Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts

by A. J. Matthews

  "So that's it," she said finally, spreading her hands with a small, helpless shrug. "I woke up in bed, alone and wondering what the hell had happened to me."

  "You'd walked through the rain and the cold, felt it all, yet when you woke up, you were perfectly dry and warm?"

  "That's about the size of it, yeah. How come?"

  "It could be a case of projection, where your consciousness can leave your physical form and travel to another location. Some people can do it at will. I think in this case you have a latent natural ability, which was discovered and exploited by this lady. She gave no name?"

  "None."

  "You describe her as being in her thirties, wearing a long green dress with leg-of-mutton shoulders and tight cuffs?"

  "Yeah."

  "From that, I don't think it was Claire Cloverdale," he said slowly. "The style of dress you describe was fashionable in the 1890's and 1900's. Which means your spirit was more likely to be Anna-Grace, her daughter." He felt his face grow warm. "You had an intimate link with her mother; it's logical that she would also have an affinity with you."

  "I'll say, given that I was in her mother when she was conceived!"

  Martin resisted the urge to look away, however embarrassed he felt. Claudia winked at him. Her spirits seemed to be reviving by the minute.

  "Anna-Grace could have acted as a spirit guide to you last night. The spirit showed you that scene for a reason."

  "Spirit guide? You mean like an Indian brave?" Claudia looked askance at him, a faint smile twitching her lips.

  "Oh, they take many forms." He smiled in return. "For some reason, Native Americans are the only ones anyone thinks of—well, those, and ancient Egyptians. Spirit guides are very popular with some mediums. To get a message across to the living world they usually speak and act through the medium in the same way this lady did to you. It's called 'channeling.'” He spread his hands. "I suspected from the first time we met you might have a talent in that area. It doesn't always show itself."

  "Whoa! So I'm a medium now!" Claudia said sourly. "'Gypsy Rose Mackenzie, knows all, sees all.' Except I don't. I figured it could be Anna-Grace. She certainly knew and hated James Cloverdale."

  "That's odd in itself," Martin mused. "Anna-Grace had cause to hate him after he had killed her father, yet would she have known him to look at? He wouldn't have featured in her mother's life after what happened during the Civil War; I can't see Claire keeping any photographs or paintings of the man that her daughter could see."

  "Could she have learned of his identity after her death?" Claudia shrugged. "You know more about what happens in the 'Great Beyond,' so you're the best person to make an educated guess."

  "It's quite possible," he said slowly. "From discussions I've had there are more than a few spirit guides who display knowledge of events after their death." He looked at her guardedly. "There is one way we can confirm it was Anna-Grace who channeled through you last night—if you're willing."

  "How?" she asked quietly.

  "By spirit-writing. There's no risk to you, I can assure you of that. Simply take that pad and a pen, place them on your lap, and begin to write. It doesn't matter what, really, but keep it to short sentences. Whilst you do that, try to let your mind go blank. After a while, you should begin to write the name of the person who channeled through you last night."

  Claudia looked at him, and nodded. "Okay. I trust you, Martin. Let's do it."

  Taking the pad and pen, she laid them in her lap and began to write. Her eyes drifted off to gaze at some point over his right shoulder and soon, the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the scratch of the ball-point over the paper. After a while Claudia's breathing slowed, deepened, and her eyes became unfocused. The pen scratched busily across the blank sheet, random words at first, an arrhythmic sound that gradually took on a measured, stately pace. Five words, over and over again.

  "Claudia? Claudia?" Martin leaned across and gently squeezed her arm.

  With an effort she came back to herself and gazed at him blankly. Then her gaze dropped to the pad on her lap and she stared at it for a long moment. Wordlessly Claudia held it up for him to see. Written on the blank sheet beneath the gibberish of random words, a name stood out.

  Anna-Grace Palmer, née Cloverdale.

  Chapter Eight

  Claudia took Martin to her office that afternoon. Phaeton Realtors, Inc. occupied half of the 25th floor of a modern block halfway towards Queens.

