Chapter Three #2
Ginette brought in a tray and laid it on the coffee table, and we all helped ourselves, chatting amiably about the trip and the upcoming trivia show, until Mort finally asked, “So, what is the ‘whole story’ that Danielle wanted you to tell us?”
“I wish she hadn’t brought that up,” Victoria said. “You’re our guests, not ghostbusters.”
“She really believes the house is haunted?” Seth asked. “She seems so sensible.”
My eyes were drawn again to the picture of the young woman reclining against a lion.
Seth must have followed my gaze. He pointed to the picture. “That might not mean anything. It’s a painting. For all we know, the artist may have considered the lion to be symbolic of something. Like courage.”
“Oh, it was real,” Maureen said, thumbing back through the scrapbook and holding it open to a newspaper clipping with a photograph of Danielle and the same lion. “His name was Quimby, and if this article is to be believed, he had the run of the place.”
“So maybe she’s a bit eccentric,” Seth said, “but she doesn’t seem delusional, at least from what I’ve seen so far.”
“Oh, she’s not,” Victoria said. “I didn’t mean to imply that she’s not seeing or hearing what she claims to.
We all are. We just assumed it was the rats, but we’ve had the exterminator out three times now, and he assures us that the rats are gone.
And the bats. I just didn’t want to mention them and risk spoiling your vacation. ”
“Don’t worry about that,” Mort said. “Look, I’ve been on dozens of calls for eerie noises, and it almost always turns out to be something simple. If not some kind of pest intrusion, it can be flapping shutters—”
“No shutters,” Howard said.
“Loose shingles on the roof,” Mort continued.
“It’s an old tar-and-gravel roof,” Howard said, then his shoulders sank. “Not looking forward to replacing that. But there’s nothing up there to flap.”
“And none of those would explain possessions moved or missing,” I noted.
Almost on cue, a sound came from upstairs, as if something heavy were being dragged across the floor.
“What…?” Maureen started.
Victoria squinted up at the ceiling. Pointing, she moved her finger and counted silently until she stopped approximately where the sound had originated. “If I’m right, that’s the blue room. Oh, it must be Katie.”
“Another live-in?” I asked.
“No, our wallpaper hanger,” Howard said. “We were lucky to get her. So hard to find skilled workers and tradespeople since the fires.”
“How about we go upstairs, and I’ll introduce you,” Victoria said. “Then we can get you all settled into your rooms. You’ve had an early start and could probably use some rest before dinner.”
Maureen clutched the scrapbook to her chest. “Do you think Danielle would mind if I borrowed this to read in our room? She had such an interesting life, and you wouldn’t believe all the famous celebrities that have been here, right in this very house!”
“And maybe never left,” Mort teased in a spooky voice that earned him a slap on the arm from Maureen.
“I think she would be flattered that you took an interest,” Victoria said.
We set our cups back on the tray and followed my niece up the stairs while Howard apologized that the elevator wouldn’t hold us all and that the stairs were usually quicker anyway.
At the top of the steps was a smaller lounge of sorts, furnished with aging period pieces.
From here, we had a choice of two hallways, set at a ninety-degree angle from each other.
We went to the left and followed our ears to a door that was ajar, light coming from inside.
There, a young woman in denim overalls stood on a ladder, positioning a giant sheet of blue-patterned wallpaper in place. She then smoothed it with a long brush, and we waited until she finished and descended the ladder. When she saw us, she pulled earbuds from her ears and Victoria introduced us.
“You do lovely work,” I said. “And such a beautiful floral pattern.”
“Thank you,” Katie said. I wondered if she were an aspiring actress too. She could have been, with her flawless honey-brown skin and springy curls. But she also seemed to shy away from our attention. She quickly repositioned her ladder and collected a fresh roll of wallpaper.
“It reminds me of your old indigo dinnerware, Aunt Jess,” Victoria said, taking in the progress of the wallpaper. “I knew I had to use it somewhere the moment I saw it. It was just so homey, like pancakes on a Sunday morning.”
We let Katie get back to her work, and Victoria took me to what she called the lavender room. With such a name, I was worried it would be too frilly for my taste, but it had just the right shades and was feminine without being frou-frou.
“Each room is known by its predominant color,” Victoria explained, “and they’re roughly laid out in a rainbow.
Of course, they’re not all habitable yet, so we had to split you up a little, if you don’t mind.
