by Linda Welch
I paused on a small landing to look out the window. The hotel had a large formal garden with neatly clipped box hedges, flower beds and geometric shrubbery shapes here and there. Coins glinted in a small pond as a fountain in the middle blew misty water in the air. Several people read or relaxed in wickerwork chairs, and two played a board game at a table.
I followed the guys up.
We came out in a long, narrow corridor. The ceiling hung lower; in fact if it were any lower we three would need to duck our heads. I saw two doors widely spaced apart.
Plowman’s gaze roved from one end of the corridor to the other. “The rooms up here housed hotel staff in the early days, but live-in staff is a thing of the past, so we decided to use the space. There are two guest suites. Our problem is with one, but we closed both. I dare not risk putting someone up here and the disturbance spreads to the other suite.” He gestured to the door nearest us. “In there.”
I stared at the door. “Information first, please. What’s her name and how did she die?”
“Rosa Talby. Her lover strangled her.”
Throttling must be a preferred method when the killer is male, the victim female, because of the female victims I know, I would say fifty percent were strangled.
I felt her as a strong, angry, throbbing presence. I walked to the door, put my hand on the doorknob and smiled at Royal. “I hope this won’t take long.”
He gave me a vague, uncertain smile. “Be careful.”
I like to be alone when I encounter a shade for the first time. I don’t know how they’ll behave, how they’ll react to what I say. Or how I will react. For me, it’s a very private moment. Royal understands this, but he wasn’t happy about me meeting a shade who could throw objects.
I couldn’t miss Rosa Talby. She stomped toward me the second I stepped in the suite. “What d’ya think you’re doing?”
What a sweetie. Rosa stood five-nothing, skinny as a teenage model, oval face, brown almond-shaped eyes all but hidden by long blond hair. From what I saw of her face, she died terrified. She wore a brown ankle-length, broomstick skirt and a pale-yellow, lacy bra.
My mind remained free of the images which are a shade’s last living moments. As always, I silently thanked God, wondering if I would go over the edge should I witness every shade’s passing, or become inured, so their deaths had less impact on me.
With the smell of spoiled food, desiccated plant life and stale air, the suite felt congested to the degree my nose blocked up. Plowman was serious about keeping everyone out, including the maids. Light from a bay window drifted mistily over the wrecked remains of décor and accessories. China shards littered the floor, large and small framed paintings were impaled on lamp finials and modern statuettes. Potted plants were knocked over, the pots shattered, soil scattered on the Oriental carpets. A long crack threaded the glass of a huge mirror which hung over the fireplace. Through an open door, I saw the bedroom was in worse condition.
I waited to see what she would do and didn’t wait long. A small vase, one of the few intact pieces in the room, flew at my face.
I ducked and it zipped past to smash against the door.
“Tiff?”
“It’s okay, Royal,” I called out.
A pot shed dirt and dry, crumbling leaves as it lifted off the floor. Rosa stalked at me menacingly, the pot drifting ahead. A jumble of words spewed from her lips. “Get outta here, piss face!”
Like I said, a real sweetie. “Did you call me piss face?”
The pot dropped to the floor. “Fuck me! You can hear me?”
I folded my arms. “I can, though I’d rather you were a figment of my imagination.”
She cocked her head on one side. “From Hollywood, are you?”
Huh? Why would she think that? “I’m from Utah.”
“It’s just, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
Wow. Complimented on my appearance by two people in one day. I’d be flattered if one weren’t a lecher and the other a foulmouthed dead woman.
“That’s nice of you, but - ”
“Your type makes me sick. Think just because you’re fucking lovely you can walk all over everyone.”
Do not grit your teeth, Tiff. Act like you talk to a regular, sane, living person. “Is that so? That’s a mega-size chip on your shoulder, Rosa.”
She turned her back on me. “You don’t know a fucking thing.”
I was at a loss. I come in here to see if a destructive shade exists and end up on the bad end of a verbal lashing?
I moved farther in the room. “Why are you still here, Rosa? Why didn’t you move on? And why, for pity’s sake, do you throw things at people?”
She slumped. “So they’ll take notice of me.”
“They did, and it sent them away.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
“Knowing that, you still had a go at me.”
“Call it a bad habit.”
One among many, if I wasn’t mistaken. “Have you always been able to throw objects, from the beginning, when you were . . . when you died?”
She turned to face me and perched on the arm of a couch, one bare foot on the cushion, one on the floor. “You mean when he put his dirty great paws around my neck and choked the life outta me? Nah. I was so frustrated. I kept trying to get out and couldn’t. Then I saw things move, like papers and stuff. I think my anger did it. So I practiced and got better.”
Could other shades force their will on the physical plane? Did all have this ability, and not know? Should I tell Jack and Mel? Their frustration would know no bounds if they couldn’t manage such a feat. And if they did manage, it would add a new dimension to our relationship. I didn’t know whether I could live with those two slinging stuff when they got in a snit.
I relaxed my stance. “I repeat, why are you still here?”
She peered at me through her hair. “What’s it to you?”
Again, I resisted the desire to roll my eyes. Patience, Tiff. “I want to help you.”