  "It's better than the old office, which was on the fifth floor when I started here. From there on a clear day you could almost see New York City," Claudia muttered sourly as they emerged from the elevator into the reception area.

  The glossy blond-coifed receptionist looked up in surprise. Her name badge proclaimed her to be Andrea. "Claudia, honey! Didn't you call to say you're taking a personal day?"

  "I did and I was," Claudia replied curtly. "Kyle called back right after. Told me I had to be here this afternoon. Any idea why?"

  "Could be something to do with the Chestnut Mansion," Andrea replied with a shrug, looking Martin over in an obvious way. "Carla pulled the hotel files for him a while ago."

  "Humph!" Claudia snorted, and introduced Martin. Andrea's eyes took on a distinctly cool look as she handed him a visitor’s badge to wear.

  Martin gazed around at the busy office as Claudia led the way. Smartly-dressed men and women were busy in their open-top cubicles, poring over computer screens, print-outs and faxes, all busily serving their corporate master. The heady scent of money filled the air. It reminded him in some ways of the Revenue Office and he suddenly felt depressed.

  Claudia took him to her own small office. As a relatively senior broker she rated something larger and more private than a cubicle. His eyes wandered over her tall, trim form in the charcoal grey suit, admiring the sway of her hips as she moved, musing on her transformation from the frightened young woman he'd encountered early that morning.

  "Here it is, my own little nook." She smiled a thin smile as she pushed open the door. "I'll ask Carla to look after you while I'm gone. Take a seat. Don't be afraid to yell if you need anything."

  Martin found himself in a small room some ten feet square. One side was a wide window looking out onto the street and Manhattan in the distance; a glass partition on the other side separated the room from the bustle of the main office. A few potted plants arrayed along the sill added a touch of nature. Two prints of Impressionist works hung on the wall opposite the desk, the vivid colors adding a splash of light to the utilitarian layout. On the wall behind the desk hung a framed realtor's license and two diplomas, all bearing Claudia's name. A plain gray plastic desk with a clutter of office items, a PC, three padded chairs and a beige carpet, and that was Claudia's working domain.

  Claudia disappeared back through the door and he heard her giving instructions to someone. She popped her head in briefly to say, "I'll be back," blew him a kiss, and then she was gone.

  Moments later a short, dark-haired girl came in. "Hi, Mr. Grey; my name's Carla. Can I get you anything?" Her smile seemed forced, her nature listless. Martin mentally reviewed his initial assessment of the office working atmosphere and concluded it definitely wasn't a happy one.

  "Hello, Carla!" He smiled. "A coffee will be fine, please."

  "Sure thing." She disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a large blue china mug and a selection of cookies. "Anything else I can do for you?" she asked in a hopeful tone of voice.

  "Have you a few moments to chat?" he asked.

  She raised one shoulder, let it fall. "Sure." He gestured for her to sit, and she did so. "What about?"

  "I believe you went to the Chestnut Mansion to collect some photographs we found there. What did you do with them?"

  "They're in storage right now," she said, wrinkling her nose in thought. "Mr. Marshall said to leave them until the new owners decide if they want them or not."

  "New owners?" Martin sat up. "Has the place been sold?"


  "No." She hesitated, shrugged again. "Although I hear Mr. Marshall reckons this time it will sell. That's what the meeting's about this afternoon; to arrange a new viewing. He seems confident."

  Oh." Martin stirred his coffee. "I hope my work will be finished by then. Are the old registers from the hotel also in storage?"

  Carla glanced guiltily at the closed door behind her. "I'm sorry, Mr. Marshall told me to dump them."

  "What?" Martin stared at her. "Oh, Carla, no!"

  She stared at him, her huge green eyes beginning to water. "I'm sorry!" she nearly wailed. "I was ordered to!"

  "Carla, it's me who should say sorry," he said hurriedly. "I didn't mean to snap. I'm angry at Mr. Marshall, not you." He glared out through the glass partition at the busy office. "God, I hate that kind of attitude! When I think of the history tied up in those old documents, all those people over all those years!" He shook his head. "It beggars belief that anyone could be so casual about disposing of them."

