The Ghost of Grey Fox Inn

by Carolyn Keene

  A strange look passed over John William’s face, but then his expression turned to good humor. “It’s been a while since anyone has come in asking about ghosts,” he said with a chuckle. “This inn hasn’t been graced by those kinds of guests in many, many years.”

  George looked crestfallen. “Okay, thanks anyway,” she said with a sigh.

  “Were you hoping for a supernatural visitor tonight, George?” I asked as we ascended the staircase with our bags.

  “It would have been a nice way to break up all this business of flowers and dresses,” she said. “But they’ve got high-speed Internet, so I guess I’ll live.”

  At the top of the stairs, the landing branched out in two directions, and the walls were inset with beautiful wooden shelves filled to capacity with colorful books. I brushed my fingers against their leather and cloth spines, reading titles like Behind Parlor Doors: The Story of Old Charleston and The City of Three Rivers. Bess and George went down the long hall to the right, while my room was on the left-hand side. We agreed to meet up again in the main room at seven thirty and discuss dinner plans, after we’d all had a chance to freshen up. On the way down the hall, I passed a room with a bronze plate on the door that read BRIDAL SUITE. That must be where Charlotte is staying, I thought.

  My room was at the end of the hall, number nineteen. I unlocked the door and stepped inside a beautiful, wood-paneled bedroom. Two stained-glass lamps illuminated a large four-poster bed covered with a cheerful butter-yellow quilt, and a set of vintage cherrywood furniture. I pulled my suitcase onto the bed and began unpacking my things and settling in.

  After a long, hot shower and a couple of phone calls—both Ned and my dad always insisted I let them know when I arrive somewhere safely—I cast my gaze out the window and saw that evening had crept up on me. A glance at my phone revealed that it was almost seven thirty, time to meet the girls. I left my comfortable room, locking the door behind me, and was about to drop the key into my purse when a muffled scream pierced the silence of the hallway. I whirled toward the source of the sound. It was coming from the bridal suite!

  CHAPTER TWO

  An Unwelcome Guest

  I SPRINTED DOWN THE HALL and wrenched at the doorknob to the bridal suite, but it was locked. Calling Charlotte’s name, I started hammering on the door—but after ten seconds of that, only silence greeted me from inside the room. I hoped that Charlotte had simply seen a mouse and screamed, or something equally innocent—but the longer I stood there, waiting, the more unlikely that became.

  I turned to run downstairs to get a key from the front desk and bumped straight into a young couple walking down the hall. “Excuse me,” I said automatically.

  The woman, who looked to be in her late twenties, was magazine beautiful. She was tall and willowy and had flaxen hair that cascaded halfway down her back. She wore a simple mint-green summer dress accented with a thin silver belt. There was something familiar about her face, but in the heat of the moment, I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

  “Is everything all right?” the young woman asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “We heard someone shouting up here.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said quickly. “I heard a scream coming from the bridal suite, and I’ve been trying to reach my friend inside, but there’s no answer.”

  The woman’s face paled. “Charlotte . . . ,” she murmured, staring toward the locked room. She turned to the man at her side. “Morgan, that’s my sister in there!” she exclaimed.

  “Say no more,” he said, and marched up to the door. He wasn’t an overly large man, but I could see quite a bit of muscle pushing through his pastel-blue button-down shirt. Morgan, like his companion, was remarkably good-looking. He wore his light brown hair slicked back and had the chiseled, intense face of a soap opera heartthrob.

  He rattled the door, testing its strength, before ramming his shoulder into it with great force. The door burst open, sending Morgan barreling inside, with the woman and me following close behind him. The woman let out a little yelp of fear, and I soon saw why: Charlotte was lying in the middle of the room in her bathrobe, unconscious.

  Within seconds we were at her side, and after checking her heartbeat and pulse, I was relieved to see that Charlotte was breathing normally and appeared unhurt. “Can you hear me?” the woman said, shaking Charlotte gently by the shoulders. “Wake up!”

