by Dana Cameron
“I saw the ghost! The hotel’s ghost!”
“Bull,” I said.
“I’m telling you, I did.” Lissa was so excited that she could barely keep her feet on the ground. She hooked her blond hair over one ear. “And get this, she was wandering by Garrison’s room.”
“Well, if she was, she was lost,” I said. “Isn’t Garrison’s room in the new wing?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Then why would the ghost have been there? Shouldn’t she be waiting for her husband in the old part of the hotel?”
“Why should she be tied down?” Lissa asked happily. “By this time, she should have the run of the whole place. I tell you, I saw her.”
“Lissa, just how faced were you?”
She shrugged, and waved her hand airily. “No worse than usual.”
“Which is to say, you were pretty well hammered. And your contacts?”
“I’d taken them out, but I was wearing my glasses.”
“Same glasses that are around your neck now?” I picked them up, and we could all see the heavy layer of greasy smudges over both lenses.
“So I need to clean them. Ask Sue, she was with me. She saw.”
I turned to Sue, who looked as if she would have happily melted through the floor to get away from me, if she could have. “I was walking Lissa back to her room. I didn’t see a ghost. I saw a woman in a bathrobe. She was trying to get into her room. She had the wrong one, at first, I guess, because she had to try a couple of doors, a couple of times.”
Lissa would not be put off. “She vanished when you turned around. Besides, you can ask Laurel Fairchild. She was there too!”
“When I found your room key, I turned around, yes, and she was gone. And yes, she was near Garrison’s room, but I’m assuming she finally got into her room. And Laurel was gone just as quickly, and she’s not a ghost.”
“I’m so excited,” Lissa said. “I’ve always wanted to start a rumor or a path, and now I’ll get my chance! Come on, Sue, we need to go to the bar and tell people!”
Sue was all too happy to go. I turned, and almost bumped into Laurel.
“You’ve been hearing about the ‘ghost,’ huh?” she said.
“Oh, yeah. Made Lissa’s year, near as I can tell.”
“Well, don’t get too excited about it. I saw the ghost and it wasn’t one at all. It was Petra Williams.”
“What!”
“She went into Garrison’s room that night. I saw her.” She paused significantly. “In her nightgown.”
“But he…when was this?”
“About midnight, half past.”
“Shoot.” So did that mean she’d gone into his room, and he was there, or that she went into his room when he wasn’t there? I chewed my bottom lip. So that makes Petra and whoever was sitting behind me at the session earlier, at least, who saw Garrison after he was supposed to be in bed. The man seems to have done more business after bedtime than most hookers. And while Petra might like to insist that he died by accident, the cops are certainly treating it as a suspicious death, and I would be willing to bet that there were no hunters out there when those gunshots were fired.
My head was already spinning, and that was before you added ghosts and the thefts of Bea’s artifacts and the replicas from the book room.
The door to one of the offices opened, and I saw Widmark, the one person who absolutely did not belong here, ashen-faced, being led out by Church, whose face was grim.
“Laurel, will you excuse…?” I didn’t wait for her answer, but was already walking away.
Widmark looked around, dodged over to the elevators, and was away before I could blink. Then Church signaled to me.
“We’ve been looking for a friend of yours,” he said.
“Oh?”
“A Professor…Bradford DuBois. You wouldn’t happen to know—?”
It took me a minute to realize that he was talking about Brad the Boy. “Actually, I haven’t seen him since last night,” I said. “He was feeling poorly, and went to bed early.”
“We’ll contact him there, then.” He paused. “So. You’re not in any records we’ve got in New Hampshire. You don’t show up on the radar as a crazy or a criminal. And one of our guys talked to the state police crime guys, and they’ve actually heard of Stuart Feldman down in Massachusetts. We haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but you know, it’s interesting that you know his name.”
I looked at him hopefully. “What does that mean?”
“It means we haven’t found that you’ve been lying to us. Yet.”
“I haven’t been lying. And I think that the fact that you were talking to me when the shots were fired outside might indicate that I’m not any more involved in this than I’ve said.”
“But people we’ve been talking to say that you have an unusual degree of interest in what’s been going on. That you’ve been asking a lot of questions—”
“I would be willing to bet that everyone’s been asking a lot of questions: You haven’t told us anything. People get upset and worried when they think something dangerous is going on and they can’t put a name to it.”
“Fair enough. So, what have you been finding out?”
I looked at him, and knew that he wasn’t offering to trade me what he knew for what I knew. But if I really did think that my curiosity would help, then I owed it to him to tell him about the late-night visits that so many people had had with Garrison. So I did, and his face remained impassive the entire time.
But I noticed that he wrote everything down.
“Have you found out what was going on with the gunshots?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“But it wasn’t hunters, was it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Is there any news about Garrison’s death? Was it murder?”
“We’re still waiting for the autopsy, it’s not as quick as you see on television. We have to treat it as a suspicious death. I will say that all of the wounds were on the back of his head—a pretty nasty laceration—and it didn’t look as if he walked out onto the ice only to fall over backward.”
That was news. “And what about—?”
