Mallory smiled. So, that was why she wanted to interview her. “Well, thank you for the invite. I’d love to take you up on that but I have a few things to do first. Breakfast doesn’t open for a half an hour but there’ll be coffee in the lobby.”
21
O NCE the girls left, Mallory went downstairs to the parlor. The gas fireplace hummed in the corner but the room was still dark so Mallory switched on the table lamp. The red tassels swayed as she moved her hand away.
She’d heard violins since she came in the room. Violins were the sound that accompanied her gift of intuition. Mallory closed her eyes and tried to focus on where the music was coming from, just as Nana encouraged her to. Perhaps the book exercise would help her focus. Most of the books were in the library but there were a few shelves in here too. Mallory thought of a book she might like to read. She closed her eyes and held her hand out; running it along the books until the leather of one in particular warmed her fingers and the violin music grew louder. Lifting it from the shelf, the music reached a crescendo and Mallory heard a grinding. The wall had opened up.
What was this?
Mallory thought she knew of all the passageways in the house. Could there really be one that Nana and Mallory were unaware of?
Bakalo jumped down off the chair and circled her legs. Mallory bent down to pet him and he meowed.
“Big hairy cats first,” She whispered, irritated by the quiver in her voice. “Go on, Bakalo, run ahead and make sure nothing scurries across my feet.”
Mallory’s body trembled, but she followed Bakalo anyway—one step at a time into the cool dark chamber. The cold air surrounded her and a musty smell tickled her nose. Her eyes strained to get used to the dim lighting. Then she reached up and flicked a switch on the wall. Instantly, the tunnel was illuminated with a soft light and the door to the manor’s parlor automatically closed behind her. Had she known that switch was there? Instinct was the only answer Mallory could think of.
From floor to ceiling, the walls were cement. Ever the hunter, Bakalo, her fat grey forest cat stalked in front of her in search of any rodents or insects that would dare show their beady little eyes. Mallory walked over a solid film of dirt, mold, and much to her dismay through several spider webs. Wishing she’d had the foresight to don her black combat boots before entering. These slippers were now garbage.
She began to sense light and fresh air. The tunnel split in two directions, she could continue to follow it to the left or she could step outside, straight ahead, into the garden. She chose the outdoors. The overgrown path wound in front of her, twisting and turning and yet she remembered the way. Mallory was puzzled. Had she been here before? She could remember the magical herb-garden in summer, and the birds that sang at dawn. Yes, she had been here, as a child. She remembered tea under the chestnut tree, and the deep tranquility she’d known here.
She bent her head to avoid a low swinging branch of a tree. The path hadn’t been this overgrown the last time she’d travelled it, but nature had obviously taken over in the last eighteen years. The tree limbs leant close to one another, their branches intermingled in a strange embrace, making a vault above her head like an archway. The stone wall that ran along the garden was encompassed in green now, choked with grass and moss and vines. The lilac bush that she remembered had been a landmark, was overgrown. It had put down suckers and spread. On and on, for a moment Mallory thought she was lost, and then it appeared, their family cottage, their secret retreat, the grey stone now covered in nature. Mallory stood, her heart thumping in her breast, the strange prick of tears behind her eyes.
Time had tampered with but not wrecked the perfect little stone cottage built into the side of the hill. The chimney, the lattice windows, it was all so familiar. The stairs that led up the hill were covered in moss and barely recognizable. The pink azaleas that used to dot the hill now stood ten feet high, mixed and twisted with bracken. The purple clematis vines had crept along the hill and encroached upon the house itself. Wild grapevines choked the terrace table and chairs, they sprawled against the very windows of the house. Mallory walked to the window and peered in. A little girl’s doll house was visible through the boarded-up window with all of its dirt. The main door was also boarded-up so there was no way inside from here. Mallory turned and walked back to the tunnel from which she’d come. She remembered a time when that cottage had been her home. The bright cushions, lolling in the chairs; the charred embers of their log fire still smouldering against the morning, and Mallory as a child curled up in her father’s lap. The sun rose higher and her illusion went with it. Mallory needed to get back to the manor before everyone else woke, but as she followed the path she remembered where the door was located—at the very end of the tunnel that turned left. The one she hadn’t continued down.
