by Lotta Smith
Rick clicked his tongue. “More like an assignment than a favor. All right, I saw it coming. What do you want?” He sat down and crossed his arms. “If it’s about doing some extracurricular work that involves listening to some model or actress going on and on about their crack-headed conspiracy theory, then I suggest you arrange someone else, such as a shrink.”
“Ha. I’m not talking about something so vain. By the way, seeing the two of you getting cozy was a good change in the mood, although you convinced me that I’m a far better kisser than you, young man. If you ask me nicely, I can show you how to kiss a girl properly.” Dan winked.
“Hey, old man, don’t forget that I’m carrying a gun,” Rick said calmly, but the veins were bulging in his neck.
“So what? I have an army of soldiers in the name of USCAB employees.” Dan raised an eyebrow.
Fretting uncomfortably on my chair, I glanced at Dan, and then I moved my gaze to Rick. When our eyes met, Rick said under his breath, “See? That’s why I prefer dining with your folks rather than with this old thug.” I noticed he didn’t deny his father’s previous comments about yours truly being his girlfriend, which brought a smile to my face. Then he turned to Dan. “You used Violet as bait so Mandy could persuade me to come here. Who’s the sneaky one?”
“Sneaky? I’d prefer the term ‘strategically calculated.’” Dan shrugged. “Mandy, you should eat the chocolate torte before the ice cream melts away. It’s the signature dessert of this place, and having it go to waste is a sacrilege. You can eat Rick’s, too. He’s busy complaining. Perhaps he’s going through another rebellious phase.”
“Um… well….” I fidgeted with my words while Jackie commented, “Now I know whose smart-ass gene Rick inherited,” which almost prompted me to snort whipped cream out of my nostrils.
“Stop telling her what to do. She’s my date, not yours,” Rick butted in. “Hey, Mandy, stop grinning like an idiot.”
Jackie sighed by my side. “In my opinion, Dan’s great at driving his son mad every once in a while. Rick looks extra sexy when he’s annoyed,” she whispered in my ear.
In my opinion, Rick was the spitting image of Dan, and I blamed their resemblance for their occasional father-son disagreement.
While I watched the two Rowling men engaging in a verbal duel, Violet was savoring the yummy dessert with one hand and taking notes on her phone with the other like crazy.
“Dan, Rick, thank you so much for this wonderful evening. Guess what? I’ve just written up a great scene,” Violet said in a chipper tone in the middle of the Rowlings’ disagreement.
“Isn’t that great?” Patting his date’s shoulder, Dan winked.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad to help,” Rick said, as if his previous words and the bulging veins were just for show.
“By the way, have any of you heard about this author, Carina Christien?” Violet asked abruptly.
“I recognize the name, but that’s about it,” Rick said curtly before taking a big bite of chocolate torte.
“I’ve read a few of her books. She’s a famous author specializing in a horror-mystery hybrid with a touch of paranormal,” I added.
Carina Christien was one of those shining stars in the literary industry. Her paranormal occult mysteries were hysterically popular among young adults, ranging from high school students to housewives. If I recalled correctly, some of her books had been turned into motion pictures.
Also, Carina Christien herself was quite a celebrity, being featured in big-name magazines. The photos of her writing new books clad in Goth-princess fashion practically blew my mind. Basically, she was known as a rock star who kicked ass by writing murders.
“She’s taken a hiatus from her work, hasn’t she?” I asked.
“Right,” Violet said. “I heard she decided to take some time off before she burned out. A smart move, I guess.”
“I see. Her fans must be dying to read her new books.”
“Oh, you mean the Carinists? Yeah, I think they’re totally going crazy while waiting for her next book,” Violet agreed. “Carina rocks.”
“By the way, Carina’s former editor is now in charge of Violet,” Dan interjected. “He used to manage mystery authors, but he’s been recently transferred to the erotica division.”
Considering Carina’s publisher was one of the largest, with many departments and divisions, personnel reshuffle seemed to be common.
“Carina is having a public reading, and she wants you, Rick, to attend this event as a guest,” Violet said.
