by Dawn Eastman
I was close enough to the door to hear heated whispers and then they faded down the hallway.
A glance at my watch told me we still had half an hour before dinner.
Vi had cornered Wally behind the drinks table and was interrogating him about the history of the castle.
Mom sat by the window with Mavis and Selma. She shuffled her tarot cards as they looked on.
I sighed.
Mac leaned toward me and whispered, “I guess this wasn’t the best backup plan.”
I shook my head. “No, but it’s only for one night—we’ll get out of here tomorrow. Maybe we can even get another flight to Mexico.”
Isabel and Lucille walked into the room. Isabel zeroed in on the yarn in the room and went to sit with Tina, Heather, and Amy. Lucille zeroed in on Mac.
“What a wonderful surprise that we get to spend the evening with you two,” she said as she approached.
We told her the story of our flight cancellation and Mac’s alternate plan.
“I think Linda Garrett is planning to give us a tour of the hotel and tell us about all the antiques and artwork her family has collected over the years. She’s very proud of this place.”
“Is she the owner?” Mac asked. “I don’t think we’ve met her yet.”
“I thought she said she would be here. . . .” Lucille glanced around the room. “She and her daughter Jessica are co-owners with Clarissa Carlisle. Clarissa is Linda’s brother’s child. David Carlisle died recently and Clarissa moved here to help with the hotel.”
“Yes, we met Clarissa and Jessica just before you came in,” I said.
“They were together?”
“Well, no. They came in separately and then left . . . sort of together.”
“I hope Linda is around,” Lucille said. “She seems to be the only thing keeping the cousins from attacking each other.”
6
I was about to ask Lucille to explain when Wally extricated himself from Vi and moved toward the doorway.
“Our chef, René, is from Paris and is an expert in French cuisine. He has a great dinner planned for tonight,” Wally said. “You can go in anytime now.”
The knitters noisily left the library and headed in to dinner.
I spotted a table for two by the window and quickly steered Mac toward it.
“Clyde! Mac! We got a big table for all of us,” Vi shouted and waved from across the room.
I squeezed Mac’s hand and trudged across the room to tell Vi we wanted to sit alone. Unfortunately, Mac followed me, and we found ourselves sitting with our families. I tamped down a flash of irritation and reminded myself it was only for one night.
Before the waiter arrived, Clarissa entered the room. She stopped at the table where Amy, Tina, and Heather sat. “I talked to Kirk, and he’ll be happy to help you with your . . . competition,” she said. They nodded their thanks and leaned toward one another, urgently whispering the moment she walked away.
She stopped at our table and Vi began to introduce Mac and me.
“Yes, we met earlier.” Clarissa put her hand on Mac’s shoulder. I felt him tense next to me. “Isn’t this lovely! It’s a family reunion,” Clarissa exclaimed. “There’s nothing like family, is there? Ever since I came back to help Aunt Linda and Cousin Jessica run the hotel, I keep asking myself why I stayed away so long. Of course, I had no idea there would be so much knitting.” She shivered dramatically and leaned toward Mac and me. “It gives me hives just thinking about it.”
Vi’s face turned pink and her lips paled into a thin line. I hoped Clarissa would move on before a brawl broke out.
“I would love to stay and chat, but duty calls,” she said. “You let me know if there’s anything you need.” She cocked her head at Mac and turned away.
She approached the table where Isabel, Mavis, and Selma sat. Mavis kept her head down and didn’t speak to Clarissa. Isabel smiled politely but didn’t encourage her.
After a moment or two of silence, Clarissa clicked her heels out of the dining room. And the three women sighed in relief.
Jessica approached our table before I could ask Vi and Mom why Clarissa had gotten such a cool reception.
She looked at the door and Clarissa’s retreating back.
“Wallace just told me he didn’t have a room for you. I might—”
“It’s okay, Jessica, we worked it out,” Vi said. “We’re all sharing.” She gestured around the table.
Jessica gave me a sympathetic smile and I liked her even more.
“Well, let us know if you need anything,” she said. “Mother and I have always prided ourselves on making our guests feel at home.” She glanced at the doorway. “Even before Clarissa joined us.”
“Thank you, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Mac said.
Jessica moved to the next table just as Wally came to announce he would act as our waiter and to describe the menu for the evening.
“Vi says you’ll be sharing our room, Clyde,” Mom said as she passed me the bread basket. “That will be so exciting—like a girls’ weekend. We can’t let Dad and Seth have all the fun.”
“I haven’t had a chance for some quality time with my son in years!” Lucille told the table.
Mac studied his plate and took deep breaths.
“I hope you and Mac can find something to do while we’re in our workshops,” Vi said to me. “Isabel has a very packed schedule for the weekend.”
I thought about how we wouldn’t be sipping cocktails and relaxing on the beach.
“Clyde, I’m sure you could join us,” Lucille said, and looked at me hopefully. She was determined to make a knitter out of me. Vi and Mom had given up years ago to focus on pressuring me to use my psychic talents. Knitting was a distant second on their priority list.
