“What makes you think she’s here to see me?” Giselle asked.
Hotel patrons who had been moving naturally moments before stopped in their tracks to stare at the woman with luxurious long gray hair, wearing a billowing purple caftan, loping across the lobby.
“Giselle Hunter!” Madam Divinity shouted.
The desk clerk snorted.
Giselle cringed. “Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants. You were right.”
The twenty or so hotel patrons who had been milling about the lobby suddenly parted down the middle in what looked like a choreographed dance step. It was as if they were performers in a chorus line making way for the entrance of the lead dancer on the stage. And Madam had the look of a star as she glided through the opening, looking neither right nor left. Her gaze didn’t waver from Giselle. When she reached her target, the chorus line closed ranks as one and then began moving around lobby again.
“You terrible, horrible, girl. I want to know what you were doing with my son.”
“Are ya kiddin’ me?” Giselle asked incredulously. “I thought it would be obvious even to you.”
“No. Not that. I want to know what you were trying to achieve by playing with my son.”
“I don’t think you can possibly be serious,” Giselle said, rolling her eyes.
“I’m completely serious. I demand satisfaction,” Madam shouted.
On the word “satisfaction”, a fleck of spit hit Giselle’s cheek. She didn’t wince this time.
“Did the two of you rehearse this comedy routine?” Giselle asked Madam with a tweak of her head toward Kopeleski. She started to wipe at the spot on her cheek with the back of her hand then thought better of it. Wouldn’t want to make one clean spot on her face.
Madam acknowledged the wizard with a glance and a nod. “Hello, Armand.”
“Madam,” he said softly, and gave a slight bow.
“I’ll leave you to deal with your guests, Ms. Hunter,” the desk clerk commented in a barbed tone and a sneer before returning to the front desk.
At his departure, Madam turned hard eyes on Giselle again. “You may have bewitched my son by appealing to his baser instincts. But you do not deceive me, you slutty, fat―”
“Watch it, Madam.” Giselle’s fist, the one not holding the box of chocolates, clenched. She felt a flush of anger move up her neck and flood her dirty face.
She’d had just about enough of this family. Although not normally prone to violence, Giselle found that she was curiously eager to deck Madam Divinity and she wasn’t thinking of using a tarot deck.
“You seduced my son in order to attack me. Your motives are obvious. Who sent you to Savannah to destroy my psychic work?”
“Yeah right. It’s all about you,” Giselle said with a snort. “You are seriously crazy, Madam.”
“I’m crazy? Who was it that came to my home and destroyed a crystal ball that was over one hundred years old?”
“Madam, you are mistaken,” Kopeleski interjected. “This phony ghost hunter is here attempting to destroy my work. You recall what she did at the séance last night. Her target is me, not you.”
The medium made a negative jerk of her head and then poked Giselle in the chest with her finger. The tip of the long nail, painted with black polish made an ouchy spot.
“I don’t care what your motives are. Leave my son alone, Ms. Hunter, or you will regret it.”
“I already regret becoming involved with your son, Madam. I don’t want anything more to do with that son of a―”
“The cards say you lie. You want my son. But he will never marry you if I can help it.” Sparks almost flew from the woman’s eyes. More spittle landed on Giselle’s cheek.
“I won’t let you hurt him, you little tramp.”
“I don’t want to hurt him. Well, maybe I do, but not the way you mean. I could give him a good knee to the groin about now. But I’m not going anywhere near the creep, so you can relax.”
“You endanger him just by being in his presence. So, you must stay away from him!”
Giselle tugged an impatient hand into her knotted glop-filled hair. “Didn’t I just say I’m no longer involved with him? Jeeze.” She tried to run her fingers through the hair, but ended up having to pull the hand out of the tangled mess.
She pointed a dirty finger at Madam. “Let me tell you something, you old biddy. If I wanted to have a relationship with your jerky son you wouldn’t scare me away. So just back off.”
