She was practically a witch, for goodness’ sake, the dark was not a problem.

  ‘Okay.’ Max shrugged. ‘You can walk me home.’

  ‘Nice try,’ Katie said, but, since they both had to walk down the driveway, there didn’t seem to be much point in resisting too much. She’d have to break into a ridiculous trot to get ahead of him and that wouldn’t be very dignified. Besides, the tall trees lining the driveway cut a lot of the moonlight and the driveway was incredibly dark. Katie didn’t want to admit it, but she felt a bit shaky after seeing Mr Cole. A distraction was kind of welcome.

  ‘So, you’re a con man. I don’t think I’ve met a real-life one of those before.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh. I gamble a bit, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.’

  ‘But you hustled Oliver Cole?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be up in arms if you’d met him. I know it’s not classy to speak ill of the dead, but the guy was a dick.’

  ‘You said you hardly knew him.’

  Max looked sideways at her. ‘I’m a pretty good judge of character.’

  The driveway curved down to the main road. Katie thought that she’d feel fine once she was out of the damn trees. The dark tunnel made her feel claustrophobic.

  ‘So,’ Max said after a moment. ‘What do you think happened? I heard someone say heart attack.’

  The unwanted image of Mr Cole’s frozen face came back and Katie swallowed. He’d looked frightened. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. Nothing peaceful.

  Katie blinked away the image and said, ‘So, why are you travelling around? Don’t people usually go around, like, Venice and Paris and stuff? Not Wiltshire.’

  He laughed. ‘Not that kind of travelling. More of a road trip.’

  They’d reached the end of the driveway and were on the steep hill into town. The lights of Pendleford shone in the dark like a constellation. The river was a velvet black ribbon. Soon they were on a street with lamps and Katie felt herself relax. ‘A road trip on your own. Don’t you have any friends?’

  ‘Plenty.’ Max gave her a twisted smile, but didn’t say anything else.

  They’d reached the brightly lit streets of Pendleford. All was well and Katie felt silly for her moment of weakness. So, she’d seen a dead body and fainted. It was unsettling and more than a little embarrassing but no reason to go to pieces.

  ‘Well.’ Katie stuck out her hand. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ Max said.

  ‘It’s not far,’ Katie said. ‘I’ll be fine. The Cosy Inn is down that way.’ She pointed in the opposite direction to her flat.

  ‘Are you sure? It doesn’t feel right to leave you on your own.’

  ‘Trust me, I’m perfectly safe in Pendleford.’ Everyone in town knew that she was Gwen Harper’s niece and half of them wer
e terrified that she’d give them the evil eye. If she bumped into an idiot with a death wish or a clueless visitor, then she was covered with a home-made protection spell. Of course, she was bloody awful at spells, so she’d also armed herself with a practical option. Max was still hesitating, clearly torn over his misplaced ideas of chivalry. Katie pulled out her can of defence spray. ‘I have this. See?’

  Max took a step back and put his hands in the air. ‘Is that legal? I thought—’

  ‘It’s not the good stuff,’ Katie said. It was sticky spray, which had made her American friend, Alison, laugh for ten minutes after she’d explained that it shot goo, rather than pepper spray, but it said ‘Mace’ on the side in big letters. Plus UV-coloured goo had to be better than nothing. Especially if you aimed for the eyes.

  Max looked into the spray nozzle and took another step back. ‘I’m not going to win the “trustworthy” argument, am I?’

  ‘Not tonight,’ Katie said. She stuck out her hand again and he shook it. Katie tried not to notice how nice his hand was. Long fingers, knotty knuckles and the perfect size. It dwarfed her hand without seeming like a gorilla’s paw. ‘Nice to meet you, Max. Have a nice life.’

  He tilted his head back, appraising her. ‘You’re kind of cold, you know that?’

  The warm feelings she had been beginning to entertain fled. Why were the good-looking ones always such wankers? Katie sighed. ‘Why do men think women are being cold if they don’t fall at their feet?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Max turned away. ‘I’m going.’

  Katie watched him walk down the street. She told herself that she was making sure he was walking away, not going to follow her, but there was a part of her that just wanted to look at him one last time.

