Текст книги "A Fright to the Death"

Автор книги: Dawn Eastman

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

5

We approached the lounge and peeked inside. Women were scattered throughout the room with drinks and balls of yarn. Apparently the knitting wasn’t limited to the workshop room.

Mac and I took a deep breath and squared our shoulders.

“There you are!” Mom said when she spotted us.

Mac nodded to her and planted a kiss on the top of my head before heading to the drinks table. I held onto his hand as he walked away, feeling that this was the last moment of any semblance of a vacation. I turned to my mom with a forced smile.

She leaned toward me and said, “Vi is going to tell you that she knew your flight would be canceled, but that’s just because the tarot had indicated that something would happen to ruin your trip.” She used her I’m-sorry-things-didn’t-go-as-planned smile. She patted my shoulder. “I’m sure you and Mac can take another trip. And I’d rather you were safe. If I thought you were on an airplane in this kind of weather . . .” She put a hand to her chest in a dramatic display of distress.

A few months ago, Mom’s constant worry would have irritated, but now I understood its roots. Neila Whittle, who was helping me understand my own psychic gifts, had once predicted that Mom would attend a funeral for one of her children. It was Neila’s dubious talent to sense when a parent might lose a child.

I had yet to discuss Neila with my mother—unsure if she would be thrilled I was pursuing my gifts or furious I was spending time with Neila. As if proximity would make her prediction come true. But Neila had helped me and I felt I was finally gaining control of some of the premonitions that came unbidden in dreams or flashes of history when touching an object, and I was better able to find lost items. For whatever that was worth.

Mac caught my eye from across the room and held up a glass. I nodded gratefully and he turned to fix my drink.

Thoughts of Neila reminded me that I was supposed to practice whenever possible. A room full of strangers was a great opportunity to test my skills. My insights are enhanced through touch—mostly skin-to-skin contact. In my days with the police it was often difficult to maneuver that type of contact. Officers don’t tend to shake hands with suspects. But the information, if it came, was invaluable and I trusted it.

I brought my thoughts back to my mom, who was looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry, Mom, what did you say?”

She grinned. “You can’t keep your eyes off him, can you?”

“Pardon?”

“Mac. You’re aware of every move he makes.”

I felt my face growing hot. “I don’t know what you mean.” I studied her brightly colored scarf to avoid eye contact.

She put her hand on my arm. “It’s lovely. I’m very happy for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I glanced toward Mac again and saw that Mavis and Selma had ambushed him. Mom followed my gaze.

“I’ll go rescue him in a moment,” she said. “I want you to meet the rest of the knitters.”

She steered me toward the fireplace, where a trio of young women were laughing and knitting. They turned and smiled when we interrupted.

“This is my daughter, Clytemnestra,” Mom said.

I smiled while clenching my jaw—not easy to do, but I had a lot of practice.

“Call me Clyde,” I said. I shot a look at Mom and said, “Everyone does.”

Mom smiled at me and went to pry Mavis away from Mac.

Tinkerbell stood and introduced herself as Heather.

When we shook hands I focused my thoughts on that contact and opened my mind to any insights. A fizzy, bright tingling touched my face and I knew Heather was just as open and friendly as she appeared.

“I work as an ICU nurse, but only to support my yarn habit.”

The other two chuckled.

“I’m Amy,” the pink-haired woman said. “I own the local yarn store. And this is Tina.” She gestured at her tattooed friend. “She’s a fiber artist.” Tina flicked a glance in my direction and grimaced a small smile. Both held a knitting project and didn’t offer to shake hands.

“She’s the mastermind behind the yarn-bombing competition,” Heather said and hooked her thumb at Tina. “Isabel even donated a cool set of knitting needles as the grand prize!”

“We were admiring the yarn bombing earlier,” I said. “It’s a very . . . unique competition.”

“Knitting isn’t just for grandmas anymore,” Tina said. “I like to see so many new people embracing it and using knitting to make an artistic statement and bring awareness.”