“Why me?” Rick frowned.
“You’ll see when you get there.” Dan smiled mysteriously. “Considering your reputation as the hottest crime fighter in the city, I wouldn’t be surprised if she specifically requested your presence.”
“Does she want to research me or something?” Rick cocked his head to the side. “In that case, I know a better candidate. Violet, your date tonight used to be called the hottest crime fighter in the city back in the old days. I have a hunch that Carina would be happier having the two of you over to her reading.”
“I’d like to volunteer and spare you the trouble, but unfortunately, I already have plans for that day.” Dan shook his head.
“I know it’s a bold request, but I’m talking about Carina Christien. She has to have you over for the reading when, and not if, she wishes so. The publisher simply can’t say no to her demands. I heard she’s invited her former editor who of course, couldn’t say no to her invitation. ” Violet shrugged. “Gee, I want to be just like Carina when I grow up.”
“Like, the diva who writes steamy romance?” Dan chuckled playfully, prompting Violet to say, “Hmm, that will make a good title, won’t it?”
Rick rolled his eyes.
“Hey, you can bring Mandy with you. It’ll be fun and romantic,” Dan said, turning to us.
“Romantic? What part of a bloody murder mystery makes it romantic, or even fun?” Rick raised an eyebrow and snorted. “In most books and movies, when some bestselling mystery author has a reading party, someone gets killed in the same manner as the murder or murders in the book of the day. Besides, assuming from the author’s diva personality, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets whacked.”
“The reading will be held at Chateau Hotel and Spa in Tarrytown,” Dan went on, totally ignoring Rick’s reluctance. Again, I could see where my boss’s aggressiveness came from.
“The Chateau Hotel and Spa by the Hudson?” Before Rick responded, I inadvertently perked up. I had heard so many nice things about this mock-European castle built by a newspaper mogul at the turn of the 20th century.
Dan snapped his fingers and produced an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Here’s an early Christmas gift for you, Mandy. It’s a spa and lunch package scheduled on December 24th. Enjoy!”
“Why, thank you so much!” I accepted the envelope, catching Rick flinching and massaging his temple from the corner of my eye.
Then Dan turned to Rick. “If I were you, I wouldn’t send her to Tarrytown on her own. Someone can steal her, especially when she’s sporting a post-facial treatment glow. Not to mention this package is for two people, and I’ve reserved the best shiatsu massage therapist for you. So don’t miss this opportunity. You broke an ankle this summer, remember? And guess what? This time of year, filled with chills and snow, is the least kind to old injuries, but a good shiatsu makes a huge difference. Anyway, the reading starts at 6:00 p.m. on the same day. I suggest you guys arrive early. The invitation is in that envelope, Mandy.”
“All right, so I’ll attend the reading,” Rick growled. “Why do I feel trapped?”
“Stop grumbling, young man. Just in case, I’ve booked a suite so the two of you can relax. Don’t worry, it’s only an hour drive from the city, and you’ll make it to the Christmas party with Mandy’s folks.” Dan grinned like the Cheshire cat.
CHAPTER 2
Following the double date, I waited for Christmas Eve like a little kid counting how many nights to s
leep until opening the Christmas gifts, and the day came much sooner than I’d anticipated.
The Chateau Hotel and Spa didn’t disappoint. When I caught a glimpse of the stone building shaped like an old European castle standing atop the peaks in Westchester, I felt as if I had wandered into 18th century Scotland. Or at least a movie set in Hollywood shooting some historical romance flicks. Considering the drive from Manhattan took less than an hour, the experience qualified as magic.
As Dan had told us, the spa turned out to be fantastic. I was scrubbed, massaged, and polished, and by the time my session had ended, I was smelling good. Rick was initially reluctant for the day’s plan, but when he finished, he was totally delighted with the result.