  "Maybe it's not that bad?" Carla said softly. "If you need that info, surely there's a load of other places you can get it from."

  "It's not quite the same, Carla, or as easy. It's really part of your heritage that got dumped."

  Claudia came in just then, wearing a sour expression. Carla got up and smiled briefly at Martin before fleeing the scene.

  "Anything wrong?" he asked.

  "Could be plenty," she grumbled. "Some party is going to look at the hotel. Kyle thinks this time the place will be sold."

  "So I gather from Carla."

  "Yeah, it's common knowledge around here." She sighed and sat in her chair, rocking it back to stare out of the window. Weak sunshine had worked through the rain clouds to do wonders in lightening the fall day outside. "Thing is, Martin, the prospective buyers will be viewing the place tomorrow. I've been told in no uncertain terms to keep you and your equipment out of it until the day after."

  "Ah," he said quietly.

  "Ah, indeed. So, we'll have to get to work to put this case to bed before the rug's pulled out from under our feet," she said decisively, turning back to face him. "I'm free for the rest of the day now Kyle's had his say. What can we do next? Check some records?"

  "We could, but I'm afraid they won't include the hotel registers. Marshall told Carla to throw all the hotel records in the trash."

  She groaned. "Oh, my God! There goes any chance we'd have had to track down James Cloverdale."

  "I know; it's a sheer bloody waste."

  She shook her head. "That's Kyle Marshall all over. That guy can be unbelievably crass."

  "How long have you worked for him?"

  Her glance flickered up to the door, then through the partition window onto the office floor. The people there were keeping their heads down, concentrating on their work. "Five years. I worked in real estate in Indianapolis after graduating from college, and then I came here. After four years I was promoted to my own section."

  "And he's been like that all the time?"

  "Nearly," Claudia shrugged. Then she flushed. "I have to admit, Martin, he had a certain charm about him the first few months. We dated a couple of times. Nothing serious," she added emphatically.

  "Oh," he said, nonplussed.

  "Oh." She smiled, as if sensing his mood. "You're so reserved, Mr. Grey! Has nothing of this city rubbed off on you?"

  "Oh yes! Especially its charming citizens," he said gallantly, raising his coffee cup in toast to her.

  "Why, thank you!" she smiled warmly, picking up her bag. "Drink up and let's go, before Kyle finds something else to hassle me with."

  * * * *

  They descended to the foyer and made their way to the door.

  "Claudia? Mr. Grey?" someone called behind them and they turned to see Carla emerge from the other elevator.

  "Carla? What's wrong?" Claudia asked.

  The girl cast a quick glance back at the elevators as if checking for pursuit and came closer. She looked up at Martin. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey, but I lied to you."

  "My name's Martin," he said lightly as he regarded her. "What did you fib about?"

  Carla flushed. "When I said I trashed those books from the hotel? I wasn't exactly telling the truth."

  "You mean you haven't dumped them?" Martin asked eagerly, casting a quick look at Claudia, who raised an eyebrow.

  "No, sir." Carla glanced around again and headed off to one side, giving Martin cause to wonder again at the way the realtor's office was being run. "It was like you said, Mr. Grey. About all those books being part of my nation's heritage? I took them down to the dumpster in the alley like Mr. Marshall told me, but when I got there I found myself leafing through them. All those people, all those names from the past; they, like, just seemed to speak to me, y' know?"

  "What did you do with them, Carla?" Claudia asked the girl gently. "Don't worry! Nothing you say will get back to Mr. Marshall, I promise."

  "My uncle's the secretary of a family history society. Old books full of names are meat and drink to him. I called him and he came right over to pick them up. It isn't theft, right?" she asked Claudia anxiously. "I mean, they were going to be dumped anyway."

  "No, it's not theft. No one else wanted them; as you say, they were going to be dumped. If your uncle can use them, he's very welcome to keep the books. But we do need to look at them," she said, indicating Martin. "You did exactly the right thing, Carla."

  "Thanks!" The girl sighed and looked a great deal happier.