  Inside her flat, Katie kicked off her shoes and stripped off her tights with relief. She’d been planning to get into the shower, but the headache was pulsing behind her eyes now. She took a couple of paracetamol and stumbled to the bedroom. When she lay down, the room seemed to be spinning, which reminded her uncomfortably of the one and only time she’d got drunk. It wasn’t a good memory, but at least it pushed away the events of the evening. Katie closed her eyes and felt the adrenaline still running through her body, making her limbs tingle and her mind jump from one image to another. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 3

  Katie kept on seeing Oliver Cole’s rigid face so, when she was finally dreaming and she found herself back in the upstairs corridor of The Grange, her hand reaching out to push open the door to The Yellow Room, she wasn’t particularly surprised. I can’t be entirely asleep. I’m dreaming, but I know I’m dreaming. Weird.

  She moved into the room, knowing that she was going to see the body lying on the floor, half on the thick wool rug and half on the polished boards. But she didn’t. He wasn’t there. She turned, very slowly it felt, and looked around at the room. Everything looked normal. There was a suitcase open on the bed and she moved towards it. Men’s stuff. Smart-looking trousers and neatly folded shirts. There was a book on the bedside table and a glasses case, a smudged water glass and a crumpled tissue. The toilet flushed and Katie looked towards the en-suite, suddenly feeling alarmed. Instinctively she wanted to hide; she felt guilty for being in this man’s room. Even though it wasn’t her fault. Even though it was a dream.

  She stepped to the wall, next to the en-suite door so that when it opened it swung close to her face. Oliver Cole, alive and well, walked towards the bed. He was a bulky man and taller than she remembered. Of course, she’d only really seen him lying down. He started to undo his shirt and Katie panicked. She didn’t want to watch this man get undressed. She willed the dream to change, but it didn’t, so she stepped out from behind the door, heading for the exit as fast as her dream-slow legs could carry her.

  Oliver turned in surprise, his expression transforming into horror as he caught sight of her. Then his hands were going to his throat, he was gasping, his eyes bulging and filling with blood as the vessels burst. She knew that expression; she remembered seeing it. He was terrified. His mouth was open as if he was screaming but Katie couldn’t hear anything. Her own throat was hurting as if in sympathy and, suddenly, she was awake. In her flat. In her bed. Her hands clenched into fists and her breathing ragged as if she’d been running.

  The sun was streaming through her curtains and it was already well past nine.

  *

  After several cups of coffee, Katie dragged herself up the hill to work. The Grange was Pendleford’s nicest hotel. It was set on the outskirts, high above the town as if looking down on it. As it was a seventeenth-century manor house, it probably was. It looked just the same as always in the bright sunlight; there was no sign that anything untoward had happened the night before. Katie went around the back of the hotel and found Anna propping open the kitchen door with a catering-sized tub of cooking oil.

  ‘Oh, my God, I heard about last night.’ Anna hugged Katie quickly. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine. I’m fine,’ Katie said.

  ‘Everyone’s talking about it,’ Anna said. ‘Although watch out for Patrick. He doesn’t want word getting out.’

  Katie nodded and tried to step around Anna. She was staring into her eyes, as if waiting for something.

  ‘You sure you’re okay? I mean, finding Mr Cole like that—’

  ‘Course,’ Katie said, hating how stiff and formal she sounded.

  Anna hesitated as if she was going to say something else, then she touched Katie’s arm briefly and turned back inside.

  The shift went quickly enough. Chatter from the staff was that Mr Cole had definitely died of a heart attack, although Katie wasn’t sure if that was just gossip or whether it had been officially confirmed.

  She marched through the downstairs rooms of the hotel, collecting stray glasses, straightening rugs and making sure all the flower arrangements had water. She loved how working at The Grange made her feel purposeful and efficient. She didn’t want to do it for ever, but she liked being good at something.

  At a momentary loss, Katie decided to check the library. MOPs were forever leaving the complimentary newspapers in an untidy pile or taking them away. She pushed the door to the small library open and found her boss sitting on the gold brocade sofa with his head in his hands.

