Chapter Three
Wesley sat in the back of the chauffeured town car, staring at the list of dos and don’ts.
The don’ts exceeded the dos by three pages. Ever efficient, he tossed those pages on the seat and focused on the activities still accessible to him.
“Picky, picky. An awful lot of trouble to keep Scrooge’s reincarnation alive,” Wesley mumbled as he tossed another page on the seat.
Cooking healthy meals
Sewing and handicrafts that do not involve lifting heavy weights or using power tools with strong magnetic components.
Sexual activity—use caution. Pick positions that do not put strain on the heart or constrict blood flow.
Wesley rubbed his temples, where gray hairs had sprung up overnight. Well. No kinky bondage for me. I can get a call girl to give me a sponge bath, I guess.
“Ten miles away, Mr. Creighton.”
“Thanks.” He would have to revive his manners. Right after his heart attack—the sudden, violent type known as a widow maker—he had found himself feeling grateful. Everything was “please” and “thank you.” It wasn’t that he was rude—
No. Rudeness was part of it. Arrogance.
Thinking about his shortcomings made him wince. Wesley had been in a comfortable position where he had avoided those thoughts, secure that he paid well and got results. People tended to overlook blunt words and a minimum of social niceties when you were handing out five-figure bonuses.
Can’t pay off your heart, smartass. Can’t sweet talk it, either. “Step on it,” Wesley barked and sank back in the seat.
“THIS IS VERY Brideshead Revisited.” Wesley looked at the small assemblage of people standing in front of the mansion’s wide double doors.
“I would say more 1920s Art Deco, sir. You can see some clear evidence of Gothic revival and definite European influence.” The chauffeur pointed through the windshield. “Look at the balconies and that domed cupola.”
“I’m not talking about the house, and I didn’t ask for a lecture.
” Wesley peered out the window of the car as it worked its way up the long drive that curved in a wide semi-circle.
The original builders obviously had money and a desire to impress.
Why the hell his realtor thought he wanted this showpiece in a secluded mountain town.
.. “Guess it’s not that secluded after all.
Those can’t all be the staff of this place.
I didn’t hire any staff. I’m not paying them. ”
The chauffeur was silent, presumably still stung by the curt remark about his architectural assessment.
The car stopped, and the driver sprang out, heading to the trunk and stacking Wesley’s suitcases by the hedges flanking the house.
“Let me grab those.” A uniformed police officer took three heavy bags as if they weighed nothing.
“Thank you, officer.” Wesley felt like a weak old man. It had taken him three trips and a borrowed baggage cart just to get those bags from his bedroom to the elevator. “Is there a problem?”
“No, indeed. We are your welcoming committee.” A tall, slender man with a long fawn-colored coat and a dark gray fedora with a red feather in the band bowed to him from the shadows cast by the balcony above the front door.
“I’m Mr. Minegold, these two gentlemen are Officer Walsh and Mr. Silverman, the bank president, and this is Georgia Fenclan, the owner of The Pine Loft Coffee Shop. ”
“Baked goods and some of our favorite roasts, and tickets to a Lumberjacks game. Go ‘Jacks!” A cute, bubbly blonde woman smiled and held out a picnic basket the size of a small Porsche.
Wesley didn’t take it. “No caffeine for me. No heavy lifting, either. Would you put it inside? You have the key?” Wesley looked at the young man in a suit. “Silverman. We talked on the phone. You’re young to be a bank president, aren’t you?”
“I’m the oldest son. We—uh—age well.” Silverman smiled and handed him a ring of keys with a keychain stamped with the Silverman First Fiduciary logo. “Mountain air and good living. You’ll love it here, Mr. Crighton.”
“I hope so. Well. Nice to meet you all. I’ll—”
“No heavy lifting? Let’s help you inside.” Mr. Minegold seized another suitcase. “May we?”
Wesley forced a smile. “Thanks. Come in.” He moved forward to put the key in the lock, but the front door popped open before he touched it. The banker must have opened it while they were waiting, he rationalized.