Bakalo was already sitting and waiting for her when she came to it. “You clever cat, you. You’ve been here before too huh?” Mallory’s eyes ran over the contours of the wrought iron scroll work that decorated the oversized arched door. The once brown wood had aged to a fine patina. Did she dare take more time and go inside? Mallory reached down, slowly placing her hand on the doorknob.
Locked.
The childish delight she’d felt upon seeing the door instantly vanished.
She remembered it all so clearly now. The place she’d lived with her parents when they stayed at the Manor. Two bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen with a breakfast nook, and a cozy living room which they called the magic room, lots of bookshelves, and a window seat overlooking the orchard. Mallory loved their house. It had always been sunlit, merry, and constantly filled with wildflowers, delicious aromas, and music. The tunnels she’d loved running through as a child, had been much cleaner back then. The hidden cottage in the secret garden accessed through a secret passage… What had they been afraid of? Eighteen years had passed since she’d last been inside, but still how could Mallory have forgotten?
Before then, she’d been an unheeded and unhindered seven-year-old girl named Mahala. A girl who when she wasn’t staying here at the manor had travelled the forests of Europe with a caravan, witnessing the Chovihano perform rituals using amulets, talismans, and coins—murmuring commands in the Romani tongue while sprinkling salt for protection. How had she forgotten all of this? Mallory needed the key. There was something else Mallory was forgetting about this place. It was there… on the edge of her mind… teasing her.
Mallory took a deep breath as she exited the parlor and headed for the hall, moving quickly and quietly for the main stairs. The house carried the fresh aroma of lavender and pine, clean laundry, and freshly washed floors. The staff had begun the daily chores. Time had slipped away from her in the garden. She could hear murmurs down the hall, so it was best to go back the other way and use the secret stairs before she ran into more conference goers. The hidden corridor took longer but…
“Oh, hello again...” Mallory said, practically running over the salt-and-pepper haired man who’d helped them with their translation.
A bell chimed through a speaker in the hall, interrupting their conversation.
“That bell signals breakfast is being served in the main hall, right?” The man asked.
Mallory nodded.
“I’m famished.” He smirked. “Are you coming?”
“I’ll see you down there. I have to change.”
His eyes found her dirty slippers. “Yes, I see that. You’ve been wandering outside.”
Mallory didn’t respond. Instead she waited for him to disappear down the hall before she pushed on the secret panel.
22
B Y the time she’d showered and dressed, Lise had checked in several new guests and supplied Detective Bones with the guest list as promised. That being done, Mallory was in no hurry to get to the main desk so she called the hospital.
“This is Mallory Vianu. I was there yesterday visiting my grandmother in room 103. Could you tell me how she’s doing?”
“I’ll connect you with her room and
she can tell you herself.”
Three-and-a-half rings of the phone later, she answered.
“Nana? It’s Mal. How are you doing?”
“I’m hungry—that’s how I’m doing!”
“How come? Won’t the doc let you eat?”
“Of course he will. As long as it’s the consistency of baby vomit and just as appealing. I’d give my signed Golden Girls t-shirt for some of Danior’s French Blinis.”
“You must be delirious. No way you’d ever part with your Golden Girls for pancakes.”
“Well, give me another week in here and all bets are off.”
They chatted for a few more minutes before Nana informed her that it was time for the nurse to use her as a human pincushion. It was a typical Nana comment and Mallory let out a laugh.
Part of her wanted to tell Nana what she’d discovered, but now was not the time. Mallory promised to make sure that everything was running smoothly throughout the Manor and hung up.