“I should probably keep Mac company,” I said.
“But Mac can knit,” Lucille said.
The table fell silent as every eye was trained on Mac. He rested his elbow on the table and put his head in his hand.
“Didn’t you tell her?” Lucille asked
“It never came up, Mom,” Mac mumbled to his plate.
“I knew it!” Vi said.
“You knew that Mac could knit?” I said.
“No, I knew we’d figure out a way to get you to take a class. If Mac is there, too, it will be just like the vacation you planned.”
“Not exactly, Vi,” I said. Not even close.
Violet gave me a crooked smile. “Well, there aren’t any beaches here, but you can still have some fun.” She nodded once to end the discussion.
Fortunately, Wally arrived just at that moment with our meals. He apologized that the menu had been severely limited. The chef wanted to conserve supplies in case they couldn’t get back out for a couple of days to replenish. I shuddered to consider that we could be stuck here for a couple of days.
My first bite of the coq au vin had me hoping we would never have to leave. The slightly salty, savory chicken and mushrooms was rapidly eclipsing all other favorite dishes. I’m not much of a foodie, and even less of a cook, but I recognized that this was something special.
“Wow,” I said. “This is incredible.”
Vi nodded. “They’re pretty impressed with their chef.”
“They should be,” I said.
The room grew quiet as everyone focused on their meal. After a few minutes, the door swung open and the chef appeared. He made his way among the tables, accepting praise and chatting with the guests. He wore a white smock and a tall white hat. I was surprised to see he was about my age—probably early thirties.
He stopped to talk to Mavis and Selma. They both blushed furiously at something he said.
“Ah, our newest guests,” he said when he reached our table. “I am René Sartin, head chef. I hope you are enjoying the dinner.” He had a heavy French accent and
I had a weird sense of watching a bit of dinner theater.
After graciously receiving compliments from our table, he gave a short bow and strode back into the kitchen.
I leaned toward Vi after René left.
“Vi, what’s the deal with Clarissa and the knitters?” I tilted my head toward the table where Isabel and Mavis had been sitting. Only Selma remained.
Vi shifted in her seat to look. She shook her head as she turned back toward me.
“That’s a very sad story,” she said. “Mavis’s daughter, Teresa, and Isabel were best friends in high school. Teresa was horribly bullied and eventually took her own life.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” I said.
“Mavis has always blamed Clarissa. She was the leader of a mean-girl pack and Isabel claimed that they targeted Teresa after an incident with a boy. It seems Teresa lured Clarissa’s boyfriend away and she never let up after that.”
“Why did Isabel have the conference here if she knew Clarissa would be here?”
Vi shook her head. “I don’t think she knew. Isabel and Jessica had a bit of a dustup when we all arrived. Isabel said Jessica should have told her, and Jessica said she would keep Clarissa away from the knitters.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mom leaned over to look at us.
“Nothing, Rose. Just filling Clyde in on the situation with Mavis and Clarissa.”
“Oh. Let’s not ruin our dinner talking about that,” Mom said. “When I think of what poor Mavis must have gone through . . .” Mom’s eyes welled up. She grabbed her water and took a sip.
Silence fell over the table and we focused on our food. Lucille finally broke the tension.
“I wish Isabel had included a class on spinning yarn. I’ve always thought it would be fun to spin my own yarn and then knit something wonderful with it.” Her eyes held the kind of gleam Vi got when talking about the pendulum.
“That sounds fabulous,” Mom exclaimed. I sensed she was just glad to change the subject.
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about what kind of fleece to spin or how thick to make it,” Vi said.
“That’s why I wish there was a class.” Lucille took a sip of wine. “I’ve been thinking about buying an alpaca from that farm outside of Crystal Haven.”
Mac choked on his chicken and I pounded his back.
Lucille glanced at Mac and continued. “I could keep it in my garage in the winter and spin its fleece. I wonder if I need more than one—how many alpacas do you need for a sweater?”
Fortunately, Wally began clearing plates, and Mac was able to gain control of himself.
“I don’t think I could eat another bite, but I heard the desserts are the chef’s specialty,” Mom said.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, the lights flickered, and the room plunged into darkness.
Someone screamed. A plate shattered on the floor.
“Everyone stay calm,” Wally announced. “I’ll go get some flashlights.” He crashed through the dining room, bumping into tables on his way out.
I heard muffled whispers and the shifting of chairs.
Mac raised his voice to be heard over the mutterings around the room. “Let your eyes adjust to the dark,” he said. “I’m sure Wally will be back in a moment.”
As if on cue, Wally clicked on a large flashlight that he shone in everyone’s eyes before realizing he had blinded us all with its brightness.
“Oh, sorry everyone. I have some flashlights here,” he said as he pointed his light at the ground and made his way to the tables, passing out the lights.
“We only have a few of these, but Jessica went to get some candles,” Wally said. “Unfortunately, we do lose power occasionally during severe storms. We have a backup generator and it should be working momentarily.”
Murmurs spread as people clicked on their lights and checked to be sure their friends were okay.