“You hateful girl. You’re a pollution, a, a, a—” Madam searched for the right word.
“Toxic poison?” the wizard supplied.
“Yes, exactly!” Madam offered him a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Armand.”
“You had better never see Ry again or else,” Madam said, with emphasis on the “else”.
That phrase sounded familiar. Oh yeah. It had appeared in at least one of the written death threats. Giselle took a step toward the older woman. Madam towered over her. Oh well, perhaps if she couldn’t intimidate her with size, the smell of the goop covering Giselle would frighten Madam.
“Or else, what?” Giselle was eye to chin with the medium. She looked up, doing her best to transmit a seriously hateful glint from her eyes. “I understand from Mr. Kopeleski here that turning me into a warthog is a popular choice. You could try that.”
Madam sneered. “You think you’re so clever. But you’re not clever enough you phony little tramp.”
“Don’t push me,” Giselle warned. “I’m tired, hungry and smelly. That’s a dangerous combination.”
“Don’t you dare threaten this lady, you nasty girl.” Kopeleski’s baritone boomed and he moved in squaring his shoulders. He stood as a block between Giselle and Madam.
The ping signaling the arrival of the elevator sounded. Then there was a slight woosh of metal sliding against metal as the doors parted.
Giselle pointed to Kopeleski. “I don’t have your medal.”
She pointed to Madam. “I don’t want your son.”
Giselle took a half turn then turned back to Madam. “Here,” she said thrusting the crumpled bundle into Madam’s chest. “Have some flowers.”
The doors moved and Giselle jumped into the gap to prevent them from closing again. “I’ll be leaving you now. Maybe you two should get a room. You seem to have a lot in common.”
Stepping all the way into the empty elevator car, Giselle pressed the button for the eleventh floor. She leaned against the mirrored back wall. The gap narrowed, closing out the angry faces of Madam and the wizard. The doors clamped shut and with a jerk the car moved upward.
First floor, second, third…not much farther now. She was almost to her room. Nothing would stand between her and a hot shower followed by a long nap. Tenth floor. One more to go.
The elevator car shook.
Giselle held her breath. Her heart raced. Jerk. Shudder. Scraping and screech of metal on metal. Jolt.
She could hear the thump, thump, thump of her heart in her ears. Giselle’s body shook. Or was it the elevator car?
The elevator car abruptly shuddered to a stop.
Uh-oh. The car was not quite on the tenth floor and not quite on the eleventh floor.
Surely it would start moving again. Giselle continued to hold her breath, hoping.
Giselle gulped in a lung full of air. Crap. The elevator wasn’t going to start moving again. It was stuck.
This just wasn’t turning out to be her day.
* * * * *
Her watch said 12:10 p.m. It had been ten minutes since the elevator came to rest. Sitting on the floor of the car with her back to the mirrors, her face buried in the palms of her hands, Giselle groaned. She fought the nausea that pushed a sour taste up into her throat. The bottom portion of the box of chocolates lay empty beside her. The top portion was near the door where she had tossed it. A scattered handful of brown wrappers made a trail between the two halves.
Giselle burped. “Excuse me,” she said automatically, and then laughed at the
absurdity of the apology. The laugh hurt. “Ugh,” she moaned, hugging her aching stomach.
Surely someone had noticed that the elevator was stuck by now. The phone in the call box of the elevator car had been of no help. Giselle had tried to reach someone seconds after the elevator came to a stop and…nothing. No tone, no ringing, no nothing to indicate that the phone worked.
Don’t panic, she’d thought. There’s still the emergency alarm button. But pressing the button had produced…nothing. Not a bell, a buzz, a ring, or even thud. That was when she’d opened the box of chocolates and her panic gorge fest had begun.
A thought occurred. Cell phone. Maybe her cell phone would work. Giselle sent up a silent prayer. The service on her cell phone was dodgy, particularly when she tried to use it in an elevator. She saw her purse lying in the corner.