After the spa session and late lunch, Rick and I had a stroll in the garden until the cold weather drove us back to the Garden Room in the restaurant. I was dying to look at the room, but unfortunately, ours was reserved with a late check-in plan and visiting the room had to wait. As it was winter, the garden was mostly devoid of greenery and flowers, but reading Carina Christien’s books close to the fountains and sculptures, which looked creepy under the cloudy weather, enhanced their eerie tone.
Under normal circumstances, Jackie should have shrieked joyously at the spa, restaurant, and everything, but on this day, she wasn’t tagging along with me. She had a party with other ghosts she’d met in the past few months. She also claimed that she had a date after the party. According to her, it was common for dead people’s spirits to come back to the world on Halloween and then stay for the entire holiday season. And during the holiday season, dead people had lots of crazy parties just like we humans did. I didn’t know which was weirder—the fact that I regarded having Jackie around me as normal, or that dead people threw parties and dated. Anyway, I was learning new things every day.
“That was impressive,” Rick said as he finished the third book by Carina Christien for the day. Seeing him catching up with even the most trivial details about each case by just taking a glance at a case file, I knew his reading speed was superfast, but finishing three books in a day was more impressive to me. “I had this preconception that her books would be childish, but I was wrong. The author’s dry sense of humor somehow enhances the creepiness of the stories that always end up catastrophic. Though the whodunit part was easy to tell in every book, the story was well-developed and the culprits’ insanity made me smile, especially this story about a restaurant owner who served his previous customers to new customers. It was like Agatha Christie meets Alice Cooper.”
“Um.” I cleared my throat. “In my universe, such a concept is considered gross.” Besides, Carina Christien’s books were famous for keeping her readers wondering who the killer was, but I didn’t tell that to him. Rick Rowling was notorious for his ruthless approach to investigation, but at the same time, even those who loathed him had to admit his brilliance and be impressed by his case-closure rate, which was slightly higher than 100 percent. I knew that sounded outrageous, but indeed, Rick achieved this whooping number by totally ditching respect toward bureaucracy.
“Oh yeah?” He chuckled. “I’m almost thankful for this occasion.”
“I’m glad you changed your opinion. You liked the massage, and I’m sure we’ll have a ton of fun at the reading,” I said, “with a little touch of dark fantasy, of course.”
“You don’t understand my old man. When that guy sends me on an errand, you have to expect some snafu.” He crossed his long legs in a relaxed manner.
“Still, there’s a first time for everything. Let’s hope for the best. It’s almost Christmas, and perhaps Dan has arranged this little getaway thoroughly as a Christmas gift.”
“You have a point.” He touched his right ankle where he had a hairline fracture back in the summer. “At least the slight tightness I’d had for a while seems to be gone for now. That alone makes this trip worth our time.”
“That’s fantastic!” I gently patted his knee.
“I know.” He took my hand in his. I half expected Jackie to pop up and butt in between us like she always did, and I instinctively looked around. “What?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking like, ‘hmm… Jackie must really have a hot date considering she hasn’t shown up by now.’”
“Yeah, right. She can be a pain in the ass sometimes.” Rick chuckled and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “What time does the door open?”
“Let me see.” I took the invitation out of my purse and handed it to him. “The door opens at 5:30 p.m., and the reading starts at 6:00 p.m.”
“It’s 5:32 p.m., so the door should be open. Let’s go.”
As we stood up, I caught a glimpse of the garden outside of the windows. The twilight moon lit up the garden with the backdrop of the sky, which was divvied into orange and navy.
It was breathlessly enchanting, but at the same time, I felt somewhat uneasy… like I knew something evil was lurking in the dark corner of the garden.
* * *
The reading was going to be held in another building called the Serene Cottage. According to the hotel’s website, the cottage was built about seventy years ago. We walked across the moonlit garden to the large two-story building that looked more like a Gothic mansion rather than a cottage.
The door was open, and people were already coming in.
Just inside the door, the registration desk was set up.
