Bed, Breakfast, and Beyond

by Bonnie Gardner

  "Not funny, Dr. Chastain. It's more likely that my partner moved it. Excuse me." She turned, opened the door to the office, and poked her head into the office behind the desk. "Nessa, have you seen the register?"

  Vanessa looked up from the computer terminal where she had been busily writing computer code and shook her head. "Didn't you have it this morning?"

  "Yes. I put it on the counter, but now that Dr. Chastain is here, I can't find it. It's really strange." Corrie didn't know why she felt the need to call Ben Dr. Chastain in front of Vanessa; she just did.

  "Oh. He's here? Well, let me come out and help you find it." Vanessa rolled her chair away from the work station and got up.

  Corrie suspected that her friend's eagerness to help had less to do with finding the book and more to do with curiosity about Dr. Chastain. And Corrie really didn't want to share him. "It's okay, Ness. You don't have to stop what you're doing."

  Of course, that was exactly the thing to make Vanessa more insistent. "Hey. I need a break anyway. Writing code here is just as tiring as it was at Hyper-Tech." She arched her back and stretched.

  "Okay," Corrie said, reluctant to allow Vanessa to ogle her first paying customer. She knew when to give in gracefully. "Come out and meet Ben."

  Vanessa raised an eyebrow and mouthed the word "Ben," a questioning look on her face.

  Corrie grimaced and raised a finger to her mouth as she turned back toward the lobby.

  Ben looked up as Vanessa entered. Corrie made the required introductions, hoping Vanessa would behave — or, at least, be tactful.

  "You sho' ain't nothing like I expected, Doctuh Chastain," Vanessa announced as soon as she let go of his hand. The southern mammy act made Corrie feel like sinking into the floor.

  "I told Corrie to call me Ben," he responded amiably. "You can too."

  "Sure, Ben. Let me see if I can find that guest book." She bustled away, a merry look in her eyes and a smirk on her face that only Corrie could see.

  Feeling like she'd made the worst impression she could, Corrie pasted a smile on her face and turned back to Ben. "I guess the registration can wait until the book turns up. It's not as if you're one of dozens of guests." She smiled up at him, more genuinely this time. "I thought we'd put you in the Magnolia Room."

  She reached toward the row of wooden cubbyholes on the wall behind the desk and selected a key. "In order to keep with the period decor, we don't have phones in the room, but can take messages here at the desk. Of course, you're free to use your cell phone." An antique, wooden phone decorated the wall, but she gestured toward the modern one on the lower desk. "If you're not here to receive your call, you'll find your messages in the box designated for your room."

  She executed a flight attendant-like gesture and continued. "When you leave, drop off the key and pick it back up when you return." She took a deep, relieved breath, handed Ben the key, and turned toward the stairs.

  "That was nicely done," Ben murmured.

  Corrie stopped. "What do you mean?" She turned back and looked at her guest, puzzled by the remark.

  "Your little speech. I bet you practiced." He tipped his head and winked.

  Feeling sheepish, Corrie nodded. "For days." Then she noticed that Ben hadn't brought in any luggage. "Do you want to go and get your bags?"

  He shook his head. "They can wait. They're not going anywhere. I'd really like to explore once you've shown me the room. Are there any parts of the inn that are off limits?"

  Corrie answered slowly. "You're free to go anywhere except my quarters in the area behind the desk. But first let me show you the way to your room."

  ****

  Ben looked around the well-appointed room and smiled. Not a piece of furniture appeared out of period, up to and including the slowly-turning ceiling fan, yet everything looked like new. Either someone had spent a fortune refurbishing what had been left in the house, or somebody out there could produce some very good reproductions. Whichever, he approved.

  He crossed to the French doors that opened onto one of the wrought iron balconies he'd seen from the drive and pushed them open. Stepping outside, breathing in magnolia-scented air made him almost feel as though he'd left this century. The lawn was shaded now, the two great trees spreading their long shadows over much of the front yard. He could see now why his room was called the Magnolia Room. The merest glint of the Gulf of Mexico gleamed on the far horizon. When the inn had first been built as a summer home for the Venable family and the pair of trees was smaller, the view must have been magnificent.