“Yeah, as if. You came all the way from Utah to help me? Huh!”
“I didn’t say - ” I began. I closed my mouth, firmed my lips and tried again. “Rosa, I did not come to Boston to help you. I happen to be staying here. The owner asked me to find out why you’re bothering his guests. You shouldn’t be here. You should . . . continue your journey.”
“You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to.”
This was going nowhere. “Right. I’m leaving now and Mr. Plowman will seal up these rooms, and you’ll never get the chance to assault anyone again. And if another person like me happens to stay at The Hermitage, well you’ll never know, will you. They definitely won’t offer their help. You’re stuck here forever, Rosa. On. Your. Own.”
I strode to the door, hoping she would call me back. My hand rested on the doorknob when I heard a subdued, “Hey, you.”
I pulled in a deep breath to steady my pulse. “What?”
“I want to know my mom and dad are okay, and Sebastian, my brother. And I want proof, not just your say-so.”
I let my shoulders drop. Now we were getting somewhere. “If I get your proof, you’ll leave?
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”
I rubbed my fingertips in the corners of my eyes. Royal so owed me for this. Big time.
Chapter Seven
We sat with Plowman at breakfast the next morning. “Rosa Talby? Did you - ?”
“Yes, yes, all arranged,” he cut in. “We’re with a small, brand new TV station doing a follow-up human interest story. My team is outside their home, cameras at the ready. And at the father’s business. And the brother’s school. We should get some decent footage. Then we’ll film an interview with the family, try to guide the conversation to topics such as they hope she’s at peace and will be waiting for them when they pass over. We can edit out anything we don’t want, then set up in the suite and run it for her.”
“Clever, though your show won’t be aired on TV.”
“Many are not, and anyway, Miss Talby does not have access to a television.” His brow furrowed. “Do you think this will work?”
“No idea, but it’s the best we can do.” I sipped coffee from a delicate china cup.
We would be here another two days, tour the coast for a week, then return to The Hermitage the night before our flight home. Plowman thought his people could have the mini production ready for Rosa next week. I hoped it would encourage her to go on her way.
“If she doesn’t leave, I’ll have another chat with her when we get back here.”
“Very well.”
Plowman leered at me as he spoke to Royal. “So, you will join me for dinner? I would enjoy the opportunity to wine and dine your lovely lady.”
“We will see,” Royal said, tone gone flat.
So now he didn’t care for his friend eyeballing me?
Plowman’s gaze dipped to my neckline and roved my body. “I’m sure you will want to rent a tux, and I can point you in the direction of an excellent costumier if Tiff did not bring anything suitable.”
I heard the sneer in his voice as he eyed my gray and purple sleeveless dress. I was happy I even brought a dress on the trip. I wore the thing because I thought it more appropriate than jeans and a T-shirt for breakfast in a fancy hotel. Actually, it was the one dress I owned.
His eyelids drooped suggestively. “I’m sure The Hermitage can entertain you in a befitting manner,” he told my breasts.
Royal leaned in and spoke through his teeth. “If Tiff walks in your dining room wearing red flannel and Wellington boots, she will still outclass every woman there.”
I sensed the friction between them. I guess Plowman stepped over the line when he blatantly ogled me, pushed Royal a little too far. And what did they mean by suitable wear, and red flannel? I decided not to ask till Royal and I were alone.
Royal dug into what Plowman called a traditional English breakfast: scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, grilled tomatoes, baked beans - some imported British version not made with pork - and several objects I could not and did not want to identify, but think came from nasty places inside an animal. I stuck with eggs, sausage, bacon and buttered toast. Just looking at what he put in his mouth made my stomach flip.
Plowman dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin, dropped it on his plate and stood. “Well, my fans await.” He smiled at two attractive young women who had appeared in the doorway to the dining room. They waved. “Have a lovely day sightseeing. I’ll see you tonight.” And he walked away.
“He is so far up himself,” I muttered when he went out of sight.
“He is,” Royal admitted. “But he’s a good sort at heart.”
He must be, I mused, or Royal would not call him friend.
I refilled my cup with coffee. “What’s this about wearing something suitable?”
“He meant dress appropriate for evening dining.”
I plucked at the waist of my dress. “And this isn’t?”
“Tiff, it’s a summer frock.”
“I don’t happen to have a cocktail dress on me at the moment and I’m not renting a dress some other woman wore, so I guess we better not eat dinner here.”
He took both my hands in his and gazed in my eyes, mouth curved in a winsome smile. “You could let me buy you one. I can see you in pale, shimmering lilac, with silver shoes, your hair loose down your back. You’ll knock them dead.”
“Like, no,” I said, going all valley girl. “But red flannel does appeal to me. You can buy me one of those. Then I can use it this coming winter.”
He opened his mouth, but I released one hand and put my forefinger to his lips. “Maybe instead we should discuss Rosa Talby and how we get to stay in an awesome suite for nothing?”
“Let’s wait on that, shall we? Time to get moving,” he said smartly, looking to one side as if he suddenly found the décor riveting.
Clever man.
“Where are we going first?”
