"I think so. I really like all the curlicues and gingerbread. It looks like it came out of a fairy tale. I'm sure that a good architect could design a large, sturdy structure and still keep the look. What do you think?"
"Since you are advertising this as a resort hotel, I think the gazebo is a good idea.
But what are you doing for the rest of the 'resort' part."
"Well, I'll tell you."
********
Several hours later, Tabitha stood in the library, looking out at the sodden country side. The rain pounded the windows, the wind made them rattle. She rubbed her arms as if she were cold even though she was dressed in a heavy cream, blue, and brown Nordic sweater, navy wool pants and a turtleneck under the sweater.
"Why is it that every time I visit you, it storms?" Tabitha voice was forlorn as she looked over her shoulder at her friend.
Courtney, who had changed into winter white wool pants, silk top and duster trimmed with
laser cutwork looked up from the accounts she was trying to balance.
"It's just been a very long, very cold, very wet winter. I keep thinking about the French Riviera or Monaco or possibly the Sahara Desert at the equator. Anywhere hot, sunny and green."
Courtney looked at her friend. "Are you still feeling twitchy?"
Tabitha nodded her head. "It's actually getting worse. I forget about it when I'm doing things with you or Debbie but as soon as I stand still, it, whatever it is, hits me with the force of a hurricane."
"Do you think something bad is going to happen?" Courtney asked, thinking of her huge grand opening, now less than 18 hours away.
"Not really. It might just be a release of tension because my one-man show is over. I worked so hard and so long that I was a nervous wreck by opening night."
She rubbed her forehead. "Sometimes it means that something special is going to happen, but I just don't know what it is."
"Well, I hope that's it, rather than a premonition that something is going to go wrong." Courtney got up, walking toward the fireplace. She bent to put another log on the blazing fire.
Tabitha smiled, "I'm sure that your grand opening is going to be absolutely incredible."
"I'm not worried about 'incredible' or 'fantastic'. All I'm worried about is the food, the service, the entertainment, the plumbing, but mostly I'm worried that no one will show up."
"Oh well, if that's all, you shouldn't be worrying at all."
When Courtney glared at her, Tabitha grinned, "Really! I'm sure that everything will work out tomorrow. Mrs. Mere is a fantastic cook so the food will be okay, well, more than okay. It will be fabulous. Hargraves is an incredible butler so the service will be great.”
She rubbed her stomach. “If the food is good, the entertainment doesn't matter as much. If the plumbing eats a few unwary guests that means there's more food for us. I'm sure that you'll have a huge crowd. I thought you said the hotel was booked solid for the next six months."
"It is. That worries me too, because if anything goes wrong then I'll have a whole crowd of people to deal with and placate rather than just one or two."
Tabitha grinned, "If anything goes wrong just blame it on the resident ghosts. If people want that kind of atmosphere which they must or they wouldn't be staying at “Ghost Haven," they will eat up the idea of ghosts causing trouble."
"Good idea. Did you notice anything when I showed you the house that might cause problems?"
"Not really. I am wondering if you're wise to have those miniatures of Mark's displayed on these walls rather than locked in a case. Hotel guests can be notoriously light fingered."
"This room will be off limits to guests so I wasn't too worried about them. I ought to put them away until after tomorrow night."
"Are you letting your guests into the secret passages tomorrow night?"
"No, I don't think so. Only the paying guests will have access to those passageways. I think they will be the big draw for the hotel so I don't want to make them available to everyone."
"Good thinking. I would think it would be safer, both for the guests and for you as the hostess. I don't know that it would be a good idea to let someone who'd had too much to drink wander around those passageways. If they fell down those worn steps, you'd be liable."
"I know. Mr. Harris pointed that out to me, too. In fact, he wrote up a waiver that the hotel guests must sign if they rent a room that gives on the passageway."
Tabitha rubbed her arms. "Are you cold or is it just me?"