The little committee of do-gooders swarmed in as if they owned the place. Wesley tipped the driver and received a grunted farewell. He walked slowly inside, clutching his phone and his shoulder satchel that held a wealth of papers and his laptop.
“—must have a bad back.”
“No caffeine? That’s heart.”
“Shh!”
Muffled voices drifted through the open doorway as he drew near. Wesley felt a rush of anger. How dare these strangers come into his home and gossip and conjecture about him?
People used to talk about his money. His business. He didn’t mind hearing people guess how much he was worth or how much he spent on his suits. But guessing what was wrong with him? That made him feel so... human.
Wesley slammed the door shut—and it swung closed gently. God damn it. His strength was ebbing by the day! Maybe he would have to take up some form of exercise. Swimming. There was a pool, after all.
Everyone was looking at him with amused smiles. His wrist flashed as his blood pressure rose, pushing his heart rate along with it. “Well. Thanks for carrying that in. Have a—”
“So, Mr. Creighton, your realtor said you intend to use this as a personal residence. Are you familiar with the area?”
“No. But I heard it was quiet and that’s all I want. Quiet and solitude. So, if you—”
“You didn’t come and tour the house. Let me show you around. If you’re not supposed to do any heavy lifting, Ardy can carry those bags to your room. Right, Ardy?” The woman stepped in and started organizing things.
Wesley tried to tamp down the annoyance.
After all, she had a point. “My realtor gave me a guided tour of the photos on the website. There’s a room that has a big balcony and French windows opening onto it.
The one facing the grounds. Nice view of the woods.
Put those bags there, officer. And again, thank you. ”
“No trouble. We’re very neighborly.” The cop trotted away.
“Ah, yes. I’m one of your closest neighbors. Jakob Minegold.”
Wesley nodded and noted that the man pronounced the name like “Yay-cob.” “I noticed your accent. Austrian?”
Jakob shook his head. “Polish. Ah, let me show you the ballroom.”
“There’s a library.”
“The pool.”
Wesley’s head bounced back and forth between the three remaining tour guides. Before he could even speak, he was being shunted away from the main entranceway and the ornate single staircase that split into two curving columns at the second floor.
Calm down. It’s not like they’re going to steal from you. There’s nothing of yours in the place, yet. Not like anyone can take a house from you.
“GLORIA, PLEASE CALM down,” Ardy whispered as he stood in front of her bedroom door.
“No! I will not have a man in my room! It’s undignified! It’s unseemly. I don’t care if I’m dead, I have my reputation to think about!”
“Honey, listen—”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me! Aren’t you getting married to Izzy in a month?” Gloria knew her voice was shrill.
“Gloria, I just meant that you don’t need to worry. If he takes this room, there are a dozen more! Sleep in any one you want.”
“I want this one. This one has been mine since I moved out of the nursery!” Gloria didn’t fully understand how her tears worked, but she knew that she could still cry. “I love it! It’s one thing that has never changed. I won’t let him have it!”
“What are you going to do? Scare him out of it?”
Gloria hesitated. She’d always been a friendly ghost, a kind spirit—literally. “If I have to. Oh, nothing much, Ardy, don’t look at me like that.” Gloria put a hand on her chin. “Just little things like banging in the night and a little moaning.”
“And if moaning and banging in the bedroom doesn’t work?” A spasm passed over Ardy’s face, and he covered his mouth with his fist.
“I’ll... I’ll think of something. Something spooky. Enough to make him leave the room. But if he tries to touch the furniture, I’ll show him what Gloria White is really made of!”
Ardy stared at her in silence. “Um.”
Gloria surveyed her floating form with a sigh. “Yes, I know. I don’t know exactly what I’m made of, not in the scientific sense, but I know it’s strong stuff. And after a century of using this form, I’m a lot more powerful than some other ghosts I could mention!”
“I bet,” Ardy soothed. “So, please, let me put the guy’s bag in here? You’ll have him room-hopping in a week.”
“I hope so. Did Georgia ask him about book club?”
“Not by the time I left. I bet she’s softening him up right now.”
“NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING, but who cleaned up this place and prepped it?
