“How would you know? You’re never here.” Holly spat the words. “You don’t know anything.”
Cherry put a finger under Holly’s chin and made her look into her eyes. “But I’m right, aren’t I? You love your grandmother.”
Holly refused to give her the satisfaction of a reply. “How would you know?”
“Because I know. You’re like her, kid. You’re nothing like me. She couldn’t stand me and I hated her. But you - you two - you’re going to be fine together.”
“You don’t know that,” Holly said. Although it was true, there was no way Cherry could actually know that - she was just twisting things the way she wanted, just like she always did. Holly glared at her. “So, you’re just dumping me here? Are you going to visit me? When will I meet my new stepfather?” Part of her was overjoyed - I’m staying! I’m staying! - but hurt and anger smacked her down like a Mac truck. She couldn’t think.
“Holly, sometimes things just have to end,” Cherry was saying. “I think maybe we came here because you were supposed to meet your grandmother and I was supposed to meet Hugo.”
“Bullcrap!” Holly stood, the envelope still clutched in her hand. “Bullcrap! Why won’t you answer my questions?”
Cherry hesitated, her eyes filling with tears. “Because if Hugo knew I had a child, he wouldn’t want to marry me. Believe me, kid, this is best for everybody.” She reached out to run her fingers down Holly’s cheek.
Holly flinched back. “You were going to leave without even saying goodbye, weren’t you?”
A lone tear escaped. Cherry wiped it away. “It’s for the best, kid.”
***.
Arthur Meeks, his face pressed against the wall as he peered into the room next door, grinned and suppressed a rising chuckle. It had made his day, that stupefied look on the creepy little girl’s face as her mother told her she was abandoning her. Poor Little Miss Fancy Pants. Nobody loves you. Nosireebob! But she was nothing if not stoic and he was disappointed by how quickly the little bitch regained her hard edge.
Come on, Mom, he thought, make it hurt!
But alas, Cherry Devine had let her daughter down easy - far too easy for Arthur Meeks’ tastes. He wanted tears, Goddamnit - big fat, juicy, rolling tears, a quivering chin, a crumpling face. Some serious sobbing would have been ideal, of course, but Meeks knew he was dreaming if he expected that much from the soulless little slut.
All he got was that brief flash of confusion, a few “Bullcraps!” and a flicker of remorse, there and gone as quick as a snake’s tongue - and then nothing. Nothing but that goddamned self-assuredness that Meeks had come to hate clear down to his bones.
That’s when he decided to take matters into his own hands. If you want something done right, you gotta do it your goddamned self. He pried himself away from the spyhole and stepped from the vacant room into the hall, where he struck a casual pose, one shoulder pressed against the wall like he had all the time in the goddamned world. And he did.
Not that it took long for Little Miss Fancy Pants to leave Mommy’s room.
She slammed Cherry’s door behind her then saw him standing there. She froze.
“Well, well, well,” Meeks drawled. “Looks like even your own mother can’t stand the sight of you.” He grinned, relishing her surprise. “I guess Old Queen Douchebag’s gonna be your new mama now. How long do you guess it’ll be before she can’t stand you, either? Probably, she’ll ship you off to some orphanage somewhere. I know I would.” Meeks brought his 75-watt smile up to a full, beaming hundred. “I give it four, five months tops before she-”
“Shut up, creep.”
Something in the girl’s eyes dried up his words. His grin faltered as he saw a flash of gold fire so bright and strong it felt like a hot wall of hate pressing against him. Hate and something else. Something dangerous. Deadly. His breath caught. For an eternity, she just stood there staring and Meeks was paralyzed, suffocating like a fly trapped in a web.
“Just shut up and leave me alone.” She spat the words and at last, that flaming gaze slipped from his face.
The spell broke as she brushed past him and Meeks bent at the waist, sucking air into his oxygen-deprived lungs. Breath, precious, precious breath.
Stunned, he watched her disappear into her room.
Evil, he thought. Not of this world.