Debbie, who'd been sitting in a tired daze, jumped up. "I'll build up the fire. I think it feels cold because it is so damp. Do you realize that it has rained or snowed every day for the last four months? I just hope it's nice for tomorrow. That will be a good omen, don't you think?"
"Debbie, what's with this omen business? You've used that term several times since I got here. You don't believe in that stuff, do you?" Tabitha rolled her eyes.
Debbie blushed red. "No, I guess not. Its just that Maggie, one of our new maids is always talking about omens. She's very superstitious. She won't work at the table that overlooks those old burn-out buildings. She says they feel evil."
"I know. I remember feeling that way when I was painting them." Tabitha walked over to stand by the fire. “I love the way this fire feels. I wish we had a real fireplace in our flat. The gas fire just doesn’t seem to five off enough warmth, not like this, anyway.”
Debbie continued. "She crosses herself when she passes your picture where those ruins look like a cemetery, too."
"That's spooky." Tabitha thought back to the way she felt when she was painting those rapidly changing fogscapes. The feeling of evil had been very strong.”
"So's the picture." Debbie added. “I’m not as fond of that one as some of the others you painted.
Tabitha, who had been gazing into the fire, jumped when the doorbell chimed in the distance. She looked at her friend. "Want me to get that?"
"No. Hargraves insists that if we are going to keep the character of an English gentleman's country house then he should answer the door. I don't know how long that will be practical once we are open for business. I'm afraid he'll wear himself to a frazzle."
"You might hire some young men to be footmen. They could spell him." Tabitha’s eyes crinkled as she thought about Hargraves being as thin as a frazzle.
"Now, that's a great idea." Courtney seemed to shake herself like a small terrier. "I'll talk to him about it."
Hargraves entered the room, carrying a telegram on a small silver tray. "For you,
Miss Tabitha."
"Hargraves, you are trying to intimidate me. Can't you just hand the envelope to me?" Her hand was shaking as she reached toward the etched tray.
"Miss, you must get into the spirit of what we're trying to accomplish here."
"Yeah, right," Texas-born Tabitha’s voice dripped sarcasm as she picked up the yellow envelope.
"A telegram?" Courtney looked curious. "I don't think I've ever even seen a telegram before."
"Me, either." Tabitha said read the envelope. "It's from a Leland Cabot."
"Leland Cabot? Why is that name familiar?" Courtney pondered. "I think--"
Quickly she pulled out a typed list. Running her finger down the page she said, "Yes, I thought so--"
"It would be nice if you'd tell me what you're thinking, if you can figure it out, so I'd have some idea of what you are talking about." Tabitha’s eyes flashed a deep red for a second as she fought the anger that surged to the surface—anger she hadn’t expected.
Courtney pretended to pout. "For that rude remark, I just might not tell you anything at all. Then where would you be."
"Sunk for sure." Forcing down her anger,Tabitha stuck her tongue out at her ex-roommate.
"Leland Cabot is a wealthy patron of the arts. He stopped to see the house a few weeks after you went back to London. He'd read about our mystery and wanted to see a house that had secret passageways. He made reservations for the first week we op
en so I invited him to our open house."
"But why would he send a telegram to me. He doesn't even know me."
Debbie snapped her fingers, a habit she'd picked up from Tabitha. "I remember him. We had your haunted pictures in the hall and were trying to figure out where we wanted to hang them. He was really impressed with your work."
"I still can't figure out why he'd send me a telegram."
Courtney’s chuckle sounded as evil as Boris Karloff’s. She bowed low, her nose almost touching her knees. "Oh brainy one, you could hold the envelope to your head, alla Houdini to catch the vibes from his brain, or you could get a very good idea of why he sent you the telegram by opening it and reading what's inside."
"Smart mouth." Tabitha’s voice was dry as she tore open the envelope. Unfolding the flimsy, yellow paper, she read aloud,
Miss Black,
I would like to make an appointment with you for the evening of May tenth: I have a proposal that I wish to put before you. I understand you will be attending the grand opening of The Ghost Haven.