  Ben wondered idly if this was the room where Ham and Cory had died, but so far, he'd had no vibes — nothing to suggest that ghosts were in residence. Not that his on-and-off-again clairvoyance was all that accurate. He had seen and sensed more psychic phenomena than the average guy, but he couldn't make it happen.

  Carrie had given him the go ahead to explore, so explore he would. He wanted to get a feel of the place before he started asking questions. Maybe, with a few psychic clues, he'd know just what questions to ask. Right now, all he was sure of was that he wanted to know everything. He had to narrow it down more than that if he was going to make any progress at all. And though he had a pretty good idea about what had killed the ill-fated, young couple, he wouldn't mind knowing for sure.

  He stepped out into the hall and looked down the gallery that provided a view of the downstairs lobby and access to the stairs. Where should he go first? Drawing in a deep breath, sniffing for some odd scent he didn't really expect to find, he elected to go left, the opposite way he'd come.

  He paused in front of the next room, running his hand over the small, brass plaque that marked the room as the Honeymoon Suite. A chill raced through him as he realized that this must be the room where Ham and Cory had met their ends. And, he didn't know whether he had imagined it, but he felt a presence behind him. Hair on the back of his neck standing at attention, he slowly turned.

  No one was there.

  Shrugging, he moved on. He stopped a moment as he felt chilly air. Then he snorted with disgust when he noticed the air conditioning vent above him.

  Man, his imagination was really working overtime today.

  ****

  Corrie all but turned the registration area inside out looking for the missing book. She was a compulsively neat, left-brained person — Vanessa had once accused her of being anal retentive — and she remembered exactly where she had last seen it. She never misplaced her umbrella or her car keys; she certainly wouldn't lose something like this.

  A noise from the gallery above caught her ear, and Corrie glanced upward. There in the gallery was her number one — with a capital N — guest, exploring as he said he would be. She'd sure like a chance to explore him. She banished the notion with a quick shake of her head. She really needed to find that guest book.

  But her eyes kept straying up toward the distracting figure of Dr. Benjamin H. Chastain.

  Realizing that she was accomplishing nothing, Corrie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think. She mentally retraced her steps from the moment she had placed the book on the desk that morning until she came back inside with Ben. There was no way she could have moved that book. But if Vanessa hadn't, who had?

  Ben's joke about poltergeists was beginning to actually sound plausible. Realizing what had just crossed her usually-logical mind, Corrie closed her eyes. She had to get a grip. Maybe the strain of getting the inn ready was getting to her. She replaced all the items she had moved into their designated spots and tried to think sequentially.

  If she hadn't moved the book, then Vanessa must have. They were the only people around. Vanessa surely had moved it. Otherwise, Corrie was going quietly crazy.

  She finished arranging the few items that graced the counter. Once the plumed pen and the bell were positioned exactly where she wanted them, she turned toward the office.

  "Vanessa," she announced firmly. "You have to have been the one who moved that book. I didn't move it, so you're the only one lef
t."

  Without looking up from her work, Vanessa answered. "The only time I left this room all afternoon was to come out and look. I didn't move the guest book. I don't know where it is. Stop obsessing about it. It'll turn up," she said patiently. Very patiently for Vanessa.

  "Well, it couldn't have grown legs and walked away," Corrie replied defensively, lifting a stack of invoices from her desk and looking under it.

  "Just chill, girlfriend. It'll turn up. Besides, we've got five more in the supply cabinet. Start a new one." Vanessa pushed her seat back and swiveled toward the metal cabinet adjacent to her work station. She reached inside and retrieved a leather-bound book with lined pages identical to the one that had disappeared. "Here. Problem solved." She handed over the book and closed the cabinet.

