by J. L. Salter
The Ghostess and Mister Muir
by Jeffrey L. Salter
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THE GHOSTESS AND MISTER MUIR
Copyright © 2014 Jeffrey L. Salter
ISBN 978-1-62135-359-1
Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGNS STUDIO
To my lovely daughter, Julia Ann Salter Moers, who watched (among many other movies) The Ghost and Mrs. Muir with me… and who enjoyed it, I believe, as much as I did.
Chapter One
Friday, August 15
“Aren’t you the new teacher who lives in the spooky old downtown hotel?” asked the female voice behind Levi Muir. Lurching into the flimsy cart against the faculty lounge wall almost caused him to spill his freshly poured coffee.
Turning, Muir realized the speaker was his attractive young colleague with lovely tanned legs. “I’ll be at the Whitecliff Apartments. Don’t know anything about a hotel.”
She moved closer and extended her sun-bronzed hand. “I’m Lucy Tierney, science department. Starting my sixth year.”
Nice to know there were some five year survivors at Magnolia High. “Levi Muir, English department. Rookie.”
“I know, Levi. We can all spot a newbie, but you look older than most.” Intently peering into his eyes, she smiled faintly. “Were you held back in college?”
Muir shrugged but didn’t explain.
“Have you been assigned a mentor yet?”
“Uh, don’t think so. Don’t recall it coming up.” His eyebrows lifted. “Are you…?”
“Oh, heavens no. Not me. I won’t serve as a mentor until my seventh year, at the earliest.” Then she lowered her voice. “The School Board even requires our principal to mentor someone each term and I’m betting she’ll take you on herself.” Lucy winked. “Mrs. Gull isn’t very inspiring and doesn’t make the time for effective mentoring, but she likes bossing the young single guys.” She pointed to his left hand.
Is she fishing for my status? Muir couldn’t arrive at an appropriate reply.
“So what do you think of your apartment in the legendary old Majestic Hotel?”
He winced with his bum ankle as he stepped to one side to let others access the dinged thirty-cup percolator. It was the final day of orientation and professional development training; Monday would be D-Day… when the students began classes. “Haven’t really stayed there yet, Miss Tierney. Tonight’s my first night.”
“Lucy. You’ve been here every day this whole week. Where have you been staying?” She pointed vaguely south, toward town.
“An aunt lives in Magnolia. My apartment wasn’t ready yet. Didn’t realize school started so early here. In fact, all I got was a nickel tour from a shrimpy manager who kept looking over his shoulder.”
Lucy nodded like she knew the man. “Where’s all your stuff?” She looked behind him as though it would be near. “Piled in the driveway at your aunt’s?”
Muir shook his head. “Left some things at my aunt’s, but I don’t really have too much besides what’s in my pickup. That’s why I was so intent on finding a furnished apartment.”
Her nicely-toned arm tensed as she reached for an empty cup, but she frowned and put it back down. “The coffee’s awful here.”
Already noted.
“Have you seen those old hotel furnishings?”
“Didn’t really notice, except to be sure I had a bed and a chair.”
“What about table and stove for cooking your meals? Plus couch and extra chair… for all your visitors?” Her warm smile suggested she’d be willing to be among them.
And attractive company she’d be. But Muir wasn’t ready to engage any new females right away… not after that awful split with Eva. “Don’t really cook, at least not worth mentioning. And not expecting many visitors, since I really don’t know anybody here except Aunt Martha.”
“Well, now you know me.” Her smile was lovely, but Muir had been fooled by beauty before. Lucy probably expected a particular reply, but he couldn’t guess what, so he just eyed the half-full cup in his hand.
“Not a big talker, are you?”
“Guess not.” It sounded terse. “Sorry. Must be the rookie jitters.”
Lucy nodded thoughtfully. “So tonight is your first night in the old Majestic…”
“The Whitecliff Apartments.”
“Well, everybody here knows it as the old hotel, so you might as well get used to it.” Her tone was lighter than the words she’d selected.
Muir discreetly eyed the lounge wall clock.
“And you probably already know that everybody says it’s…”
The principal interrupted as she jostled directly between them. “Now hush, Miss Tierney. We don’t want to scare away any more of our first year teachers.” Big-boned and tall for a woman, Gull squinted as though she were adjusting to contact lenses. “It’s difficult enough to recruit good people to small towns like ours, so don’t run them off before classes even start.”
Lucy appeared mildly embarrassed. “I thought he already knew.”
“Knew what?” Muir faced the principal again.
Mrs. Gull’s firm hands took an elbow of each and steered them out of the lounge. “All in good time. For now, let’s head into the cafeteria for final briefings and to review our battle plans for Monday.”
Lucy said no more but took a seat next to Muir at an otherwise empty table.
Over the next ten minutes, he paid considerably less attention to the briefings than to his intriguing tablemate. Though Muir and a few other rookies received orientation on Monday and Tuesday, the veterans didn’t appear until Wednesday for the professional development training aimed at all instructors. He’d immediately noticed Lucy and had observed her frequently… without actually communicating. Leaning closely, he whispered, “What was Gull talking about?”