  "We'll need your uncle's address," Claudia said firmly. "Perhaps you'd call him, ask if he's free to see us sometime soon?"

  "Sure!" Carla pulled a post-it pad from a pocket and scribbled an address. She handed the slip of paper to Claudia. "I'll call right away, and let you know."

  "Excellent!" Claudia smiled. "Just when I thought things were going to be washed out, we're back on track. We're going now, Carla, but call me on my cell as soon as you hear something, okay? Keep your chin up, you did good."

  * * * *

  Claudia drove back to her place, silent for the most part. Martin looked at her but held his peace, being more concerned with the novelty of driving on the "wrong" side of the road.

  As they entered Claudia's apartment, she let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the door. Her eyes were troubled as she gazed at him. "So, that was my office, my little place of work. Gruesome, isn't it?"

  "Far be it for me to comment," he protested mildly, holding up his hands. "But yes, I thought the atmosphere was strained."

  "Strained isn't the half of it!" Claudia groused, moving into the kitchen to fix coffee. "Poor Carla's a bag of nerves. Kyle just has to raise his voice and she goes to pieces. It took real pluck on her part to disobey his orders."

  "Could she not get another job?" Martin asked, leaning on the door frame to watch her work.

  "I don't know." Claudia paused in the act of setting out the mugs and stared at the coffee pot. "She's on the very bottom rung of the realtor ladder and it's a long haul upwards, especially here in New York. If she can't cut it with Phaeton, then I don't know what else she can do. There won't be many other realtors who'll take her on."

  "That's a shame." He shook his head, and looked at her keenly. "And what keeps Claudia Mackenzie working for the bloody tyrant of Phaeton Realtors?"

  "Oh, the old story." She switched on the coffee maker. "I need the work. It's a money-hungry city and this apartment doesn't come cheap. And I couldn't face going home to Indianapolis with my tail between my legs. 'The Girl Who Failed in the Big Apple,'” she said in a deep voice, her hands mimicking the spread of a newspaper headline.

  "I'm sure your folks won't think that." He reached out to rub her back.

  She pressed back against his hand. "A little higher…that's it, perfect!" He continued to rub as she leaned on the counter, watching the coffee beginning to drip through the machine. "You're right, my folks are fine about what I do. If I don't hit the dizzy heights here, I can always find realtor work back home. It's jus
t…inertia, I guess, keeping me where I am." She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Maybe a certain British de-haunting expert has need of an assistant?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

  He laughed, then kissed her gently on the lips. Claudia returned his kiss with growing eagerness, her body pressing closer to his. Martin's hands slid slowly down her back to encircle her waist and he drew her closer yet.

  Claudia's cell phone sounded a cheery tune from the worktop where she'd placed it, making them both jump. Excusing herself with a rueful look she moved away from him and took the call in the passageway. Martin waited patiently, fiddling with the coffee mugs until she came back.

  "That was Carla. Her uncle can see us in an hour's time." She put the phone down, came up and pressed close to him once more. "Trouble is, it'll take an hour to reach his place." She smiled at the mixed expressions that crossed his face and pushed his nose lightly with her fingertip. "Don't worry, Mr. Grey, I'll still be here tonight if you'd like to book an appointment now."

  * * * *

  Carla's uncle was waiting eagerly for them when they pulled up in front of his smart low-rise house on the outskirts of White Plains. "Mr. Swinburn, I presume?" Claudia called to him as they got out the car and walked up the path.

  He came down the stoop to shake hands. "Yep, the one and only!" He grinned, a friendly man of middling height, his age around the mid-fifties. Martin noticed a pale scar showing along his left jaw. "Come in, come in! Carla told me all about your search."

  The house was neat and tidy, thanks mostly to Mrs. Swinburn, a small, plump woman with graying black hair. "Hope you don't mind Chuck's study, folks," she said with a smile. "It's a pit of lost papers in there, yet he'll never let me clean it."

  "I know where everything is," he protested, leading the way to the basement. "If it gets cleaned, it'll take me years to find everything again!"