“Hello. Welcome to the Soiree of the Undead.” The receptionist manning the registration smiled at us as we entered the cottage. Wearing a black dress with lots of frills and ribbons, she had long, straight, dark hair, and she’d put on heavy makeup with crimson lips contrasting her alabaster complexion. Her eyes matched her lips with the use of crimson contact lenses. It was hard to tell her age, and the woman practically looked like a Goth princess. Somehow, her fashion matched really well with the place, in a horror movie kind of way.
“May I see your ticket or invitation?” she said.
“Sure.” Rick presented the invitation.
“Thank you.” The receptionist looked at it. “Mr. Rowling, we were looking forward to having you. Please go this way and to the upstairs area. The reading will be held at the café.” She indicated her right side at the grand staircase.
We nodded our thanks to her and headed straight to the grand staircase with wood-carved handrails embellished with detailed reliefs.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the person registering after us paying the receptionist.
When we reached the upstairs, my eyes traveled the café floor.
The dark wood floor was shining, reflecting the soft lights. Five wooden tables, made of lighter tones, were set up. Each table had a transparent vase holding a single red rose. The walls were spotless white, which made an eye-catching contrast with the wooden window frame in the same color as the floor. A small Tiffany chandelier cast soft light. In front of the wall with the window was a sofa upholstered in oxblood red.
“This is so beautiful,” I murmured. “Imagine Carina Christien herself reciting one of her stories—not the spooky one, but a romantic one.”
“Seriously? Personally, I’d prefer to listen to something featuring a deranged, murderous clown.” Rick chuckled as he pulled a chair out for me at a table.
“Thanks. I’m not a huge fan of clowns, but they are such a rave among her readers.”
“Clowns are seriously disturbing, and they’re huge megahit factors in horror stories.”
“I know.” I nodded. “Speaking of megahit, did you know that Carina Christien started her writing career in a rather humble way? One of New York’s publishers hosted a contest to discover new authors, and she won second place when she was a theater arts school student. The prize for her achievement was just a thousand bucks.”
“Seriously? That’s unbelievable.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I know. Back then, she wasn’t regarded as a future star, but her story got glowing reviews when featured in a magazin
e, so they had her add some more scenes and elements and republished as a book, which hit the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists. Her book sold explosively, and the rest is history.”
“Talk about a Cinderella story.”
While we chatted at the table, a tall guy in his early thirties approached us. “You must be Rick Rowling,” he said eagerly.
“Yes?” Rick glanced at him. “Have we met before?”
“Oops, where are my manners? I’m Dylan Woodhouse, an editor at Roseberry House. I’m currently in charge of Violet Huss. Nice to meet you.” With a smile, Woodhouse offered his hand to Rick. As he did, Woodhouse emphasized his height by bending his knees.
“Nice meeting you, too.” Rick stood up to shake hands with Woodhouse. “I heard so much about you from Violet,” he said, demonstrating that he was even taller than the editor.
“I’m so glad you could make it here. I really appreciate it.” Woodhouse’s smile widened. “You know what? You practically saved my behind. Carina caught a rumor about you, and she insisted on having you for this occasion. When she wants something, she has to have it no matter what. I owe a lot to Violet, I guess. Without her I would have had no luck having you here. Now I can understand her insistence. Her adoration for sexy men like you borders on obsession.” As he spoke, he looked more like someone from the TV industry rather than a literary editor.
“Should I be flattered or what?” Rick tilted his head to the side.
Woodhouse moved his gaze toward me. “Look at your cute date.”
“This is Miss Amanda Meyer,” Rick introduced me. When he continued, “She lives with me,” my jaw dropped. I looked at him in surprise. He responded with a lopsided smile and sat down.
“Oh, what a shame. She’s taken.” Woodhouse chuckled. “Good thing you told me that before I asked her out. Hello, Amanda.” As he extended his hand toward me, I felt nervous. In my previous life as a medical student, three of my patients dropped dead just minutes after touching me, and since then, I wasn’t comfortable shaking hands with a total stranger. The series of unfortunate incidents had me kicked out of med school, and monikered with an even more unfortunate nickname, the Grim Reaper. Thanks to my nickname, no one except for Rick Rowling at the FBI ever offered their hands for a handshake.