She returned to the main floor minutes later and found her way to the kitchen. She needed to talk to someone. The copper pots and pans that usually hung neatly over the butcher block were scattered around the stove and sink, but aside from the mess, the place was empty… and yet there were eggs cooking on the grill.
The walk-in fridge door opened and out popped Danior carrying more eggs and a large package of peamale bacon.
“There you are. I thought I’d hired ghosts to man the kitchen.”
“Nope just li’l ole me.”
“It smells good in here.”
“I know, right? I’m salivating,” She answered, pouring the hollandaise sauce over a plate of eggs benedict.
“Where’s Nat?” Mallory asked looking around the kitchen for the older portly lady who usually dominated the space.
“She’s out front monitoring the new waiters.”
Danior rolled her eyes.
“Don’t act like you don’t do it too.” Mallory chided.
“True. It’s one of the benefits of being the chef’s second in command—the hierarchy of the kitchen.”
One of the line cooks, Benny, returned and began prepping vegetables.
“By the way, I’m coming to watch you play tonight.” Mallory said stealing a piece of freshly fried bacon out of the tray.
“Hey! That’s the burnt cast-offs.”
Mallory shrugged and grinned. “My fave.”
“We’re not playing anymore. The gig got cancelled.”
“Oh no, what happened?”
“They found a bigger name, I guess.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your shot. Just keep playing.”
“I will. I just wish I wasn’t afraid to go out on the road like your parents. Now that would be living the dream.”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember it being too glamorous,” Mallory said.
Danior loved hearing how she’d been toted around the world by her wanderlust parents. Mallory agreed that her life had been interesting, to say the least, but after a few months on the road, her parents would send her home to Nana for stability. Mallory preferred it at the Manor, anyway. The beaches of France were lovely, the forests of Romania were charming, and the food in Italy was divine, but there were seedy parts to every city and travelling musicians and fortune tellers were not without their stigma.
Danior couldn’t understand that. She only saw freedom and rock-and-roll. Mallory had caught her staring at Nana’s photos of Jilli and Marco more than once and there was even a framed photo of them hidden in her bedside drawer. Danior had confided when she was little that she’d pretended Mallory’s parents were her own. Truthfully, they could have been: she could play any instrument she picked up, just like Mallory’s father Marco, and she had an amazing set of pipes just like Mallory’s folk-singing mother, Jilli.
“Make me a latte, would you Mal? I’m dying for some more caffeine. You can make your own while you’re at it.”
Mallory grinned and walked to the coffee station.
“So, what’s going on with you and Emilion, anyway?”
Danior stopped what she was doing and looked up. “Why? Did he say something while he was molesting you, last night?”
“No.” Mallory rolled her eyes. “It’s just I haven’t seen you together much lately and the dance sort of tipped me off that things weren’t exactly peachy between the two of you.”
“I know. He’s such a creep.” She said.
“I don’t think he’s a creep, Danior, and he was not molesting me. I think he was just trying to get your attention.”
Danior curled her lip at the memory. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m sick of his stunts. It seems like he’s always trying to get my attention. He’s always hanging around the reception desk, letting that baby lizard, Lise hit on him. And do you know I caught him coming out of one of the guest’s rooms the other day?”
“Whose room was it?”
“I don’t know. Second floor, east wing, in the middle I think. I don’t even care anymore. I’m done. Honestly, the nerve of him—he stuttered while he tried to come up with a lie, and then told me he was lost, like I would buy that. He gives the damn tours around here.”
“That’s so weird. I don’t think there are any young women staying in the east wing of the second floor. There was Raymond Weasel and several couples.” Mallory paused to think, “The Victorian Ladies are in the carriage house.”
Danior shot Mallory a dirty look. “Don’t defend him.”
“Oh wait.” Mallory said, remembering the video Lise had shown her. “The vlogger girls: Keiko, Todo and Shae, they’re on that floor.”
“Who?”
“Pinkie, Tattoos and Violet Eyes.”
“Oh, right. Well, whatever, I don’t want to talk about him. He can do whatever he’d like.”