Evil.
Evil, evil, evil.
She must be punished!
45
Lemons and Lemonade
Holly felt as if there were an earthquake inside her. Emotions flickered like flipbook pages; shock, sadness, anger, happiness, excitement. Joy. They all collided, roiling up and down, up and down. She sat cross-legged on her bed and stared at the envelope addressed to Delilah. “My mother’s leaving me here, Fluffy,” she told the cat. “She’s leaving me.”
Tears threatened then disappeared as if a cloud had lifted from the sun. “Fluffy, you know what? I don’t have to go! I get to stay here with my grandmother like I wanted. And we get to stay together.”
Then Arthur Meeks’ voice intruded. She’ll ship you off to some orphanage somewhere. I know I would.
A tear fell, followed by an instant righteous fury, red and hot; fury at the bellhop, fury at Cherry. “You’re poison. You’re both poison.” Everything sharpened to crystal clarity and she heard a sharp sound and looked as a long thin crack ran down at the edge of her dresser mirror. She saw it so clearly that she could even see the tiny bright motes of shattered glass at the edges. Then she noticed her eyes, ablaze with gold. The cat was at the foot of the bed staring at the mirror, hissing, back arched, tail huge.
Instantly it was over. “Oh, Fluffy, no! I’m sorry, it’s okay! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
The cat gave one hiss then relaxed, though he remained at the foot of the bed.
She rose and approached the mirror. “I did that, didn’t I, Fluffy? I really did.” Now, she felt a kind of wonder. People had told her about her golden eyes, and she knew it was true, but it had never seemed so real.
Something moved within her, like a great gear shifting.
“I really did that.”
Relaxing her grip on the envelope, she stood utterly still, and thought about how much she wanted to stay here with her grandmother. With her new friends. With Fluffy. Finally, she sat back down on the bed and after a few minutes, the big cat returned, curled up in her lap, and began to purr.
She concentrated on the soothing rumble, telling herself it was the sound of happiness and she should always remember it when she felt bad. Closing her eyes, she willed her emotions to settle. Last month, she’d read an article about how the Beatles learned transcendental meditation and how good it made them feel. She wanted to learn that, too.
A little while later she heard Cherry’s door open, the bellhop’s voice and Cherry’s, then the cart creaking down the hall toward the elevator, and the click of her mother’s high heels as she walked out of her life.
She saw Fluffy looking at her, concern in his golden eyes. She scratched him under the chin. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
The cat resumed his purring.
And Holly opened the envelope.
46
Something Wicked
Steve Cross sat reading, feet propped on the switchboard desk - a rare, rebellious pose - relishing the silence and solitude. This was his favorite time of night. Cherry was long gone and guests were settling in, no one was coming or going, the phone wasn’t ringing, and there was nothing to be done except relax.
Engrossed as he was in his reading - The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Tom Wolfe’s new release - something was bothering him, niggling at the back of his mind like a quiet itch on the bottom of his foot.
The last few nights had been peaceful, quiet, but now it felt a little too quiet. A little too peaceful. Nonsense, he told himself. Nonsense. He returned to his book.
But when the elevator dinged, he jumped, dropping the novel.
Emb
arrassed, he cleared his throat, picked up the book, then stood, brushing off invisible lint, ready to greet a guest.
But when the elevator doors opened and no one exited, dread filled him. He knew he wasn’t alone. He froze as the air shimmered like a heatwave before the open elevator doors. But it was no heatwave - the lobby had turned preternaturally cold. Colder than before. Oh, no. Not now. Not again.
Then Holly Tremayne came around the corner from the stairwell. She stepped into the lobby, up to the reception desk, and stopped, staring at the shivery patch of air.
“Steve? Do you see it?”
“Not exactly, but I feel it.”
“Don’t move.” Holly stared at the black mist hovering in front of the elevator. It was what she and Keith had seen in Pearl’s house. Teeth chattering, she watched the dark form glide slowly forward, praying it wouldn’t notice her. Or Steve. As it moved from the elevator alcove into the lobby the cold intensified.
