Dead Roots

by Nancy J. Cohen

  “What can I help you with?” she asked her aunt, wishing Polly would listen to reason. The older woman saved money by eschewing air-conditioning, recycling trash, saving junk-mail envelopes, and doing her laundry by hand. Rejecting Anita’s offer of assistance, Polly had allowed Marla into her frugal life but refused to change her ways.

  “It’s a long story. We’ll need to sit down.”

  “Then I’ll need time to listen. I’m here with my fiancé,” Marla explained. “Can we meet later? Dalton is waiting for me, and I have to unpack.”

  “Whassat? Something wrong with your back?”

  Why don’t you get a set of hearing aids already? “I’ve got to go,” she said in a loud voice, moving away from a laughing couple in tennis outfits.

  “We all have to go sometime. Did you know your granddaddy passed away in this place?”

  “What?” Startled, Marla glanced into Polly’s rheumy eyes, but they held intelligence, not senility.

  “Yep. We used to live here when I was young. Those were the days when everything was golden, mind you. By the time I was old enough to spell my name, Papa had moved us out of the antebellum mansion and into this grand hotel. He had vision, Papa did. That’s your granddaddy Andrew.”

  Marla put her handbag on a lamp table to give her shoulder a rest. “How long ago was this? Ma never said anything about your living here.”

  “You don’t remember your grandma, do you? She took on the place after Papa died.”

  “Do you mean they managed the resort?”

  “Oh no, dear. They owned it.”

  Marla’s jaw dropped. Anita had alluded to some lost wealth in her past but never indicated they’d owned property this extensive. “What happened?”

  “Eh? Speak up.” Polly cupped her ear, a motion that nearly knocked the red felt hat off her head, exposing scraggly gray hair with self-shorn ends.

  “I said, what happened?” Marla shouted. Several guests glanced in their direction. She wondered if any of them were cousins she hadn’t met. Her mother had seven siblings, and all but two of them had produced children. A large contingent lived in Colorado. Some resided in Canada, and still others remained in Israel and Russia. She’d met most of her relatives from the Northeast and South, but their family tree was so expansive that mapping it took seven landscape-formatted sheets of paper placed end to end.

  “Ruth, that’s my mama, sold the resort in the 1960s,” Polly explained.

  “I never really knew her. She died in 1973, five years after I was born.”

  “You’re too warm? Why don’t you take off that blazer? You’re on vacation, dear. You shouldn’t be so dressed up. Go to your room and get changed.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll dash off right now.” Grateful for the excuse, Marla snatched her purse from its resting place.

  “Come see me later, child,” Polly ordered. Paling suddenly, the old woman swayed.

  Marla felt a jolt of alarm. “Aunt Polly, are you okay? Shall I take you to your room?” She grabbed her aunt’s elbow.

  “I’ll be fine,” Polly said, shaking her off, “but only if you’ll agree to help me with my search. Where are you staying?”

  Marla glanced at her key. “Room 407 in Hibiscus Hall. Where are you?”

  “I have a suite in the tower, but I don’t sleep there. Too many memories. The tower is where…Well, I’ll tell you more about it next time.” She snorted. “Your cousin Cynthia wouldn’t demean herself to stay in the main building. She and Bruce reserved the entire top floor of Planter’s House along with that no-good brother of hers. It’s time she kicked him out. It’s the only way he’ll learn to stand on his own two feet.”

  Give him a break. Corbin just got out of jail. “Cynthia is glad her brother has come home.”

  “Yes, I’m home now.” Polly’s expression took on a wistful look. “I’ll see my parents soon. Have you talked to them yet?”

  Uh oh. Polly’s mental light bulb was loose. Mentioning her siblings might help straighten her circuits. “No, tanteh. Is Uncle Moishe coming? I heard he wasn’t well.”

  “Moishe? He couldn’t stay away. His kids are here, along with their children. I wonder how much he’s told them. Be careful what you say to anyone, dear.”

  Marla opened her mouth, then closed it again. Polly would tell her what she wanted at the appropriate time. “If you’ll be all right, I’m heading for my room. Which way do I go?”