  Corrie clutched it to her chest, reassured by the cool, solid feel of the thing. "Did you count how many there were, by any chance?" she asked meekly.

  Vanessa rolled her eyes. "No, but if it makes you feel better, I will." She yanked the metal door open again. "One, two, three, four." She turned back around. "Satisfied?"

  "No." Corrie sighed heavily. "I would have been if there'd been five there. Then all six would have been accounted for."

  "Speaking of sex…" Vanessa looked up at Corrie and grinned. "What do you think of your professor?"

  "He's certainly not what I expected." She answered dreamily, then shook herself. "Hey, he's not my professor." Corrie felt the color rising to her cheeks. The fact that she was blushing just made her blush more. If Vanessa had the same kind of telltale skin, she'd be more sensitive with her teasing.

  Vanessa smirked, and Corrie was already tired of that expression. "Mmm, Mmm, Mmmm. He sho' don't look nothing like Dr. Chi."

  They had both had Dr. Chichester for British Lit their sophomore year, and they had both spent more time after class giggling about his tweedy clothes, his absent-minded tangents, and his pony-tailed, bald head than they had studying.

  "I'll say. Ben looks more like Lord Byron, than someone who'd be an expert on him."

  "I wonder if he is anything like Lord Byron." Vanessa giggled. "Or Don Juan?"

  ****

  After completing his exploration of the upper portion of the house, Ben paused at the top of the stairs. He couldn't imagine having a summer house with six bedrooms, but then, Venable House had been built in different times. He couldn't imagine having a summer house at all. His bungalow a few blocks from campus along with his student loans would keep his money tied up for a long, long time. He couldn't finance anything else.

  He fingered the polished oak newel post, wondering whether to return to his room or explore further. He hadn't found anything upstairs except a few more wonderfully furnished rooms like his. And he really wanted to ask Corrie Wallace some questions about Ham and the other Cory.

  In fact, he wasn't sure if he didn't just want to talk to Corrie because she was such an intriguing woman.

  He elected to go downstairs.

  Hearing laughter from the office behind the front desk, he called, "Corrie, Vanessa? Are you there?"

  The rear door opened and Corrie emerged from the room it concealed. He wondered what was back there that he couldn't see. He didn't wonder long after seeing Corrie's flushed and flustered face. Clutched to her chest was what must be the missing guest register.

  "I see you found it," he said, gesturing.

  "What?" Corrie looked deliciously confused, then she blinked and appeared to notice the book she held. "Oh this. This is a new one. The other one still hasn't turned up." She released her grip with one hand and dusted off an already immaculate place on the counter, then laid the book carefully down on the spot. "If this one disappears, I may have to chain the next one to the desk."

  Ben forgot what he came for and took the time to notice Corrie. She had shed the work shirt in favor of a sleeveless blouse of a peach-colored fabric, a soft ruffle cascading down the front. It was feminine, probably comfortable — though he wouldn't mind seeing her in something more comfortable — but demure enough to fit in with the period decor. Sort of.

  She might have been small and petite, but the creamy white skin on her arms stretched tautly over well-toned muscles, hinting at real strength. She certainly looked fragile with her porcelain coloring and her red-gold hair, but her trim figure suggested more beneath that delicate exterior. "You aren't going to wear period dress, are you?" He stopped, realizing that he'd thought out loud.

  Corrie didn't seem to take offense. She smiled. "Like in Williamsburg? No, I'll try not to clash with the place, but I can't see myself in period costume all the time." She paused to consider. "Maybe for special occasions."

  "Well, I guess I'll register now," Ben said for lack of anything else to say. "Before the book disappears again," he added with a wink.

  Corrie looked down at the book beneath her caressing fingers. She jerked them away as if the book were hot. "Yes. You can." She pushed the register toward him and reached for the quill pen. "You're number one," she said, handing it to him.