Mallory reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder. “It will all work out. Do you remember that man who popped into the parlor while we were translating with Raymond?” Mallory asked.
“Seb.” Danior scooped out a bowl of freshly made raisin and cinnamon porridge and slid it over to Mallory.
“Mmm… scrumptious. You know me so well.”
“Why?”
“No big reason. I just don’t like his aura,” Mallory said, blowing on a heaping spoonful of oatmeal.
“What color is it?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know. For some reason I can never get a lock on a color. I’ve never had that happen before.”
Danior dropped her voice, “you think he’s got some talents of his own that maybe keep you from seeing?”
“I hadn’t thought of that but maybe. I saw him in the hall again. I think I saw him at the party right before Nana passed out and I definitely saw him speaking to Raymond before he died.”
“Did you ask him if he knew him?”
“No, I was preoccupied, which brings me to why I came in here.” Mallory lowered her voice and glanced at the assistant in the corner. “I found something. Can we talk alone?”
“Benny.” Danior shouted.
“Yeah, Dan?”
“Go take a smoke break, would ya?”
“Gladly.”
Dani looked at Mallory as soon as the back door shut. “Well?”
“I found a hidden tunnel,” Mallory said.
Danior rolled her eyes as if to say that’s all. “Ugh, yeah, there are lots of them and you use them every day, crazy-pants.”
“No, this is a new one—it’s in the parlor. Do you know about it?”
“No, why would I know about it if you didn’t? You’re the one who showed me all the passages as a kid. What’s so special about this tunnel, anyway? They run all through the place.”
“This one is different.”
“What is it—a hidden door behind a bookcase that creaks on rusty hinges and leads you up a worn spiral staircase to an attic filled with old maps and treasure?”
Mallory gave a wry chuckle. “Not quite but close. It’s a book called The Secret Garden th
at opens the door into a long and winding tunnel. There’s no attic but there is a cottage locked away in a garden.”
“The floor creaked in the hallway outside the kitchen. Mallory paused to see if anyone was coming in, but the footsteps kept traveling down the hall.
“What was in there?” Danior asked.
“The door was locked so I couldn’t get in.”
“Oh,” Danior said in a small voice.
Mallory paused, suddenly feeling as though ice cubes were touching her neck. She wasn’t as freaked-out by ghosts as she once was, but it was still unnerving to have spirits approach her and try to communicate. Knowing what to say to them, how to react, still did not come naturally to her.
“What is it, Mal?” Danior asked, rubbing her arms. She could clearly feel the drop in temperature.
“We’re not alone,” Mallory replied. She looked over her shoulder and saw an apparition in the doorway motioning for her to come.
“Who is it?” Danior asked.
“Don’t know. It’s mom or grandma. I can only feel her energy. She doesn’t communicate verbally yet. She wants me to go with her. I’ll be back,” Mallory said jumping up and hurrying out of the kitchen.
“What?” Danior said, picking up a meat cleaver and heaving it down into the cutting board. “Mal, are you kidding me?”
Mallory heard Danior calling after her, but it was no use. Things were coming back to Mallory fast, and she knew this ghost was here to help her remember. She needed to know what else she’d forgotten.
23
T heir smoke-grey cat jumped down from the wingback chair as Mallory entered the apartment’s sitting room. He scrubbed his head against her leg.
“Hey there, buddy.” Mallory bent down and ran her hand over the top of Bakalo’s head and he started to purr as Mallory walked away. “Sorry. I’ve got to find something.” Mallory moved to the fireplace where the apparition had now stopped. “You want me to open this?” Mallory whispered as she removed the summer piece that covered the fireplace. The ornate black iron grate came away in her hand and fastened to the inside was a metal box. “Well, well, well, what have we here?” She opened it up and inside there was a tarnished silver skeleton key. Her parents key. Holding the treasure to the light, Mallory sighed with relief. “Ask and ye shall receive. Thank you…”
Make-Believes & Lost Memories Page 10
