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—”