  Vail must think she got lost. Her stomach rumbled, and she decided to check out the restaurants after getting changed. That is, unless Champagne had arranged a family get-together for lunch. She’d study their schedules after unpacking.

  “You’re too young to go,” Polly said, misinterpreting her words. Her eyes shone as she clutched Marla’s arm. “Steer clear of Oleander Hall and you’ll be all right.”

  Wasn’t that the same section Champagne had warned her away from? “Don’t worry, I’m not going in that direction. The social director told me it needs repairs and might be dangerous.”

  “That’s not the only reason.” Polly leaned forward, giving Marla a whiff of fetid breath. “Bad spirits inhabit that wing, and only they know what really happened over there.”

  Chapter Two

  Marla gaped at Polly. Did her aunt believe in ghost stories? “You grew up here. Who’s haunting the place?”

  Polly’s eyes misted. “After the tragedy, our family drifted apart. No one wants to heal our dynasty more than I do. This is our last chance to mend fences and right old wrongs.” Her voice shook with emotion. Glancing furtively about the lobby, she added, “Those ghost hunters may rattle a few cages. We don’t want them finding anything that belongs to us. Stay alert, mind you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see. You’re a smart girl, so I’m sure you can handle this bunch.” Muttering to herself, Polly shuffled off.

  Marla found herself surrounded by a motley crew of young people with eager faces. They wore jeans and T-shirts saying seeing is believing. An array of equipment jangled on their bodies: cameras, recorders, compasses, and other gadgets.

  “We’re with the West Coast Florida Ghost Chasers,” said one young man with a crewcut and a toothy grin. “Are you one of the family?” He pronounced those last two words with extra emphasis, as though he were talking about the Kennedys or Donald Trump.

  Considering the hotel’s past history, maybe he referred to one of Florida’s finest, like Henry Flagler or James Deering, Marla thought. “Which family? This is a holiday weekend. Lots of people are vacationing here.” She waved her arm to encompass the expansive lobby.

  “You know, Andrew Marks, the man who built the place. Aren’t you one of his descendants?”

  Hearing her grandfather’s name from the mouth of a stranger startled her. “What if I am?”

  “You can help us prove our point.” At his pronouncement, the other paranormal folks nodded their heads. “Andrew’s spirit walks the halls. Maybe he’ll manifest himself to you.”

  Been there, done that. Didn’t I solve Carolyn Sutton’s murder to put her ghost to rest? “No, thanks. I’m here for recreation, nothing more. I don’t want to be involved in anyone else’s business.”

  The young man squinted. “But it’s your family, and rumor says the treasure was never found. Those two strangers may still be here, guarding its secret.”

  “Treasure? What strangers?” she asked, confused.

  “The two men who visited Andrew the night he died.”

  “I’m unaware of the resort’s history. Are you implying these people are ghosts?”

  The guy gave her an odd look, as though she were the one treading on unknown territory. “We’re called in when people suspect a haunting. We look for evidence to substantiate their claim. In many cases, we’ll disprove it.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “There have been incidents at the resort, and management hired us to determine if the entities are real. In that case, we’ll ask them to leave.
”

  “Oh, right. Tell me,” Marla said, crossing her arms, “why would my grandfather’s soul linger here? Does he have unfinished business relating to the property? I’d think he would hover by the cemetery where his body is buried.”

  “Not necessarily,” a woman with mousy hair sang in a high-pitched voice. She’d been scribbling in a notepad as Vail did when he was on a murder case. “Some spirits are attached to a place, and they don’t want to leave. Or, as you say, Andrew has unfinished business. Since this was the site of a traumatic event, you know, where he—”

  “Miz Shore?”

  Marla whirled around. “Yes?” she said to the man leering at her. He had wild hair the color of buckskin, narrow-set amber eyes, and a thin build nearly obscured by an oversized maroon staff jacket. His name tag read HARVEY LYLE.

  “I’m one of the stewards, ma’am. Yer roommate called the front desk. He’s wondering why ya been gone so long.”