We’re putting Doc Hazlitt in the forest room down the hall and the Metzgers in the tangerine room around the corner. ”
Mainly so we could get the lay of the land, especially since none of the rooms seemed to be labeled or numbered, we all tagged along to Seth’s forest room, with its masculine hunter-green-striped wallpaper, and then to the Metzgers’ tangerine room, which I was happy to see wasn’t too literal.
The paper there was closer in hue to the terra-cotta wainscoting below and had a conservative geometric pattern.
“We’ll let you get unpacked and settled,” Victoria said. “Dinner is at six thirty. Casual.”
When she and Howard left, Seth stood at the door of Mort and Maureen’s room and peered down the hallway, then closed the door behind him.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Is something wrong?”
“I just thought we needed a little conference,” Seth said. He turned to Mort. “Are you really going to investigate these strange noises and such?”
“Well, they’re nice people,” Mort said. “Why not put their minds at rest?”
“I thought we were going to use the evenings to study and prepare,” Seth said. “As a matter of fact, I think that was your idea. Traipsing all over this place on some ill-advised ghost hunt could be a tremendous waste of time.”
“Don’t get your dander up, Doc,” Mort said. “I don’t have to figure out where the noises are actually coming from, just create a logical possibility. Easy peasy.”
“Easy peasy,” was Seth’s grumbled echo.
“Look,” Mort went on, “do you honestly believe this place is genuinely haunted?”
Seth stared at him. “Well, no,” he finally said.
“Then you of all people should know about the value of a lovely little thing called the placebo effect.”
“Wait,” I said. “So those dozens of calls you were talking about, of people reporting eerie happenings that you handled in Cabot Cove…?”
Mort winked.
Seth seemed placated, but I went back to my room to unpack, feeling as if I were caught up in a friendly game of tug-of-war between my family and my dearest friends. And I hoped it would remain friendly, but I had more than one reservation concerning Mort’s plan to put everyone’s mind at ease.
* * *
I’d packed a copy of Alan Bradley’s most recent Flavia de Luce with me, and after unpacking and changing into more comfortable clothing, I had planned to just relax and read the time away until dinner.
As it turned out, I was grateful I had set a “just in case” alarm on my cell phone, and it woke me up at six p.m. with my finger still propped eight pages into the book.
No offense intended to Alan or Flavia, who was as delightful as ever.
I fluffed my hair in the mirror, touched up my makeup, then debated the meaning of “casual” in this context.
I settled on dark trouser-cut jeans and a cotton print shirt.
I considered more jewelry, or even a scarf, but decided against it.
I didn’t want to overdress for the occasion, especially if my travel companions did not.
As it turned out, we were all on the same page.
I knocked on Seth’s door and found him dressed in khakis and a plaid shirt.
Mort and Maureen, who were coming down their hallway when we reached the top of the stairs, were dressed in jeans, Mort in a polo with the sheriff’s department logo on the pocket, and Maureen in a gauzy blouse.
We ambled through the house together, not seeing a soul, but it gave us a little more time to explore.
We discovered a theater room and next to it a library, the walls and shelving all painted in a dark gray.
Combined with the dim lighting, the effect was a bit chilling.
We finally came upon a spacious, well-lit, and well-appointed kitchen, where Ginette was pulling a tray of roasted potatoes out of the large commercial oven.
She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
“If you folks are looking for dinner, we set up on the patio tonight. Do y’all remember the way? ”
“That we do,” I said.
Maureen, who was an ardent—if a bit inventive—cook, stopped to admire the kitchen. “Need any help?”
“Nah, I got it,” Ginette said. “You just go enjoy yourselves.”
We headed out the same doors we had used earlier to find Howard busy at a smoky grill near a long dining table already set with colorful dinnerware. A white projection screen was propped up against the defunct fountain.
Danielle had already taken up the spot at the head of the table, and Victoria soon busied herself pouring water, lemonade, and tea from large pitchers.
“Too nice a night to be cooped up indoors,” she said, then leaned closer to me.
“Danielle wanted to surprise you with a screening of one of her movies after dinner. I hope you don’t mind.
” Then she raised her voice again. “Food’s almost ready, so find a spot at the table—anywhere you’d like. ”
As Ginette started bringing out heaping bowls of food, I noticed Maureen slide into the seat next to Danielle, probably ready to talk celebrities. Mort sat next to his wife.