I wasn’t sure what kind of awareness was related to colored tubes on chandeliers, but sensed this sentiment would not be met with warmth.

“It’s a fun thing to do and since the owners are knitters—” Amy said.

Heather interrupted. “Not all of them. Clarissa has made her feelings pretty clear.”

“Right, well Jessica and Linda don’t mind having yarn draped everywhere,” Amy said.

Heather turned brightly toward me. “Your mother told us you’re a police officer on leave. Are you planning to go back to work?”

Amy elbowed her in the ribs. “She just met us—save the interrogation for later.”

“Oh.” Heather’s smile slipped a bit but she recovered quickly. “Sorry, I’m so used to asking personal questions at work that sometimes I forget . . .”

“It’s fine.” I smiled to reassure her. But how do I answer a question I had been asking myself every day for the past couple of months?

My search for a new career was reaching a critical point. My sister, Grace, had a knack for investing in the stock market and she had parlayed my inheritance from last summer into a great nest egg. But I couldn’t continue to use the money I had inherited for everyday expenses and I was getting bored. I didn’t want to return to police work. I had to live in Crystal Haven for at least six more months before I could sell the house or move out—an odd and meddling stipulation of the will.

I chose the simplest route. “I doubt I’ll move back to Ann Arbor, but I’m still figuring out what I’ll do next.”

“I understand that,” Tina said. “I feel like I change careers almost as often as Amy changes her hair color.”

The three of them laughed, and I grinned at them.

Heather tilted her head and looked into my eyes. “Your aunt was right: Your eyes are very striking. You know, people used to think that indicated psychic abilities.”

I looked away. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

“Uh-oh.” Amy tilted her pink head toward the refreshment area. “You might want to go rescue your boyfriend. Clarissa doesn’t take no for an answer—ever.”

I turned and saw Mac holding two drinks and leaning away from a stunning blonde who was invading his personal space. She wore a tight black pencil skirt with a leopard-print blouse and shiny five-inch black heels. A panther stalking its prey flashed into my mind. She didn’t seem to be picking up on his signals, but I caught the SOS look he shot me.

“Excuse me,” I said to the knitters.

I heard quiet giggles from the trio as I made my way across the room toward Mac.

“This is Clyde,” Mac said, when I was still several feet away.

“Another surprise visitor! This weekend is getting more and more exciting.” The blonde turned a brilliant smile in my direction. It rapidly fled when she saw me.

Mac handed me my drink and slung an arm over my shoulder.

“Ah, I see,” Clarissa said. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”

Something caught her attention over my shoulder and her lips tightened.

“You must be the guests the storm blew in!” a woman with mousy blond curls said as she came from behind us to stand next to Clarissa. The two couldn’t have dressed differently if they’d tried. Jessica wore comfortable flats, khakis, and a cozy-looking cardigan over a white T-shirt. “I’m Jessica Garrett, one of the owners. I see you’ve met Clarissa.”

“We were just getting acquainted,” Clarissa said. She finished her drink in one long swallow.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your time here,” Jessica said. “I heard you had planned a warmer vacation than this one.”

“I’m sure it will be very relaxing,” I said. “The hotel is beautiful.”

“You’ll have to return when we have the spa open,” Clarissa said. “Have you ever had a spa treatment?” She looked me over and did not appear impressed.

“Once or twice,” I said. “What I really like is the sense of stepping back in time. It feels like a different century here.”

Jessica’s smile appeared more triumphant than pleased. “See, Clarissa? People like the cozy feel of antiques and warm colors.”

Clarissa’s lip curled. “They’ll like the new look even better, I’m sure. I can’t wait to update this place.” She swung an arm to encompass the whole lounge. “If we can convince your mother to part with even a few of her precious antiques, we can bring this . . . castle into the twenty-first century.”

Jessica’s triumphant smile slipped into a frozen, not-in-front-of-the-guests grimace. “Clarissa, could I speak to you in the hallway?” She turned to Mac and me. “Excuse us.”

Clarissa beamed at Mac, set her glass down on the table, and stalked into the hallway after Jessica.

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.