Holly put a finger to her lips. Steve’s breath puffed white vapor as he nodded. She couldn’t tell him Henry Hank was directly across from them now; she didn't dare speak. But she sensed the malice in the spirit of her great-great-grandfather. It wanted to hurt him. It wanted to hurt her. It wants to hurt everybody.
Quietly, she lifted the latch on the gate to the tall lobby desk and joined Steve behind the counter, jumping as the sound of the latch closing resounded like an explosion in the quiet lobby.
Suddenly, the black mist darkened and glided toward them. The air in her lungs froze. She felt Steve’s hands on her shoulders, trying to tug her toward the front gate, toward the front doors. “Come on!” he whispered.
Holly swallowed, staring at the mass as it bore down on them. She willed herself to focus, to bury her terror beneath a blaze of golden fire that she imagined came from her eyes. But it wasn’t working. She was too frightened.
Threads of blackness, like gelatinous strands of freezing slime began to crawl across the desk. “No!” she cried. “No!” A slimy tentacle touched her hand, a cold burn. Steve yanked her back and she let him.
Then bells jangled as someone entered the lobby.
“My goodness,” cried a large woman Holly recognized as a guest. “It’s cold enough to freeze the devil in here!”
The mist turned and glided across the room to the copper door where it disappeared with a rattling shake. A fine frost coated the metal in its wake.
“What was that?” The woman huffed at Steve.
“I’m sorry. It’s the air conditioner, Miss Berger. It’s been acting up. We’re having it repaired in the morning.”
“I should hope so!” She eyed Steve with beady eyes done up with way too much penicillin-blue eyeshadow. “Will this affect my comfort tonight? Because if it does, I-”
“No, Miss Berger, it affects only the lobby. You have nothing to be concerned about.”
The woman patted her platinum bubble-bob. “I certainly hope not. Are there any messages for me?”
While Steve checked, she eyed Holly as if she were a block of stinky cheese.
Holly just smiled, glad the woman had scared off the spirit of Henry Hank.
“No messages.” Steve said.
“Humph. Well, ring me if there are. I’m expecting one.”
With that, Miss Berger - clad in a magenta and white paisley muumuu that made her buttocks look like a pair of wrestling bear cubs - headed for the elevator.
They watched. Once the door closed, Holly turned to Steve. “That was close.”
He smiled, just a little. “If only she knew what she stopped.” He paused. “Holly, what did you see?”
“Henry Hank Barrow.”
“You saw him, then?” Steve gestured her into a seat behind the tall desk and took the other chair, amazed at her calm.
“I saw the big black cloud, yes.” Holly spoke somberly. “He’s very dangerous even though he’s broken.”
“So I gathered at the meeting. Did you come to talk about that?”
“Kind of, but first I need an envelope,” she said, not looking at him. “For this.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and Steve saw a shimmer of tears when she looked up.
“Holly? What’s wrong?” He bent forward, put a hand on her shoulder.
“This.” She held the paper out to him. “Read it.”
Steve nodded, took the letter, and began reading.
“Mother,
I have an opportunity to turn my life around. A wonderful man has proposed to me. He’s very wealthy and he is taking me around the world on our honeymoon. We leave next week. The only thing is, I have to leave Holly here with you. He can’t know about her. Ever.
I am giving her to you. She’ll be the daughter you always wanted. I know she already loves you. She said so.
I’ll write when I can.
Cherry
PS If you can’t take care of her, I think her father’s brother is living in Peoria, IL. He should be in the book.”
A second page, signed and dated, was clipped to the letter:
“I, Charlotte Cherry Beatrice Danvers Devine Tremayne hereby give my mother, Delilah Delacorte Devine, full legal guardianship of my daughter, Holly Evelyn Tremayne.”