No immediate reply. But after a new speaker took the microphone, Lucy tapped his thigh, sending electricity all over his body. Only her business card, however. On the back was a hastily scribbled note, “Tell you later.”
The principal was staring when Muir raised his head and he felt like a kid caught passing notes in study hall. Which was pretty much the situation.
The overly long briefing was just a rundown of the calendar for Fall Semester, plus reminders about upcoming accreditation visits and campus security protocol.
As the session finally ended, Muir tried to catch up to Lucy — already exiting the cafeteria — but was called back by the principal’s authoritative voice. “Mr. Muir, could I see you for a moment, please?”
“Of course, Mrs. Gull.” He watched for a clue about where they would speak. If all the way over to her office, he would fear some sort of reproach… even though he couldn’t guess why Lucy’s note would warrant any mention. But if they remained among others milling about the cafeteria and adjacent hallway, perhaps it was merely some session follow up. Muir had served in the military under officers of both genders, but it was always more difficult for him to read the females.
“I wouldn’t be worried about whatever Miss Tierney told you concerning the hotel.”
“She hasn’t told me anything.” Yet.
Gull c
ontinued anyway. “Seasoned Alabama buildings develop reputations and in an older small town like Magnolia, legends die hard, especially…” She made a show of checking her watch. “Well, anyway, like I say, don’t fret over what you hear.”
“Okay, Mrs. Gull, I won’t.” He nodded deferentially. “Thanks.”
The large principal seemed satisfied they’d held their little chat, although Muir still had no clue what they’d been talking about. So far, all he knew was the structure was old, had once been a hotel, and presently featured offices on first floor and apartments on second. Plus, whenever people mentioned the place, they usually had an odd expression and lowered their voices. Maybe there was something troubling about its third floor, supposed to be renovated soon. Wonder if it leaks into my apartment?
He checked the parking lot for Lucy, but didn’t find her. Shame. “She’s really cute,” he said to himself. “And being that hot, she probably already has a guy.”
Muir gathered his material, turned a few hallway corners to make a final check of his rather bare first floor classroom, surrounded on three sides by noisy commotion. The gymnasium and auditorium anchored each end of the four spaces on English Row, and Muir’s room shared one wall with the gym. The noisy and smelly cafeteria was right across the busy hallway and his north wall fronted the loud vehicles and hot concrete of the student parking lot.
Though the desk held nothing of his yet, Muir locked it out of habit and headed to his truck, which contained about half of everything he currently owned. The rest remained in Aunt Martha’s house, where he’d bunked since Sunday afternoon. It was Martha, knowing about his disquieting break up with Eva, who’d alerted him to this teaching vacancy and offered to share her home for as long as he needed.
Though fully grown in his mid-twenties, Muir was apprehensive about classes starting on Monday. Couldn’t shake an image of the students ripping him to shreds. Sophomore English — what on earth possessed me to take a job teaching literature and writing to 16-year-old kids?
“I’ll need a few good nights of sleep and a nice calm weekend to gear up for this battle,” he said to his dashboard, with which he could be chattier than around strangers. “And it’ll be a relief to get out of my aunt’s house and away from her yappy little mutt.” Peace and quite. Calm and rest. Weekend at Whitecliff and first night in my own apartment finally. “Sure hope there’s no construction upstairs… or anything else to rattle me.”
Chapter Two
Friday Evening
Muir had a bit of trouble getting away from his aunt’s house. “I’m not leaving Magnolia, Aunt Martha. Just moving into my new apartment.”
She hugged him for the fifth time in about forty minutes. “I just worry, Levi.” She didn’t repeat what she’d been saying almost every day since he’d arrived — how pleased she was that he’d come to her town, hopefully to settle down with a good local girl.
It wasn’t that girls were not on his mind, but Muir certainly had no intention of becoming involved again right away. “I’m sure I’ll see you often, Aunt Martha, at least on weekends. But let me get situated in this classroom environment before I invite you over for supper.”
“Oh, I have no intention of visiting you, Levi.” Martha spoke in a careful, lowered voice.
“Huh? That’s what we’ve been talking about… us staying in contact.”
“You’ll have to come here, Levi. I can’t go, um, there.” She shook her head slowly.
“Why on earth not? If my cooking’s so terrible, I’ll just order something in.”
Martha’s eyes closed briefly as she clutched his forearm. “I’ve never set foot in that old hotel, and don’t plan to.” After she released his arm, she stroked it lightly as though wanting to smooth the resultant wrinkles in his shirt. “You’ll come here, Levi.”
He sighed audibly. “Okay, Aunt Martha, but it probably won’t be during this first week or two. I expect my hands will be full with the kids and getting to know my new colleagues.”
“You find you a sweet Alabama girl, Levi,” she said, nodding her head. “If not at the church house, then at school. We raise them nicer here.”
With no suitable reply to that final statement, Muir kissed his aunt’s cheek, checked his watch again, and hurried out the door with selected belongings in a gym bag.