  After several tense moments, Charlotte’s eyes fluttered. “Piper?” she murmured.

  We breathed a collective sigh of relief and helped Charlotte into a sitting position. I filled a cup with water from the bathroom and pushed it into her trembling hands. When the color had begun to return to her face, I said, “I heard you scream from the hallway—what happened?”

  “It was the strangest thing,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. “I came out of the shower and walked in here to get my glasses from the top of the vanity. But when I looked up at the mirror, I saw a dark figure standing behind me! It was kind of dim in the room, so I couldn’t make out much detail, but it looked like he was wearing some kind of uniform. Something old-fashioned. That’s when I screamed. I tried to run for the door, but I tripped over my suitcase and must have hit my head against the bedpost on the way down.” She rubbed her temple and winced. “That’s all I remember.”

  I sat back on my heels, thinking. It was an outrageous story—particularly coming from someone as sensible as Charlotte seemed to be. Something occurred to me, and I glanced over at the mirrored vanity to confirm it. “Charlotte,” I said. “You never got the chance to put on your glasses, did you?”

  Charlotte touched her face, puzzled to find it bare. “No,” she said. “I guess I didn’t. I saw the intruder before I was able to pick them up.” She looked back at me, a defensive note creeping into her voice. “I see what you’re getting at, Nancy—but I know what I saw. My eyes aren’t that bad.”

  I wanted to believe her, but Charlotte’s story just seemed so implausible. Could it be that the stress of the wedding was affecting her even more than anyone suspected? It was possible, but I knew better than to suggest that to a jittery bride-to-be.

  A moment later I heard Bess’s familiar voice at the door. “Hello?” she said, poking her head in. “What’s going on in here? Charlotte, are you all right?” She hurried into the room, with George following behind her.

  After assuring Bess that she was fine, Charlotte recounted her story once more for Bess and George. When she heard that Charlotte had hit her head, Bess immediately took off out the door, returning only minutes later with a middle-aged man wearing tiny, round glasses that framed his kind eyes. “Uncle Harry is a doctor,” Bess explained. “I thought he should take a look at Charlotte just to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion.”

  “Good thinking,” I said to Bess.

  While Uncle Harry examined Charlotte, my friends and I retreated to the windows to talk.

  “It’s a strange story, don’t you think?” I asked.

  “Strange?” George said, an excited gleam in her eye. “I think it’s a great story. You know what this means, right?”

  Bess and I exchanged a look. “No,” I said. “What?”

  “This place might be haunted after all!”

  Bess rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, George. Charlotte didn’t see a ghost.”

  George crossed her arms. “Maybe not, but tell me this: If someone was in this room, how did they get in or out? There’s only one door, and like Nancy said, it was locked from the inside. And you were at the door right after you heard Charlotte scream, so there was no time for someone to leave the room, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And take a look at this window,” George went on. “It’s a straight fifteen-foot drop down. No one would have climbed out of here to escape.”

  I had to admit, George had a point. “That’s true,” I replied, “but it all assumes that Charlotte did actually see someone in her room. It’s possible that it was just a shadow, or a trick of th
e light.”

  “I guess so,” George said, shrugging. “But I still prefer my ghost story.”

  The doctor spoke up behind us, and we all turned around. “Well, Charlotte,” he said, “it looks like you’re no worse for wear. Just take a couple aspirin for the pain and get some rest. You should be fine in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Harry,” Charlotte said as he left. She looked around at the people gathered in the room and gave a nervous laugh. “Well,” she said, “this isn’t quite the way I envisioned my wedding preparations to begin.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Charlotte,” I found myself saying. “Don’t worry.”

  Piper regarded me with interest. “You know,” she said, “with all the commotion, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Piper, Charlotte’s older sister and her maid of honor.”