His patience finally wore out. “Look, Dr. Fielding, there’s a lot going on here that you don’t know about—”
“And so if you would just tell me—”
“—and it’s better to keep it that way. There’s the safety of my officers to be considered.”
“What were you talking to Widmark about? He’s someone I’ve never seen before, and I don’t really like his story, he doesn’t feel right to me—”
“We’ll do the asking, thanks.” He leaned in closer. “And if you do interfere, it will go on your permanent record.” He was acting as if he was teasing, but I could feel it to my bones that he meant it. “Good evening, Dr. Fielding.”
I almost went after him, but my fatigue was not bad enough to keep me from doing something so terribly silly. Casting about for something I could do, I realized that I was grinding my teeth. I couldn’t make him tell me anything to do with Garrison’s death, I couldn’t make Scott say what he was after, I couldn’t do anything.
I spied Meg. She looked like hell. If nothing else, I was willing to bet I could fix that.
After she greeted me, I asked, “When was the last time you ate?”
“Oh, about an hour ago. I grabbed a Pop-Tart up in the room.”
“Uh-huh. And when before that?”
“Umm, I dunno. Breakfast, maybe.”
“Okay, we’re getting dinner now. Bring your friends, if you want, but be warned: If they come, they’ll all get an earful of my conference survival strategies.”
It wasn’t hard to round up enough to get a table to ourselves. Meg was popular and there were others from Caldwell there—Neal and Katie, for example, though one of my other students, Dian Kosnick, had said hello to me yesterday and I hadn’t seen her since—so there were eight of us squeezed in around t
he table in the big restaurant.
Meg made the introductions. I shook hands. “Okay, take your name tags off.”
Confused glances were exchanged around the table, but everyone reluctantly did as I told them. “I thought the point of these things was to get to know people,” a young woman said. I recognized her as the Gypsy-clad woman from the opening reception dance. Jordan.
“Yep, and now we all know each other. You need to turn off the conference thing for a little while every day. And,” I added, as I removed my own badge, “if you take your name tags off when you leave the site in a big city, you’re no longer marked as a tourist and a potentially easy mark for muggers.”
There were a few nods and some shrugs. They’d learn how useful this was in the years to come.
The waiter began filling up water glasses, and someone else arrived with a basket of bread. This was handed around and emptied before you could blink.
“Next. It is altogether too easy to forget to eat, or eat whatever happens to be at hand. I always make a point to eat at least one meal a day with real food, not fast food: real chairs—not stools—and metal flatware. This meal doesn’t necessarily need to be dinner; if you get a good breakfast in, with lots of fruit and some protein, that works too. And just as important, if you can remember to keep drinking water—these conference hotels will dehydrate you faster than the Mojave Desert—that’s half the trick to keep from getting headaches on whatever cold is going around.”
“You sound like my mom,” said Kyle, who was baby-faced and prematurely balding. He didn’t seem to be complaining, though.
“Well, she’s right, on this score. Again, the idea is to take care of yourself, especially if you have to do the grab-stuff-and-run thing.” I looked at them, calculating how many were probably in a room together. “Or foraging snacks at the receptions or eating in your rooms, and I don’t mean room service.”
There were some grins at that last. I’d done my share of eating peanut butter crackers and dried apricots, washed down with tap water, and didn’t miss those days. I did miss the energy I had then, though.
After we placed our orders, I said, “Next, go to the gym if you can swing it.”
“But we’re here to work. We’re spending money to work,” spoke Alex, a heavyset lad with a pierced lower lip.
I tried not to stare at the stud in his lip, but it just looked so damned uncomfortable. I nodded and put the wine list aside. “You are, and if you’re going to get the most out of it, you need to relax. There’s no point in exhausting yourself if you’re not going to retain all of your contacts, paper citations, books, etcetera. And if you don’t work out, or you don’t have time, at least try to get some fresh air. The worst times I’ve had at conferences were the ones where we were snowed in, like now, and everyone started getting bug-eyed and stir crazy. The fresh air will help on a lot of levels, clear your head, kill cold germs, refocus your eyes. Who knows? You might even find someone you’re trying to meet out there doing the same thing.”
“Like smoking,” Jordan said.
“Not my choice, but sure. You may have noticed a big clot of folks clustered around the front door? That’s the Canadian Club,” I said. “Not just because they are always outside in the snow or drink cheap whiskey, but because sometimes they bring the good cigars to us benighted folk in the lower forty-eight. Just don’t accost people in the bathroom. They might want a moment to pee in privacy.”
Suddenly I felt two hands on my shoulders. The scent of lilacs reassured me, however, and I patted one of the hands and looked up at Michelle. “Need a place to sit, my darling?”
“Not a bit of it, cupcake. I’m over there with my fellow science freaks. I just wanted say good evening.”
“So thoughtful,” I said.
She smiled and drifted over to the other table.
“What was that about?” Alex muttered.
“That was Michelle Lima. Does good work for the park service, down in Delaware. We met about fifteen years ago.”
“You guys must be really good friends,” said Alex pointedly.