  He had a laptop open on the coffee table and was obviously busy but Katie was too far into the room to back out again. He looked up, embarrassed, and straightened his spine. ‘Hello there. What can I do you for?’

  ‘Nothing, I was just—’

  He stood up, running his hand over his head. ‘Just checking the accounts. Beth is due on Thursday but... You know.’

  Katie did know. Her father ran his own business and accounting was the bane of his life. That or invoicing for work. Or getting paid. The money side, anyway. And her aunt Gwen was self-employed, too. She’d run a market stall, Curious Notions, for years, but was successful enough now that she sold her work through galleries and took the occasional commission. It had taught Katie one thing: she wanted to be employed. Or be instantly so successful that she had a team of accounts and admin people to deal with all of that stuff. She gave Patrick a sympathetic smile and backed out of the room.

  ‘Is the restaurant busy?’ Patrick asked suddenly. ‘I know occupancy rates are down but are we still getting drop-ins?’

  ‘Not bad. Fairly full.’ Katie didn’t want to say that she and other waiting staff had noticed that it was nowhere near as busy at lunchtimes as this time last year.

  ‘Good. Good.’ Patrick looked distracted so Katie continued for the door. She was almost at safety when he said, ‘Go and see Jo for me, will you? Check that the special offer menu is finalised for after the Greg Barton show.’

  ‘Okay,’ Katie said, not wanting to think about Greg Barton and his ridiculous stage act. She still couldn’t believe Patrick Allen had booked something so tacky for his beloved hotel.

  ‘I should’ve booked your aunt in.’ Patrick was still talking. ‘
Would’ve been a damn sight cheaper, I bet.’

  Katie didn’t answer. The idea of Gwen doing a psychic stage show was too ridiculous to contemplate and didn’t deserve a response.

  Patrick closed the laptop and gathered the pile of papers next to it. ‘Actually, I think I’ll go and speak to Jo.’ He gave Katie another look. ‘Are you due a break?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Katie said. She was distracted by the feeling that an insect had just landed on her arm. She brushed it away.

  Patrick was looking at her critically. ‘You should take five minutes. I don’t want people thinking I overwork my staff.’

  Katie looked down. The hairs were standing up along her forearm but there wasn’t anything there.

  Patrick left the room, still muttering something about the lunch menu. The light slanting through the small panes of glass in the bottom of the window was cold and hard, which was peculiar when Katie thought of the searing heat outside. Her head was still sore from her fainting fit the day before and she felt stupid, too.

  She wanted to be a wise and capable woman, like Gwen. A healer. A maker of spells. A fixer. Not a victim. And definitely not a delicate Victorian flower, requiring smelling salts and the loosening of her corsets at the sight of a dead body.

  Katie gazed at the oak panelling and wondered how many fainting fits, corsets and the like they had seen. Maybe none, Katie thought, looking at the tall bookcases. Perhaps women hadn’t been welcome in the library in those days. They used to think too much learning was bad for women, after all, and that novels rotted the mushy female brain. Katie wondered what the oak panelling would say about her shelves of giant books on herbalism and local history and then she caught herself wondering it and, instead, began to think that she had hit her head when she collapsed after all.

  Maybe Patrick was right and she needed to take a small break. She leaned her head on the back of the armchair; the generous wings gave her something to rest her head against. It was gloriously comfortable and within seconds her eyes shut. She was having a hazy day dream, halfway between sleeping and waking, when a sudden rush of cool air woke her up. It was as if an external door had been opened and then closed on a cold day. The cold air dissipated quickly in the warmth of the room. Katie looked at the door and the window but they were both still shut. Besides, it was so muggy outside that you couldn’t get a cold draught without an air-conditioning unit. The smell of pipe smoke made her sit up and look around again. There was nobody there, but she would’ve sworn that someone had just lit a pipe. Her grandpa had smoked a pipe and she remembered the rich, almost-sweet tobacco smell, utterly distinct from cigarettes. No matter, Zofia would still go mad. She had a hatred, not for smoking especially, but for guests that didn’t obey the rules of the hotel. Was really funny about it, actually. Katie thought about going to find the perpetrator, but then sank back into the cushions. She was too tired.