  She winced. “Guess I’d better go upstairs.” Glancing over her shoulder, she said to the waiting group, “Thanks for the information. I’ll catch you later.”

  She turned to follow the man toward the elevator. She’d had enough communiqués from the spirits after her trip to Cassadaga. If Andrew’s ghost inhabited this place, it had better have a reason that wouldn’t involve her. Nonetheless, curiosity compelled her to learn more.

  “What do you know about ghost stories associated with the hotel?” she said to the steward.

  Stepping aside so she could enter the elevator, Harvey shot her a bleary look. Was it the lighting, or did his eyes look somewhat jaundiced? In the lift, he pushed the button for the fourth floor.

  “Well, ma’am, I suppose yer aunt could tell ya about them spooks. Miz Polly been comin’ to the hotel every year since her mama sold the place. She always stays in the same room. Looking for the loot, she is, if ya ask me.” He laughed, emitting fumes of rum like a drunken sailor.

  “What loot is that?”

  “I’m surprised ya haven’t heard about it before. Ya bein’ family and all. First time I’ve seen the whole caboodle gathered here, though, so maybe Miz Polly plans to let you in on her secrets. Ya might ask Seto Mulch what he knows; the old crow has been here since the beginnin’. He’s our groundskeeper,” Harvey added with a belch that fouled the air.

  Fortunately, the elevator jerked to a halt and the door slid open. Harvey led her onto the top level of Hibiscus Hall.

  “Where are we? I’m lost already,” she said.

  “We’re in the southeast wing. The main building has seven floors, but the owner’s tower in the center goes to fourteen. That’s where Mr. Marks used to live. After he died, the family moved down to twelve. No one goes there now ‘cept the spooks.”

  “I’ve been told not to go near Oleander Hall.”

  He nodded vigorously, guiding her down a carpeted corridor where Marla noticed peeling wallpaper, flickering electric lights in wall sconces, and black-painted doors. Windows, spaced at wide intervals, provided a minimal view of the grounds beyond curtains that billowed without any visible breeze. Her nose wrinkled at the musty odor. For a high-class resort, she’d say the building had more than one wing needing renovation.

  “Oleander is in a bad way,” Harvey said, tripping over a fold in the carpet. He didn’t regain his balance so readily, tottering for a moment before steadying himself. ‘The whole place needs fixin’ but we dunno what’s gonna happen. The political bigwigs are here this weekend to hash it out. One side wants to restore the hotel to its heyday; others mean to tear it down and then rebuild on the early plantation site.”

  “How does the staff feel about it?”

  He shrugged. “Mr. Butler—he’s the manager—is tryin’ to get the owners to remodel instead of sellin’ to real estate people who’ll turn the property into a theme park. We likes things as they are, ya know?”

  Stopping in front of her room number, Marla fit her key in the lock. “Thanks, Harvey. I appreciate the information.”

  “Yes ma’am. If ya need anything”—he winked—“anything at all, give me a holler. I’m always willin’ to share a drink and a few stories.”

  Marla handed him a two-dollar tip before entering her room.

  Inside, Vail sprang off the bed where he’d been watching a football game on television. “What took you so long?” he said, his expression edged with concern.

  “I was talking to Aunt Polly, then some of those paranormal people came over. They’ve been hired to chase away ghosts and mentioned something about incidents. I’ll tell you about it later. I want to take the tour, so we don’t have much time.”

  “You didn’t unpack.” He sauntered closer, a familiar gleam in his eyes. “I was hoping we could, uh, relax a bit in our room.” His arms encircled her.

  She kissed him, then let her lips hover by his mouth. That’s a tempting offer, but I’m hungry.” She rubbed her body against his. “Would you mind waiting?”

  “Actually, I’m starving. We’ll have plenty of time for this later.” Releasing her, he grinned. “The spa complex has a cafe. If we hustle, we should be able to catch lunch on the way to the tour. It leaves from the movie house not far from there.”

  Marla regarded her suitcase sitting on a luggage rack. “I’ll get washed and hang up my dresses. You can take charge of our schedule.” Reaching into her handbag, she withdrew the papers from the social director. Vail groaned as she tossed him the stack. Before he could make any sarcastic remarks, she’d scurried into the bathroom.