I ignored the implication. “Oh, you know. There were supposed to be five of us giving papers. One person was delayed, another canceled, and another never showed. Since they were the headliners, virtually no one showed up to hear us present, so since then, we decided if no one else loved us, we would always be there for each other.”
I saw them exchanging looks. “Oh, come on. You guys haven’t got a sense of humor? Never do anything silly? Ah, get over it.” Our drinks arrived.
“Where were we? Right, one last thing. Don’t forget to empty out your bags or notebooks regularly. If you tidy up all the flyers and books and business cards and little notes and lagniappes every so often, you’ll keep track of what you got and what you need, you’ll remind yourself of things to do, and you’ll save your back a lot of wear and tear.”
“What’s a lagniappe?” Katie said.
“It’s pronounced ‘lan-yap.’ It means a gimme, something you get with a sale or as a premium. Conference swag. It’s from the Spanish via Cajun French. Great word, isn’t it? And there’s one other thing. Very important. Something Oscar didn’t ever tell me, and I sometimes wonder whether he even knew about it himself.”
There were some whispered conversations when Jordan explained to Alex who my grandfather Oscar was. They all leaned forward, breath bated.
“Moisturizer. Trust me.”
They still looked disappointed.
“I’m serious. It’s almost as important as a sense of humor,” I added. “Here endeth the lesson.”
“Evening, everyone!”
I looked up. Duncan had swanned in, and it was as if we’d never had that last discussion. “Emma, are all these yours?”
I could feel my face freeze. “No, just a handful.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Duncan, what the hell are you up to? Why the sudden change? “Sure.” I went around the table and was horrified to see everyone looking at Duncan with something like worshipful adoration. Except Katie, who was staring glumly into her lap. Holy Gilderoy Lockhart.
“Well, I just wanted to say hello. I’ll catch you later, Em?”
Only if I get caught in a bear trap, Dunk. “Later.”
Katie looked better as soon as he left, I was relieved to see. I took a big sip of wine and was delighted when the food showed up shortly thereafter.
There wasn’t much talk for a few moments, while we tucked into the food, which was a good step above what you got in the café. My salmon was nice, but I thought that the sauce wasn’t very good, compared to Brian’s. I sat back and listened to the students chatting.
And complaining—apparently Hedia, an attractively dressed woman who’d been quietly observing until now, was a “mirror hog” by Meg’s lights.
“I like to make sure I’m put together,” Hedia replied, “and it’s not as if you were late for your paper.”
They went back and forth for a while, with no real heat, and the conversation drifted off to other subjects. I got a good feel for most of the folks who were new to me and answered the questions that they had about archaeology books or my own work. I wasn’t one of them, and it is an immensely complicated and difficult thing to try and be someone’s friend when you have so much control over their future, so I was happy to let them do most of the talking. Of course, discussions of beer and travel and movies weren’t too personal, and I had no qualms about chipping in here and there. About an hour later, I felt relaxed, smug about taking my own good advice, and pleased to see color in Meg’s cheeks again.
During dessert, I picked up the bill and settled it. There were a few protests, but I waved them off.
“My treat. And besides, you all gave me a good excuse not to sneak back to my room and work on an overdue article.” Which wasn’t true, but it let them off the hook too.
“Well, thanks again, Emma,” Hedia said as we all got up, stretched, and collected our bags.
“My pleasure.” And it really was, because I felt better for having done something constructive. It was also like I was getting to pay back all the folks who’d sprung for drinks or meals when I couldn’t afford it, who gave me advice when I was ready for it, and who’d generally treated me like a human when others weren’t so concerned about the direction a twenty-something might take.
My buzz evaporated. I saw Noreen out of the corner of my eye, waiting for the elevator, just where I was heading. And damn if she didn’t turn around and see me. Drat, there was no avoiding her now.
She gave me the once-over, and flipped her hair. “What, are you running for office or something?”
“What do you mean?” Good God, with the dangling belt, dangling earrings, dangling pendant, she might as well be a fishing lure.
“Soliciting the underage vote?”
“Just giving some survival pointers to some of the coming generation, that’s all.”
“Half of them won’t be here in five years. Doesn’t stop you from always trying to find an audience.” She said the words almost to herself, but it was too blatant for me to let go. There was a lot of pent-up anger here.
“Noreen, what is your problem? You seem to have a real attitude about something, about me, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d just tell me to my face.”
She looked up, surprised by this. “What?”
“You keep muttering things, just out of my hearing, that I’m supposed to overhear. Why don’t you come out with it?”
The car arrived and she got in. I followed her; she paused there, staring at the bank of buttons in the elevator before she hit the button for the fourth floor. Then she turned around to me, amazingly bitter. “You’re never happy with what you’ve got, are you?”
This was so stupid. I laughed. “Is anyone?”
“You know what I mean. It’s always got to be the center of attention for you, doesn’t it?”
I reached over and stabbed the button for my floor. “And how do you reach this conclusion?”
“Oh, please.”
There was nowhere for her to run to, we were trapped between the mirrored walls and the posters showing views of the restaurant and business center, so I forced the issue. “No, I’m serious. I have no idea what you’re talking about and now’s your chance to tell me.”