I am planning on being there also. Perhaps we could talk after the party.
Leland Cabot
"You said he was a wealthy art patron?" Tabitha looked at Courtney who shrugged.
“I only talked to him for a few minutes while he was making his reservations.
He reserved our best suite for two weeks. That suite goes for 500 pounds a night. He gave me a credit card and told me to take out the full amount, not just the first night like we normally do."
Debbie said, "I probably know more about him than Court does since I was the one who gave him the five pence tour."
"Five pence tour? What's that?"
Court laughed. "It's the tour Debbie gives to anyone who comes here to look around. She takes them around the house, showing them where the various ghosts walk. She shows them the picture gallery, pointing out what the various ghosts looked like before they became ghosts. She's a great salesperson. Everyone she's given the tour to, has reserved a room."
"I didn't know you were so talented. Maybe, I should have you be a guide at my gallery openings."
"Anyone who sells all 60 paintings the first three nights of her one man show, certainly doesn't need me as a salesman."
"Tell me about Mr. Cabot. What's he like?"
Debbie thought for a moment. "He's tall, and heavy-set with a red, jowly face, brown hair turning grey, piercing blue eyes. There was something about his eyes that bothered me but I couldn't tell you what it was. Maybe they were too close together and too small for his face. They reminded me of pig eyes. He was very well dressed and his clothes were very expensive, but there was something off about him, like he was too rich, or too pushy."
Tabitha grinned. Debbie hated pushy people. Both her deceased parents had the personality of bulldozers and as much tact.
"Do you know what he does for a living?"
"He doesn't work for a living. He made that very clear. He is a philanthropist but I think he said he runs an art gallery or an art museum, maybe both as a hobby. He was very interested in your pictures. He looked at each one for a very long time."
She laughed. "Then he tipped me with a fifty-dollar bill."
"You took it?" Tabitha asked curiously.
"Of course, I took it." Debbie was indignant. "The man took up nearly three hours of my time."
"Good for you." Tabitha smiled looking down at the telegram.
Courtney stood up and stretched. "Finally, that's the last of the bills that need to go to Mr. Harris."
"I thought you said that the probate process was finished and the house was yours."
"It is. Mr. Harris is still helping me with the costs that need to come out of the estate and he's been making sure that no one takes advantage of me."
She looked at her watch. "I'm going to bed. Tomorrow is the big day. I'm just afraid it will be a very long day as well.
In the distance, the doorbell chimed again.
"Who could that be at this time of night?" Debbie wondered as she turned toward the hall door.
Suddenly it was thrust open.
"Peter," Debbie said as she ran to her fiancé. "I didn't think you were going to be able to come."
Peter was tall and wiry with light brown hair, blue eyes and a quick smile. "Mark finished his case early so we jumped in his trusty car, since mine isn't running, and barreled down here, breaking every speed limit between here and London." He pulled her close, kissing her hard.
"Hi, Mark," Courtney looked like she’d just seen Santa Claus. "I'm glad you could come."
Although Mark and Peter were cousins as well as best friends, they were totally different. Peter was a solicitor specializing in business law. Mark, a barrister who specialized in criminal law. He was shorter than Peter with strong shoulders, dark hair and dark eyes.
"Hi, gorgeous. You look absolutely great in that outfit." He bent to kiss her cheek as he put his arm around her. "Did Tabitha get here? I tried calling her flat but there was no answer."
Tabitha got up from the wing chair she had been sitting in. "Hi, Mark. I didn't think you'd make it. I thought Peter said you were stuck in court for the next six months on some complicated murder case."
"I got lucky."
"Lucky, my foot," Peter voice was thunderous. "You got brilliant. I still can't believe you figured out who the real murderer was since you had nothing to go on when you walked into the court room yesterday."
"Tell us about it." Tabitha noticed that Mark still had his arm around her best friend and her best friend was glowing. She and Mark had dated a few times but the chemistry just wasn’t there.