  At least the facilities had bright vanity lighting and modern plumbing, she thought gratefully as she scrubbed her hands. Their hotel room wasn’t so bad, either. The king-size bed looked inviting, with its floral bedspread. Side tables with lamps, a generous dresser, a desk, and a sitting area seemed spacious, although stodgy in design. No coffeemaker, and probably no high-speed data transmission line. Oh, well. She didn’t plan to spend much time in the room, even if Vail did. She’d have to drag him with her to the obligatory social events.

  After quickly hanging up her more delicate outfits, lining her shoes up in rows on the closet floor, and putting her beaded evening purse in a drawer, she pronounced herself ready to go. She’d unpack the rest later.

  They wound through various corridors searching for the elevator. She could have sworn Harvey had led her in a straight line, but it appeared there were more hallways than legs on a spider. Losing all sense of direction, she came up short when they reached a roped-off section with a sign that said NO ADMITTANCE, TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. Beyond stretched a darkened corridor with closed doors, much like the one in the Haunted Mansion at Walt Disney World. Marla took a step forward, wondering if she’d see an apparition at the far end.

  “You’re not allowed in there,” barked a voice from behind. Marla felt Vail’s hand on her arm, steering her around.

  “Who are you?” Vail asked bluntly, directing his query to the fellow who glared at them with disapproval.

  “I’m George Butler, hotel manager. This is a restricted area.” The man’s impeccably tailored suit backed the authority in his voice. A pair of cold, dark eyes regarded them. Marla’s glance swept to his receded hairline. His slicked-back hair was artificially darkened.

  “This must be Oleander Hall,” she said excitedly. “It’s supposed to be in disrepair, but it doesn’t look that bad to me.” Certainly no worse than the Hibiscus wing.

  The manager’s shoulders stiffened. “Much of the structural damage isn’t evident to the eye. Be assured it is not safe until extensive repairs are done.”

  “Is it true they may tear down the hotel and build a theme park in its place?”

  Butler’s gaze hardened. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I’m attending the city council meeting later that’s being held in one of our ballrooms. It would be a disgrace to destroy such a monument to our history. This hotel, if restored to its former glory, could rake in much needed tourist dollars to help repay the construction costs.”<
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  Marla caught a reflection of light from a corroded mirror on the wall. There weren’t any windows nearby. Had that glimmer come from the deserted hall? The hairs on her neck prickled. “What about ghosts? I’ve heard the place is haunted. You hired a bunch of ghostbusters who I met earlier.”

  The manager bristled. They are paranormal investigators, here at my request. We’ve had some, uh, episodes, and I felt it prudent to bring in experts.”

  Vail gawked at Butler. ‘You consider ghost-chasing groupies to be experts? What kind of problem are you having?”

  “Nothing that concerns our guests.”

  “Oh no?” Vail’s persistent tone demanded an answer.

  Marla almost felt compelled to explain his role as a police detective but held her tongue. “Something bad happened here,” she told him. “Aunt Polly mentioned the tower, and the young woman I met earlier hinted at a traumatic event.”

  Butler compressed his lips. “Then may I suggest you ask your aunt about it. She’s more closely related to the history of this place than anyone else. As for the rest, Dr. Rip Spector is in charge of my consultants. If you see or hear anything extraordinary, kindly inform him.”

  After escorting them to the proper elevator, Butler took his leave while Marla and Vail descended to the ground floor.

  Getting her bearings, she pointed toward an exit door. “Let’s go out here so we don’t pass through the main lobby again. Which way is the cinema?”

  Vail held the door open for her. “We’ll head to the spa complex first. We have to go around the tennis courts to get there. I hope they have something substantial to eat at the cafe. Or if you’d rather, we could hit one of the other restaurants for a sit-down lunch.”

  “We don’t have time if we’re going on the tour. We can go somewhere nice for dinner tonight. You have our social schedule. Is there anything planned besides Cynthia’s cocktail party from six to eight?” Marla asked, striding along a gravel path among manicured lawns.