  Charlotte made the introductions, including Bess and George as well. The young man named Morgan stepped up and shook everyone’s hands—including Charlotte’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Morgan told her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Charlotte smiled awkwardly and shot Piper a look. “I wish I could say the same—sis, I didn’t know you were bringing a plus one.”

  Piper slapped her head in dismay. “Oh jeez, Char, I’m so sorry! Morgan and I started dating a while back—I must have been so caught up in our time together that I totally forgot to ask you to add him to the guest list.”

  Charlotte looked at the two of them—their arms linked together, bodies pressed close—and sighed. “I guess it’s not a big deal,” she finally said. “I can squeeze him in at the bridal party’s table at the reception.”

  “You’re the best, Char,” Piper said with a winning smile. Then her eyes zeroed in on something behind Charlotte. “Is that the dress?!” she exclaimed, and dashed over to the white gown hanging on the bathroom door. “Ohh,” she breathed, running her fingers over the creamy, beaded satin. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “I just hope I can pull it off,” Charlotte said wearily. “Mrs. Hill insisted I wear something . . . extravagant. She had her heart set on a big Southern wedding. Honestly, the thing would look much better on you.” She turned to the girls and me. “I don’t know if Piper mentioned this, but she’s been modeling since she was a kid,” she explained.

  “Oh, pish,” Piper replied gaily, waving us off. “It’s just a few jobs here and there. Pays the bills. And anyway”—her eyes returned to her sister—“you’re the one marrying the famous news anchor!”

  “I am, aren’t I,” Charlotte murmured. All of a sudden, she looked terribly drained.

  “Well,” I announced to the room. “Charlotte, unless there’s anything else you need, I think we should all let you rest. Doctor’s orders.”

  We were all trooping out of the room when Charlotte said, “Wait!” We turned around, and Charlotte regarded us seriously. “Whatever you do, please keep this between us. You’ve seen how superstitious Mrs. Hill is, and she’s been helping me organize this wedding for months. If she catches wind of something strange happening . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Well, I just don’t want to find out how she’s going to react.”

  “We won’t say a word,” Bess promised. We all nodded in agreement. Charlotte looked a little relieved, and we left her sitting on the bed and closed the door softly behind us.

  “There’s a cocktail hour with appetizers and things being served downstairs,” Piper told us. “You girls should come and enjoy yourselves!”

  “Thanks—we’ll be down in a minute,” Bess said.

  “Sure thing!” Piper said with a smile, and then she and Morgan headed downstairs.

  “I never would have guessed that those two were sisters!” I said once they were out of earshot. “They couldn’t be more different if they tried.”

  Bess nodded. “They’ve always been like that, ever since they were little. I always had a closer relationship with Charlotte.”

  “I guess opposites really do attract,” George added.

  “Clearly,” I chuckled. “Look at the two of you!”

  Bess smirked. “Well, yes. But it was never really that way with Charlotte and Piper. Piper was always in the spotlight, always getting all the attention from kids at school—especially boys. On the other hand, Charlotte was quiet and bookish—she kept to herself most of the time, and only had a few really close friends. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that Charlotte asked her to be the maid of honor.” After a moment, Bess shrugged. “Though I guess it makes sense. They are sisters. And it certainly seems like they’ve overcome whatever differences they had when they were younger.”

  “Enough gossip,” George said, clapping her hands. “Time to eat!”

  Back downstairs, the main room had filled up with the last members of the bridal party and their families who had arrived from out of town. The sun was setting, casting the room in a warm, pinkish light. Tables of finger food and drinks had been set out, and George’s eyes lit up when she saw them. “Thank goodness,” she said, grabbing a small plate and piling it with cheese and rolls of deli meat. “I’m famished! We haven’t had a bite since those measly snacks on the plane. Maybe this can be our dinner!”

  After picking up some fruit and crudités, I stepped up to the drinks table to pour myself some lemonade. Parker was already there, filling up his own glass with sweet tea. I considered telling him what had happened to Charlotte, but thought better of it—she might want to explain the situation to him herself. Parker was about to step away when a small, older woman in a lavender floral dress stopped him. “Oh my gracious,” she said in a tremulous voice. “You are even more handsome in person than you are on TV!”