Giselle got to her knees and crawled to the purse and began rooting around, pushing the junk from side to side. Finally, she just upended the entire contents onto the floor. The phone landed with a heavy plunk in the middle of a pile of bills right next to a box of breath mints and a tampon.
She was about to pick it up when the Scooby theme sounded. Wow, that was timing.
The caller ID readout displayed an unfamiliar number. She opened the phone, pressed talk and jumped in without greeting.
“I need help. I’m trapped.”
“Giselle, ma cherie. It is Vector.”
This couldn’t be happening to her.
“Vector.”
“I give you another chance for the romantic with me. I am thinking that you are the tiredness when I see you at hotel. But you have rest and now—”
“How did you get this phone number?” she demanded, interrupting him.
“You call to confirm our date.” His voice sounded even more tinny and nasal over the phone.
“We didn’t have a date. Well, we had a date, but it wasn’t a date date. Oh, never mind that. I’m stuck.”
“I save your number in my phone so I call with just one number, the how-you-call-it speed dial. So you are uniqueness, yes? You have the number two. If I am pressing the number two, I call you. I, of course, am number one on the speed dial.”
“Why would you need to have yourself as number one? You don’t have to call yourself. Oh, never mind that. I’m trapped in an elevator at the hotel.”
“You want Vector to come to the hotel and have the sex in the elevator?”
“What? Are you insane? We are never, ever, going to have sex. I’m trapped in the elevator. You need to call someone at the hotel.”
“You want me to call you back at the hotel? But why do I not call you back on your cell phone? It is easiness. I am only pressing the speed dial number two in my phone.”
“Oh, just forget it.”
Giselle snapped the phone shut. It clicked so hard it sounded like an animal trap springing shut. If only it was a trap wire springing shut right on the skunk’s neck.
The face of the phone said there was service. Thank heavens. Opening the phone again, the Scooby theme sounded before she could press in a telephone number. The little French twerp was calling her again.
She cut off the call without even answering. Then she began to dial 9-1-1.
Before she could press in the last one, the obnoxious ring of her phone sounded again. Vector.
“Aggggghhhhh!” If she ever got out of this elevator he was going to be one dead varmint.
At one time she had loved having Scooby on her phone. Now she wished she would never have to hear it again. She cut off the theme by pressing talk.
“Listen, Vector,” she said into the phone. “You must stop calling me. Do you understand?”
She waited for an answer. None came. From a great distance, a muffled voice could be heard, as if fabric covered the microphone on the phone.
“I know that she love me,” the muffled voice with a French accent said.
“Yeah, buddy, but what do you want?” another muffled voice asked.
“Quoi?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Stop that,” the muffled non-French voice said with exasperation. “What do you want to order?”
“Oh. I wish the espresso… But I am say, that I know she love me even though…”
Shuffling, crinkling paper, scraping and clinking.
“Hey, bub. You can’t smoke in here.”
Vector’s phone was calling her from his pocket. That idiot. Giselle pressed the end button.
“I am just light the cigarette, I not puff,” she heard the French twerp say.
“I don’t care, this place is non-smoking. You can’t light that cigarette in here by law.”
“I am not lighting cigarette by law. I am by counter.”
She pressed the button again with no effect. The stupid phone had seized up and wouldn’t let her disconnect.
“Vector,” she screamed into the receiver. “Vector, can you hear me?”
“Cute, but you still can’t smoke,” the muffled voice continued.
“I no understand you. I am not by law. So I am smoke, yes?”
“No.”
Oh forget it. She snapped the phone shut again. Maybe if she gave it a rest it would work. Almost immediately the musical ring began. A line of obscenities formed in her mind about a mile long.
She opened the phone. Would it be a call from Vector or from his pocket?
“Ms. Hunter, you were repeatedly warned.” The gravelly whisper with a metallic edge sent a spike of fear into Giselle’s heart.
“You did not leave Savannah as I told you to do. Therefore, you will die,” the voice continued.