  Their fingers collided as he accepted the pen, and Ben felt a surge pass from Corrie's to his before she quickly moved her hand away. He tried to ignore the sensations it suggested as he offered his credit card, then scrawled in his name and pertinent information and closed the book. And wondered what she meant by calling him "Number One". He looked up, intent on diffusing the awkward situation.

  "Have you ever experienced anything odd when walking through the upper gallery?"

  Chapter Two

  "Odd? What do you mean by odd?" Corrie looked up at Ben, surprised that he seemed actually serious and not teasing as he had been earlier. "You're still not trying to find ghosts in my gallery, are you?"

  Ben's face lightened. "I'm not going to invent anything, if that's what you're asking. But, if I find anything, it will really help me with the final chapter of my book."

  "You sound as if you expect to find something." Corrie tried to look as if the guest was always right, but she was afraid her skepticism showed.

  "If it's there, I will," Ben answered with more certainty than Corrie would have in the same situation.

  A chill fingered its way up her spine. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that." She was an educated, rational person, and she didn't believe in things that couldn't be demonstrated scientifically, but Ben's confidence that he would find something… worried her.

  "I thought you were a non-believer," Ben reminded her.

  "I am." Or I was, Corrie acknowledged to herself. What if Ben proves to me that ghosts really do exist? Right here in the Venable Inn! What had once seemed like a clever advertising ploy had developed sinister overtones. She sighed as she considered it.

  "You look…" Ben laughed. "I'm not sure how you look. Confused?"

  Corrie tried on a smile. "Maybe. As far as I know, nobody in the Venable family has ever seen any suggestion of a ghost in the last one hundred years. What makes you think you'll find anything now?"

  "Experience," he answered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I seem to be able to find evidence of the spirit world when others can't. I don't know if I have a special ability or if I just want to see more than the average person."

  "I can't understand wanting to see a ghost." Corrie suppressed a shudder. To her, ghosts were no more desirable than bats in the belfry, rats in the pantry, or roaches in the kitchen. "Are you sure you haven't just been seeing things that weren't there because you — as you said — 'want to see them'?"

  Ben smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "It's not so much wanting to see them as being open to the idea." He paused and fingered the feathered pen in its stand. "I can see you're going to need some convincing."

  Corrie crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. "I'm going to need concrete proof, that's all." Ben's good humor was infectious, and she found herself smiling in spite of her misgivings about Ben's supposed ghost hunt.

  "Well, I need proof too. I like to have corroborating witnesses or the absence o
f logical explanation." Ben chuckled. "I'm really not a flake."

  "Glad to hear it." She'd hate to think this gorgeous man standing in front of her was a member of the fruits and nuts society. She thought a minute. "Earlier in our conversation, you asked if I'd noticed anything odd in the gallery. Did you?"

  Ben drew in a breath, his chest expanding distractingly. "Maybe. I had a strong sense that someone was watching me, but when I turned around, no one was there. Then when I moved on, I hit an unusually chilly spot."

  Corrie had a pretty good idea why Ben had felt someone watching him, and she felt color rise to her cheeks. And she could probably explain the cold spot. She just wasn't sure she should admit the former. She cleared her throat, feeling foolish for what she was about to say. "Um." She swallowed. "I saw you prowling around upstairs and watched you for a few minutes. That's probably what you felt. As for the cold spot… We're still fiddling with the refurbished air conditioning system to get the temperature just right."

  Ben leaned across the counter and stared into Corrie's embarrassed face. "All right. I'll admit defeat on those two elements. But I will keep looking."

  ****

  "Fiddle!"

  Ham, lounging at the Magnolia Room balcony, looked up from his idle contemplation of the front lawn. "What is it, dearest?"

  "I tried everything I could to frighten away that professor person." Cory stamped her foot, though the gesture was nothing more than that.

  "And just what did you do, Cory?" Ham moved back from the balcony railing and turned completely around. "How did you try to frighten that strapping, young man?"

  Cory tilted her chin upward, her indication that she meant to be defiant. "I waved my arms, made faces, and screeched at him." She nodded her head with a finality that brooked no argument.