  Parker must have been used to this kind of thing, because he didn’t even blush. “Why, that’s most kind of you to say, ma’am,” he replied smoothly. “Are you a friend of the family?”

  “I used to play bridge with your mother in the old days,” the woman replied. “Now, would you make an old lady’s week, young man, and take a picture with me?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Parker said.

  The woman unceremoniously pushed a blocky old digital camera into my hands before cozying up to Parker. “Just push the button at the top,” she ordered.

  I obeyed, and the flash fluttered in their eyes before capturing the image. I handed the camera back to the woman, who immediately squinted at the display to make sure I had taken a satisfactory photo. “Thank you, dear,” she said to Parker, pumping his hand and then hurrying away.

  Parker met my eyes, his own sparkling with good humor. “You’ve got to give the people what they want,” he said with a smile. A moment later he was called across the room by his father and gave me a quick wave before walking away.

  “Some guys have all the luck,” said a voice. I turned to see an angular young man standing nearby, leaning against the back of a couch with a cup of coffee grasped in one hand. He had a mop of curly brown hair on his head and was wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Parker. He’s good-looking, successful, wealthy—and now he’s marrying some Harvard-educated gal with enough brains to fill a football stadium!” He shook his head in wonder, watching the groom-to-be greeting guests across the crowded room. “The guy’s got good luck coming out of his ears, that’s all I’m saying.” He looked over at me, as if waking up from a dream. “Oh, boy—have I been running my mouth off again? Sorry! The name’s Tucker Matthews. I’m Parker’s coworker and one of the groomsmen.”

  “Nancy Drew,” I said with a smile.

  “Hope to see you around, Nancy Drew,” Tucker said, and raised his coffee in a toast. “Here’s to some good luck for the rest of us.”

  I left Tucker at the drinks table and wound my way through the crowd until I found Bess and George. “I’m beat,” I told them. “It’s been a long day, so I think I’m going to head up to my room and go to bed.”

  “I’m going
to stay up a while longer,” Bess said. “The bridesmaids are all planning to discuss the plans for the next couple days—there’s a lot still to do!”

  “I’ll come with you,” George said to me. “Just let me grab one more plate of food for the road.”

  After George gathered up a towering pile of cookies and pastries, we both headed up the spiral staircase to our rooms. I managed a good night as we parted, my feet feeling heavier with every step. I could hardly wait to get into my pajamas and between the sheets.

  I slipped into my cozy room, changed my clothes, brushed my teeth, and crawled gratefully into bed. I thought that the events of the evening might keep me awake, despite how tired I was, but I was wrong. I was out cold as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  It felt like only minutes had passed when I woke up with a start. I glanced over at the digital clock I had placed on the nightstand; it read 3:19 a.m. I had been fast asleep for hours—what had woken me up? I raised my head to look around the room, and my heart leaped into my throat.

  There, standing at the foot of my bed, was a figure, looming in the darkness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Night Terrors

  WITH A STARTLED CRY, I leaped out of bed and tried to get a better look at the intruder. With only the moonlight streaming in from the window, it was hard to make out any details—but just as Charlotte had said, it appeared that the figure was dressed in some sort of uniform. Both jacket and pants were of a single color—blue, perhaps?—and the coat’s metal buttons flashed in the dim light.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I warned, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I scanned the room for something I could use as a weapon and landed on a heavy-looking crystal vase on the nightstand by my side. I grabbed it by the neck and whirled back around to face the intruder—

  But he was gone.

  Shaken, I darted across the room to the lamp on the dresser and switched it on. Yellow light flooded the room, revealing no one but my own pale reflection in the vanity mirror. I quickly checked the closet and bathroom, but to no avail. Whoever had been in my room had vanished. But how?