From Martha’s place in the east side of town, it was about two miles to downtown Magnolia. The old Majestic Hotel squatted on the square and seemed to stare northward like a sentinel stationed to warn citizens of danger. At three stories of mid-19th century red brick, it was the tallest building of the original city. Other dominant features were the ornate ledges between floors and elaborate arches over each huge window. At the very top, spaced along the entire roofline, were scores of intricate decorations which appeared, from that distance, like scouting hawks or hungry ravens.
A few minutes before five p.m., Muir finally got his key from the Whitecliff manager. Mr. Coombe was short and thin, with pale skin and receding hair. Probably in his forties.
“Wanted to ask you… I heard a lot today about this place having some sort of peculiar history or something. Back when it was an operational hotel, I guess.”
Coombe looked up furtively and gathered his phone and keys. “And…?”
“And I hoped you could fill me in. Maybe explain why people look and talk funny when they refer to this place.”
“Well, that’s a long story.” Suddenly both his expression and voice seemed strained. Coombe pointed to the wall clock in his smallish office. “And I’m really in a rush at the moment.”
Muir stepped sideways enough to block the door. “Just the broad strokes. Give me a thirty second sound bite.”
The manager’s eyes widened when he realized his escape route was compromised. “Very well. The Majestic was built shortly after the Civil War as two stories. Third floor added near the end of that century. Was the center of social activity in this area for several decades but fizzled out in the fifties, after things settled from World War Two and Korea.” Coombe eyed the clock again. “Vacant for about fifteen years or so… can’t recall exactly. Some wanted to tear it down to make office space, others wanted to restore it. What you see is the compromise.” He motioned for his new tenant to step aside.
Muir didn’t move. “Thanks for the summary, but you didn’t say anything about why people act so spooked whenever this hotel is mentioned.”
The manager’s eyes seemed to focus on something behind Muir and the slight man appeared to quake with anxiety. From the nearby coat rack Coombe grabbed his umbrella — not needed for a sunny afternoon — and brandished it as though he’d charge.
Wisely, Muir stepped aside and let him pass. “I live here now, Coombe. If there’s something I should know, you have a responsibility to tell me.” But his words fell on the manager’s coattails as Coombe skittered out the door looking over his shoulder.
A faint, pleasant scent filled the air — not a heavy cologne such as Coombe might wear, but more like a refined lady’s perfume. Muir sniffed in a few directions but couldn’t discern its source.
Muir had started to head upstairs to his new lodgings, but a stomach rumble reminded him the low-cal, low-carb platters of vegetables and cheeses provided by the school’s PTA had not exactly been filling. He certainly couldn’t quiz the departed manager, so Muir stood outside the building’s front and stopped a man who looked like he’d play a lawyer in a movie. “Could you direct me to a restaurant nearby?”
“Walking distance?”
Muir nodded. “If possible.” His unhealed ankle would allow short, leisurely strolls, but no long hikes.
“Well, we’ve got a diner over beyond the courthouse, plus some fast food down past the gas station.” He pointed in a southwesterly direction. “Oh, and a Mexican place across from the drug store.”
“How’s the Mexican food?”
“Pretty good unless you’re expecting Tex-Mex.” The man shrugged and eyed the direction he’d been heading.
“Head west to Park Street and turn south for about two blocks. It’ll be on your left. If you cross Beech Avenue, you’ve missed it.” He resumed walking.
“Okay, thanks.” Muir’s wave was unnecessary, as the possible lawyer was already moving. Not the friendliest folks I’ve ever encountered. The man’s pace visibly slowed after he passed the front of the hotel.
On his short walk, Muir noticed many buildings with prominently marked dates — several having been erected before 1900. Most were two story brick and many crunched wall-to-wall with their neighbors, though some blocks had narrow alleys. Despite the plentiful overhead sunlight of late afternoon, all those claustrophobic alleyways were dark.
He found the restaurant easily enough and ordered a combo plate dinner featured on 95 percent of the Mexican menus he’d ever seen — beef enchiladas with rice and beans. One day he’d find out how Tex-Mex differed from whatever he’d been eating in similar establishments all over the southeast United States. But not tonight. His brain required rest and his nerves needed to settle. Two beers with his dinner introduced a nice minor buzz.
On his way back to the Whitecliff, Muir reflected on his encounter with the lovely Lucy, including that electricity as she’d touched his thigh. Haven’t felt that in a while. Hadn’t really felt much of anything, in fact. If Lucy wasn’t spoken for, maybe he’d find the resolve to speak up.
He walked up Bridge Street, along the large hospital complex and turned east on Longleaf Avenue to approach his lodgings from the opposite direction, Orchid Street. This afforded his first look at the east side of all three floors and he discerned a very slight difference in brick color between the older second floor and the newer third. He’d check later for a date on the front. But that moment, walking toward the northeast corner, he distinctly chilled as he gazed up at the windows of his new apartment.
One— the east-facing window nearest the corner — looked totally dissimilar. Its glass seemed to refract light differently. Perhaps it was thicker. Its panes appeared to be contained by a different material than the framing — aluminum, probably — of its neighbors. Most significantly, the topmost portion had three arches, a larger between two smaller ones. All three of those sections featured stained glass, though Muir detected only multiple colors, not patterns.
