23. Only the Good Die Young #3
Jeanie nods and wets her lips. “Guilt, mainly. I imagine that could wreck a person, and after all she’d found out, she still loved him.
I explained that his spirit was here, though I didn’t tell her Angel had seen him about.
That’s why he doesn’t come to the hotel any longer.
He can’t risk the ghosts—especially Peter—finding out the truth.
But Helga . . . she stayed at The Paragon because, to her, it felt as though she could be near him without being hurt by him.
And honestly, I think it’s taken quite a lot of courage for her to call the ExorSquad, because ultimately, she will have to bid him goodbye.
I understand now that’s not exactly how these things work, but . . .”
“So . . .” I take a deep inhalation and try to order my thoughts, but still Jeanie has more to say.
“Peter doesn’t know of my involvement. Only Angel and Pixie do, because when I died, she was the only female friend I had. You cannot tell Trystan. I trust him, but the fewer souls who know about this, the better.”
I’m already keeping so many of Jeanie’s secrets, what’s one more? “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you.” Relief melts Jeanie into the settee.
“It’s just that I’m a little frightened of Peter.
He’s the most formidable of all The Youngscares, and I know he doesn’t possess the same level of power as the poltergeists, but honestly, Gary, I’m not sure what he would do to me if he found out it had been my idea all along. ”
I scratch my head, then my moustache. Though I believe Jeanie has a penchant for embellishment, I trust her account of the events. It also makes sense why Peter’s death feels so different from the others’, and not least because of the Peggy in the Middle uniting thread.
“Jeanie, quick question,” I say. “What was the hotel like before you bought it in nineteen ninety?”
If Jeanie is in any way perturbed by the slight change of subject, she doesn’t show it.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it was lovely. Nothing like it is today, though.
We didn’t have a spa back then, or a gym, or tennis courts.
The rooms were very basic. None of these mod cons Helga’s brought into each room.
They didn’t even have tellies until the late nineties. Just a phone and bible.”
“Was there anywhere in the hotel people could watch the TV?” I ask.
Jeanie frowns. “There was the media room, which had a big telly. Obviously not that big by today’s standards, but it was so heavy that it needed three men to carry it. They used to play movies and sports events on it. I remember watching Eurovision one year.” She smiles fondly to herself.
“Did they ever play Peggy in the Middle in the media room for the guests?” I ask.
“Only the season finales.”
“Thank you for telling me the truth,” I say. “I should get back to the hut . . . so when Trystan wakes up, he doesn’t ask me questions about where I’ve been.”
Jeanie sees right through my reasoning. She smiles at me the way my grandma used to. Soft, kind, a little sad. “Go back to him, Gary. Be with him. Spend as much time together as you can before he moves on.”
My hand pauses halfway to my moustache. My thoughts are short-circuiting. “You want me to convince him to stay?”
She says nothing.
“Why did you call me here to solve the murders if you . . .” I can’t finish that question. I ask another. “Do you even want me to solve them?”
“Of course I—” Jeanie starts.
But I’m not done. The flood gates have been opened.
“Jeanie, what the fuck is happening right now? What do you want? Why am I here? Your unfinished business isn’t closure, is it?
It’s Angel. You’re not going anywhere.” My fingers press into my eye sockets, shunting my glasses aside.
I try to steady my thundering heartbeat.
She sighs. “Okay, you got me. It was never about me moving on. This was all for him. I’ve known that boy longer than he’s been dead.
I knew him as a kid. He taught me to surf.
Granted, I’m still an absolute catastrophe, but .
. . seeing him stuck in this afterlife alone, it .
. . it fucking hurt, Gary. It hurt my soul.
“I have Angel, but Trystan had no one. It’s not right for a lad like him. He needs company, friends. And I know Pixie’s there, and Stove, and Camille, but he needs to be . . . loved or to . . . move on.
“A few times now I’ve caught him in the corridors of the east wing, or out on Enys Marow.
I had this crazy idea that if I could get the famous detective Gary Runcorn to solve the mystery of his death, then he would have the closure he needed without sacrificing his soul to the Old Scares.
It’s just . . . ironic that the one person who could save him also turns out to be the reason he’d want to stay. ”
It’s like someone has tied a rubber band around my throat. I can’t squeeze any words out. Eventually, I whisper, “What should I do?”
I guess I’d been hoping for a definitive answer, for someone wiser and more grounded than me to tell me what I need to hear, but Jeanie looks over. Red rims her eyes. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to figure that one out on your own. You’re good at figuring stuff out, though, luv.”
I nod, swallow my retort, and get to my feet. “Love this for me,” I say and float out of Jeanie’s window.