“Dear God.” Steve looked at Holly. She stared at her shoes. “How could …” He was going to ask how Cherry could do this to her own daughter, but when he saw the pain on Holly’s face, he thought better of it. “Hey,” he said, hunching to make himself eye-level with her. “It’s not so bad here, is it? Think of all the fun we’re going to have. I think you’re just what this place needs to brighten it up.”
“I know. I mean, I’m really happy. I was going to tell her I wanted to stay.” Her lip trembled. “I was going to make her let me stay. But what if Gram … what if … what if she doesn’t want me? What if she sends me to an orph - an orphanage or something?”
Another piece snapped off Steve’s heart. “Of course she wants you, Holly. She loves you. She’s talked about nothing else since you arrived. As much as this old hotel needs you, your grandmother needs you more.” He tried a smile but it felt tight and out of place on his lips. “And I think you need her too.”
Holly nodded. “I do. But-”
“But nothing. You’re right where you belong, Holly. Life has a way of doing that - putting you where you belong. It’s painful sometimes, but it’s right. You’ll see. And your grandmother is going to be thrilled to have you.”
Her wide blue eyes became pools of hope, the gold motes glimmering like stars. “Do you really think so?”
Steve nodded. “I promise.” He handed her an envelope.
Holly took it. “Thank you.”
Steve watched her. “Fluffy needs you, too.”
Holly almost smiled. “I need him more.”
“Then it’s settled. Welcome home, Holly Tremayne.” Steve could see the light returning to her eyes and he prayed to God he hadn’t made things worse, that Delilah would be as happy with the arrangement as he’d promised Holly she’d be. He thought she would. “As for … whatever it was we just saw …”
“Henry Hank?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah. As for him, will you be okay tonight?”
She nodded. “Will you?”
Steve forced a grin he didn’t feel. “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?”
“I don’t think he’ll be back tonight,” Holly said. “It feels like he’s gone.”
“I hope you’re right.”
47
Meek as a Lamb
After an hour playing Scrabble with Steve, Holly, considerably happier, took the stairs back up, pausing at the third floor landing when she heard a door close nearby. Arthur Meeks had just come out of a guest room and was holding something small wrapped in tissue. She stayed hidden until he headed for the elevator. He looked as furtive as a rat with a piece of purloined cheese.
He’s stealing!
She raced to the fourth floor and slipped into her room just as the elevator arrived. Cracking the door, s
he watched him cross the hall and go into his room then turned to Fluffy. “He’s a bad man,” she told him. “Don’t you go near him. Promise?”
Fluffy eeled around her legs.
“Good kitty.” She locked the door then her eyes fell on the long crack in the dresser mirror, traveling down to the stack of books and notepads, to the spot where her missing Friar Tuck bank was supposed to be.
“He took it.” She felt like Sherlock Holmes. “Of course he took it!”
And she was going to get it back. Tonight. After she saw Delilah.
“I would have asked you to supper tonight, Holly, but the Commodore and I had a dinner meeting.”
Holly nodded. “That’s okay. Can I ask a question?”
“Certainly.”
“I know he helps you with business, but is he your boyfriend, too?”
Delilah studied her granddaughter, then laughed. “He’s my lawyer and an old friend.”
She saw relief on the girl’s face. She’d probably seen far too many boyfriends come and go in her short lifetime. But she could see that there was something else on Holly’s mind. “What’s that in your hand, sweetheart?”
Holly handed her an envelope with an expression so anguished that Delilah found herself unable to speak as she accepted it. She turned it over. It was blank.
“It’s from Cherry,” the little girl said. “She said to give it to you.”
“She’s here? Now?”
“No. She left. But I heard her, so I knocked and she let me in but…” A single tear rolled down Holly’s cheek.
“Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Delilah pulled Holly close. “Come on, let’s sit down.” She led her to a velvety rose loveseat. “Tell me everything.”
“She said she didn’t want anybody to know she was here. Not even me.” More silent tears escaped, but Holly wiped them away, her back straight, refusing to bow under the weight of Charlotte’s cruelty.
Brimstone Page 39