Hum, this is very interesting, Tabitha thought but she tactfully didn't say anything.
She sat back down in the wing chair leaving the two love seats for Mark and Courtney and Peter and Debbie.
"Have you followed the case in the papers?" Mark looked at Tabitha who had put her feet up on the chair seat, her arms around her legs, her chin on her knees.. "I haven't really had much time for anything but painting so assume I don't know anything about it."
"Okay. Jason Remmers was a multi-millionaire business tycoon. He was in his late seventies but he refused to retire from the boards of the various corporations he was involved in even though many people in those corporations wanted him out."
"In other words, he wasn't easy to work with." Courtney’s voice was soft, gentle.
"No, he wasn't. In fact, he was a major tyrant. Then he married a twenty- seven-year-old fashion model named Hilary Chambers. They were reputed to be madly in love, although everyone thought that Hilary was madly in love with his money."
Courtney looked at Mark. “What was she like. I know the papers made her out to be a gold-digger, but I saw her once going into court. She didn’t look as bad as the papers had painted her.” She smiled. “In fact, I thought I’d like to be friends with her.”
He smiled. “She was gorgeous. Long blond hair, long legs, long body. Big blue eyes, slim build. I thought she was nice once I got to question her. Not at all like I thought she would be from her looks.”
Mark’s smile was bitter. "Remmers was really smitten. He had children from his first marriage who were older than his fifth wife."
"When he was killed, her prints were on the knife. They’d had a fight that day that was so bad that she stormed out of the house, jumped in the car and disappeared. The police couldn't find her for nearly a week.
He put his arm around Courtne, pulling her close. “Everyone assumed that she had taken off to the continent until she showed up at the house five days later. She was battered, bruised, and disoriented. She said she didn't know that Jason had been murdered. When the police told her, she went into shock and collapsed. The police finally had to have her admitted to the hospital. No one could take get her to talk. She just stared at the ceiling of her room like there was nothing left in her."
He got up to put another log on the fire. "She couldn’t tell anyone where she had been for th
e missing five days. She wouldn't talk about what had happened to her. The police arrested her the next day while she was still in the hospital."
"So how did you come into the case?" Tabitha was intensely curious about Mark’s cases. "Believe it or not, her ex-boyfriend hired me."
"What?" Courtney and Debbie exclaimed together.
Mark laughed. "You can imagine my surprise when he told me who he was. At first, I thought he was a brother or a half-brother but he was very open when I asked him what his relationship was to Hilary."
"But why would he hire you rather than her parents or family."
"Because he believed in her innocence. Her parents thought she had done it but only because they thought that he had beat her up and humiliated her. Then the will was presented for probate and everything had been left to her."
"Didn't you say he have children by other marriages?" "His children by his earlier marriages all had trust funds, big trust funds—they didn’t need the money."
"Did she tell you where she had been when you talked to her in jail?" Debbie was so excited she could hardly sit still.
"No. I never talked to her in jail. She went straight from the hospital to the court.
"What was your first lead?" Tabitha put her feet up over the arm of the chair, so she could face Mark better.
"Actually, my first lead was the mileage on her car. I really lucked out and so did she. The chauffeur had just changed the oil in her car and recorded the mileage. He kept a record in each car but he also kept a ledger that had the information on each car he took care of. I went to look at the car after I was hired. The family was rather hostile so I was rather surprised when he told me about the mileage difference."
"Was he a friend of hers?" Debbie asked.
"I don't think so, but he was an honest man. He told me that he didn't think she had killed her husband. He had seen her leave and he had seen her come back. He thought she was being set up."
"Then what?" Tabitha had often wondered what it would like to be suspected of something she hadn’t done like Debbie or Courtney had been a few months back.
"I took a random shot. I figured that half the miles had been made coming back." "Logical." Tabitha remarked, "Unless she drove in a circle."
The Ghost Dances the Nutcracker Page 2