Giselle couldn’t tell whether it was a male or female. The voice sounded electronically altered and she’d never be able to identify its owner. Although it probably didn’t matter if the person behind the voice was about to carry through with his—or her—threat.
“I’ll leave now.” Giselle heard a frightened little girl quality in her voice. She hated that and beat it down…that and the tears that suddenly filled her eyes. “Not! Listen, you coward, if you want a piece of me come in here and get me.”
A grating mechanized chuckle met her challenge. “Oh, there’s no need for that, Ms. Hunter.”
The elevator car shook and then jerked. The motor gave a high-pitched whine.
Thank heavens. The car was about to move. She was finally going to get out of here.
The car lurched upward again. Then the floor dropped and kept falling faster and faster.
As the car plummeted downward toward the bottom of the shaft where it would smash into little pieces, it occurred to Giselle that she was going to die and she’d never found a ghost. On the other hand, now she would be a ghost.
Giselle crouched in the corner of the elevator, her arms outstretched, each palm levered against a wall, as the elevator car continued to nose-dive.
Eighth floor, seventh floor…
The car accelerated as it fell, a strange whirring sound set in.
Was she supposed to jump up at the last second to avoid massive injuries or was that just an urban legend?
Six floor, fifth floor…
Eyes squeezed firmly shut, Giselle tried to remember a prayer and couldn’t. She opened her eyes.
Fourth floor…
Maybe she was supposed to lie flat on the floor. Then she wouldn’t have anywhere to fall.
Third floor…
Wasn’t her life supposed to flash before her eyes at this point? Nothing came to mind. Giselle couldn’t even bring her parents into focus. She couldn’t think of anything except Ry’s face. Why would she think of the bastard?
Second floor…
Suddenly, there was terrible grinding screech of metal rubbing against metal coming from under her feet. Was it her imagination or had the elevator car slowed?
First floor.
The elevator car jerked and then heaved in a slight upward motion before it lunged about a foot. There was a great thud before the car cam
e to an abrupt rest.
Giselle opened her eyes. She was still alive. Wasn’t she? She looked down at herself then into the mirror on the back wall. Her reflection clearly showed a person who was alive and extremely filthy.
A few bumping noises and scratches came from outside the doors. Then a small opening appeared, followed by a metal tool that gripped either side of the doors near their top. The tool pried at either side of the gap until the doors slid open.
Giselle found herself looking up at a rotund bald man dressed in a service technician’s blue uniform, standing in the doorway. Beyond him was the pinched face of the desk clerk and the hotel lobby. The elevator, it seemed, had come to rest about half a floor below the main level.
“Let me help you out of there, miss.” The service man extended a hand down to her.
Her legs quaking under her, Giselle stepped to the corner and retrieved her purse and then took hold of the hand with a grateful smile to the man.
The serviceman pulled and Giselle felt herself lifted.
“Don’t hurt your back, Tony,” she heard the desk clerk say.
Lovely. That was probably a comment on her weight.
“No problem, she’s light as a cloud,” Tony said, smiling down at Giselle as he continued to lift her.
Bless him.
The serviceman stepped back and swung her up and onto the lobby floor. Giselle’s knees almost buckled, but the wonderful serviceman held on to her waist until she steadied.
“Poor girl,” he said.
Giselle stepped away from him. “Thank you so much.” She swayed. It felt as if the floor moved under her. Her head whirled with dizziness.
“I don’t know what could have happened to that elevator,” the serviceman said.
“Someone tampered with it,” Giselle said, wiping at the perspiration that had formed on her upper lip.
The desk clerk’s pinched expression turned even more sour. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he said.
“I don’t either,” the serviceman said, scratching his chin. “But it’s a good thing the brake was in working order. Who knows what could have happened if it had hit the bottom of the shaft at full speed.” He eyed her with speculation. “You don’t look well. You look as if you are going to faint,” he said. “You’d better go to your room.”
A Girl, a Guy, and a Ghost Page 13