“Shall we start with the Freedom Trail? It’s the best way to get acquainted with Boston’s historic landmarks.”
***
I changed into a tee, pedal-pushers and sneakers for the three-hour walk. Royal decided he would be more comfortable in Levi’s and a T-shirt.
Who would believe so many different muscles in the male anatomy are at play when a man puts on a T-shirt. I watched, absorbed, as Royal eased his arms in the sleeves, pulled the neck opening over his head, then used both hands to roll the shirt down his torso. I sighed as the hem covered the last two inches of pale-copper skin.
“Like what you see?”
“You know damn well I do.”
He turned on his heel to show me his smile and the glitter in his eyes. “I can take it off and do it again.”
I linked my hands above my head, stretched and writhed. “Or you could take everything off and join me on this incredible bed.”
The doorbell rang. Our suite had a doorbell?
I let my hands flop on the pillow. “Damn.”
Sliding off the bed, I followed Royal through the suite and foyer. He opened the door.
I stepped back when a man and woman flashed badges in my face; now you see it, now you don’t. “Mr. Mortensen? Miss Banks? Please come with us,” the guy’s deep voice rumbled.
Conscious of the well-mannered way in which to greet a stranger, I said, “What the hell?”
Royal put a hand on my upper arm. I don’t know what he thought I’d do, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“We’ll take another look at those IDs,” he told them.
They held their badges up again.
Strager and Martinez. Federal Bureau of Investigation. Strager looked like a bulldog, short and wide, his thick arms and thighs straining to break free of his suit. Bald, his blue-black skin shone with sweat. The whites of his big, round brown eyes were slightly yellow above a broad, flat nose and thin lips like a couple of eels mating. Martinez’ blue eyes were level with my cleavage. Curly dark-brown hair lapped her collar, framing an angular face with blue eyes and a wide mouth. She had wide shoulders and impressive breasts undisguised by her dark-blue pantsuit, white shirt and narrow black tie. Strager wore an identical outfit, but with bulges in other places.
Royal nodded at the badges and the two lowered their hands. “What is this about?”
“We’re not authorized to divulge that information,” Martinez said with a slight smile. “Our supervisor will explain.”
I balked. “Whoa there, sister. We’re not going anyplace with you.”
Royal smiled at them. “Can Tiff and I have a word in private?”
“But - ” I started to protest.
He cut in. “Let’s discuss this, shall we, Tiff?” He nodded at the agents. “If you would wait in the foyer, this will take but a moment. I promise we won’t escape out a window.”
Expressionless, they came inside and sat on the Louis XIII furniture. Royal guided me into the living room with a hand in the small of my back and closed the door to the foyer.
“Royal!”
He put a finger to his lips and towed me inside the bedroom. Then he grabbed my hands. “Tiff, they are not giving us a choice.”
“Bull!” Furious, I pulled my hands free. “I don’t care who they are, they can’t barge in here, demand we go off to some unknown destination with them and not give a reason!”
He shook his head slightly. “They’re FBI. You know how they operate. Go with them now, see what this is about, or wait for them to descend on us later with an offer we can’t refuse.”
I marched to the window and looked out, though I didn’t see a thing. Yeah, I know how the Bureau works. They get what they want any way they can. If we didn’t go with these guys willingly, they would come back at us with some concocted rationale to do so. I knew that, and I was mightily displeased.
I scowled. “I’ve never been on the receiving end. It isn’t right!”
His arms came around me and pulled me back to him. “I know,” he soothed.
“We could zip out of here and go home, but they would come after us there, and they would not be as polite.”
I put my hands over his and squeezed. “Do you have even a glimmer of what they want, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t.”
“No idea.” His lips danced over my hair.
I shivered. “Is it safe?”
“I think so.” He let go and I felt as if a big, warm winter coat had been taken off my shoulders.
He took my hand and led me back to the agents. They stood when he opened the door to the foyer. “We’ll come with you. Will it take long?”
“Again, Sir, we can’t tell you that, but you should bring your possessions with you,” Martinez said.
Apprehension made my skin cold. I shivered again.
“Tiff, can you pack our cases while I tell Chris what’s happening?” Royal said.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sir,” Strager growled.
Royal loomed over him. “But you are not me.”
If he gave me a look like that and used that flat tone, I would back off in a flash. I might even have an accident in my panties. And I know him. The agents did back up a step and I swear Strager’s dark complexion turned a shade lighter.
In a temper, I gathered our stuff from the bathroom, tossed it in our little suitcases and dumped our clothes on top. Then I had to take the clothes out and fold them so I could close the cases. I felt my face heat up as I worked and my ire got closer to the surface. I heard Royal on the phone to Plowman, but not what he said.
Then we followed Strager and Martinez out the suite. I looked back at the luxury we left behind just before the doors closed. So much for our romantic getaway. I didn’t even get to show Royal all my sexy new underwear.
***
We rode to the airport in the back of a black SUV with tinted windows. I half expected to go directly to the runway and a private jet, but we went through the gate like regular, willing commuters and boarded a commercial airplane. I guess we weren’t that important, which I found somewhat reassuring. And, we flew economy. Strager and Martinez sat behind us.