They did a fabulous job.” Wesley admitted that a spark of satisfaction was being fanned into a contented flame.
This house was a rich man’s period piece.
He had never spoiled himself, but since strenuous travel was out of the picture, why not indulge in luxuries here at home?
And this was a beautiful home. Even though his apartment building boasted a pool, sauna, and recreation center, he’d never used them. Too busy. Too many people sweating on machines and glaring at him for talking loudly to investors and brokers in different time zones.
“Actually, the bank contracted with various community members to keep the home in mint condition,” Silverman said with a slight tremble in his voice.
Georgia, the blonde with baked goods, piped up, “Yes. You see, the White Pines estate is just a perfect place for so many things. It’s close to town but still secluded.
There’s plenty of space. We hold the spring flower show on the back lawn every year, and our weekly book club uses a few downstairs rooms and the kitchen. ”
“The All Hallow’s Ball—sometimes called the Halloween Ball these days, is held in the ballroom. It’s an excellent exchange. Free upkeep and landscaping for minimal use.”
“You should really consider it.” Georgia beamed sweetly. “And of course, you’re a member of the community, so you should join in the fun!”
Ah-ha. No such thing as a free lunch. That’s why they’re all being so cavity-inducingly sweet, Wesley thought with a scowl. They want me to keep letting them use my house and my grounds! Well, nothing doing.
But how much would maid service, gardening, pool care, and routine maintenance cost? Thousands of dollars annually, if not more. A few days a year of avoiding the locals would keep more money in my pocket.
Wesley knew enough about business to know when he should make people sweat.
He was sure he’d get the best service if his agreement was reluctantly given.
“I’ll have to think about it. Do you happen to know when the pool was last serviced?
Is it ready to be filled?” He nonchalantly walked around the pool which was located in the rear of the building on the ground floor.
It had those ugly old whales that came straight out of ancient Greece painted on the bottom.
A dozen Ionian columns supported arches and caught the gold flecks in the marble floor that surrounded it.
As far as swimming pools went, it wasn’t terribly large or even that deep.
Carved numbers on the floor showed the starting depth was three feet and it went up to six feet at the steepest end.
“Ah. It was...” Minegold stared off into space for answers. “Just a few months ago. The Lumberjacks used it to practice for their upcoming charity water polo match.”
“You can’t play water polo in this dinky thing, can you?” Why would hockey people be playing water polo? Why would they choose this pool? Sure it had enough space for the teams, but where would the spectators sit?
There was a stunned silence. All of his tour guides were looking anywhere but at him.
In fact, most of them seemed to be looking at the ceiling again.
Wesley followed their upturned gaze. It was pretty, with a fresco of clouds and cherubs.
He didn’t know why his comments had earned a sudden fascination with it, however.
“Ahem. It was just practice for a charity match. Just for fun.” The police officer was back. “I carried up the rest of your bags.”
“Yes, and to answer your question, it can be filled whenever you like. The architect Mr. White hired to build this place was certainly innovative—for the time.” Minegold walked over to a crouching lion sculpture that stuck out over the surface of the pool.
At first, Wesley had assumed the lions—one at either far corner—were just more attestations to the original owner’s wealth. Who else would have carved lion diving boards? But, no. Minegold pointed to the mouth of one statue.
“These conceal the water pipes. Simply open the mouth and turn the handle. But Glo— But those in the know suggest you wait until you’re ready to use the pool to fill it. It will take most of the day to fill, of course, but then it will last for weeks if treated with the right chemicals.”
Wesley studied the floor and noticed that the ugly whales had drains built into their blowholes.
And just as the lions had a crank on the wall between them to turn on the water, at the opposite end of the pool was another wheel, presumably to get the whales to open their blowholes and drain it out. “This is like a giant bathtub!”
“Many early private pools were.” Minegold gave a gentle smile.
“Well. It’s a strange old place, but it’ll do. I think I can explore the rest of the place on my own.” Wesley turned pointedly toward the door.
His guests left with many calls of “We’ll be in touch!” and “We’re here if you need us.”
He had the strangest feeling they weren’t talking to him.