“Why don’t we all move into the lounge?” Wally swung his light toward the door. “The fire is warm and bright, and we can have coffee while we wait for maintenance to get the power up and running again.”
The flashlights and promise of coffee had improved the mood of the room. Scraping chairs, giggles, and exclamations of “just like camping!” and “delightfully spooky” accompanied the group out of the room. We trooped down the dark hallway, following Wally’s light, and settled by the fire.
I was grateful for the shadows in the corners as Mac and I separated from the group for a moment of privacy.
“I would think that this was the most romantic place ever, if we didn’t have most of our families along for the weekend,” I said.
“This hasn’t worked out quite the way I planned, but we should be able to find another place tomorrow,” he said quietly. He leaned toward me and kissed my neck just below my ear. I slid my arm around his waist and was enjoying the moment when Wally’s light shone right in my eyes again. Mac jerked away. And Wally swung the light back toward the group.
“Sorry! Just doing a head count,” Wally said.
Mac and I stepped closer to the group sitting by the fire.
Vi looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “A blizzard, a power outage, and a haunted castle! What could be more fun?”
“Haunted?” Mac’s lipsticked admirer asked with a quavery voice.
“Oh, definitely,” Vi said. “The original owner died on a night just like this. Drowned in her bathtub up in the turret room.”
Wally was standing close enough that I heard him sigh.
7
Vi had grabbed everyone’s attention.
“What?”
“Drowned?”
“Who?”
Vi launched into her tale of treachery and deceit.
I’d assumed that the ghost story was part of the hotel’s offerings. Like a “George Washington slept here” kind of thing. But, apparently, Vi had pried the information out of Wally and he seemed to be regretting it.
“. . . found her dead in the bathtub when she returned with the cocoa,” Vi concluded. “Her ghost walks the halls and stands at the turret window on nights like this.” The flashlight she held cast spooky shadows on her face.
The lounge was silent as the group digested Vi’s story. Jessica rushed into the room at that moment carrying a box of candles and a lighter. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get back.” Her hair stood out in excited springs and she stopped to catch her breath. “I see you’re all settled comfortably here.” She glanced around at the pale, shocked faces. “What?”
“I was just telling them the story of your ghost,” Vi said. “It’s a doozy.”
“Our . . . ghost?” Jessica’s eyes grew wide and she glanced at Wally. “We’re trying to leave that in the past.” Jessica passed out the candles. “Clarissa doesn’t think it represents our new direction. She’s even living in the turret room in order to prove to the staff that it’s just a story.”
“What do you think?” Lucille asked. Several heads turned at this question.
“Well, I did grow up hearing the stories,” Jessica said. “And certainly had some fun with my friends at sleepovers scaring one another.” She glanced at Isabel, who smiled. “But I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary in that room or any other room in the castle.”
Wally coughed quietly next to me.
“Now, maybe we should talk about something else,” Jessica said. “The castle has a very interesting history besides the tragic story of Ada Carlisle.”
“I heard that rumrunners used to hide alcohol here during Prohibition,” Vi volunteered. “I heard there was a speakeasy in the basement.”
“I don’t think that’s the kind of history Ms. Garrett means,” Wally said.
Jessica smiled gratefully at him and nodded.
“No, I was talking about the architecture and some of the furnishings and paintings,” Jessica said.
Vi yawned in my ear.
“The castle has been in my family since it was built in 1895, and every generation puts its own stamp on the building. We have an extensive art collection as well as authentic period furniture. My mother has spent much of her career curating the collection. I often tease her that the castle is her favorite child. Clarissa is working to make this a destination spa and hotel. And our chef, René, is close to having our restaurant Michelin rated.”
“Do you do other conferences here?” Mom asked.
“We try to schedule something once a month. We don’t like to do too many because we are small enough that a conference can easily fill all the rooms and then there aren’t any for regular guests.” She glanced at me and tilted her head. “My mother could tell you so much more about the history of some of our artwork. It’s really her obsession, right after running the hotel. I wonder where—”
A muffled shriek cut across Jessica’s words.
Everyone turned toward the door, candle flames dancing with the movement.
We heard it again, but louder.
I rushed toward the exit, and Mac followed right behind.
“Everyone stay where you are,” Jessica said. “We’ll be right back.”
I assumed no one followed directions, based on the stampede of feet that trailed Mac and me into the hallway. We heard someone running on the floor above and headed for the stairs. As we reached the top, a well-dressed older woman approached carrying a kerosene lamp. She wore a navy suit and low heels, its conservative feel contrasting with her huge, wild eyes. She put her hand to her mouth when she spotted us.
“Oh, she’s . . . where’s?” the woman said.
Jessica quickly introduced the woman as her mother, Linda Garrett.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Jessica stepped forward and hugged her.
“It’s Clarissa.” Linda took a shaky breath. “She’s dead.”
Her hands shook and caused the flame to bounce and flicker. Jessica gasped.
An uproar of shocked dismay rose from the stairs where the rest of the guests congregated.
