by Susan Conley
Chapter 4
THURSDAY — 10 AM — MACEDONIA, MAINE
It took only a moment for the smell of jasmine to penetrate Lloyd’s nose. He looked up from the check he was writing and surveyed the room behind him. There it was again. That sickly sweet smell of jasmine. He twisted further in his chair, his eyes casing the dimly lit shadows at the base of the ceiling. For three days straight, the smell had come and gone, sending the house staff through an annoying game of hide and seek. His housekeeper had tried to remain nonplussed by the search, but now she was nervous and crabby, and who could blame her? He was on edge himself. Houseguests were arriving in a matter of hours and tempers were flaring in the kitchens at the smallest of inconveniences.
Pushing back his chair, Lloyd arched his back. He was tired. So tired that he had given himself a headache again. He slammed shut the ledger in front of him and pulled his six-foot frame to its full height. No more pencil pushing tonight. He arched his shoulders, eliciting small cracks along the tired joints, and then sighing, he removed his reading glasses from his nose and flipped them to the desk. Jesus! He was learning to hate the smell of jasmine! He sniffed the air again and almost gagged. It was all around him, seeping into his pores, making him want to puke.
Forcing down the rising bile, Lloyd turned from the desk, urgently needing a fresh spot of air. He found it in the warmth of the blazing fireplace. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the aroma of burning wood chips and was grateful to have a different tang of air invading his lungs. Exhaling, he caught sight of himself in the mantle-piece mirror, and his mind tripped ahead one day. How would his houseguests find him? Handsome? Time-worn? A bright mockery invaded his smile as he listened to his own thoughts. The others be damned! How would Janice find him? Would she still think of him as only a tried-and-true mentor? Or could he make her see him differently just for once?
Lloyd’s eyes sought the framed photo displayed with special prominence on the otherwise barren mantle-piece. Janice Kelly had blossomed considerably since her university days. He smiled at the current photograph. It profiled a woman of extraordinary beauty — high cheekbones, red hair, green eyes, a tempting full bodied lower lip — just right for kissing.
Lloyd pushed that disturbing thought away with a growl, deeming himself an old fart trying to hold on too long to his vanished youth. He let his gaze rest again on his own reflection. Was he still attractive at sixty-two? He tried to assess himself through a feminine eye. His massive shoulders still filled the coats he wore. There were age lines around his mouth and eyes, but he thought they added strength to his character. His hair still held its bulk, texture, and color. An Iowa cornfield, Janice had deemed it once during one of their late night sessions. His jaw line was strong, forehead broad, mouth generous. He didn’t smile enough, of course. But then, the weight of running a seven-acre retreat nine months of the year didn’t leave him much time for smiling.
Lloyd bent to stoke the glowing embers, and again, the smell of jasmine invaded his nose. Damn! He shooed the air around him and straightened, feeling the first stirring of real pain along his temples. This goddamn smell was nauseating! He’d stress to his housekeeper the importance of using a strong air freshener before she left for the weekend.
Above him, lights snapped on, and Lloyd winced in surprise. Spinning, he saw the object of his thoughts scowling at him from the doorway. Standing in repose, Dora always reminded him of a cartoon character lost in folds of fat and fabric. He saw she was wearing the pink and white frilled apron that housed gigantic, bottomless pockets. Lloyd could already see her unspoken censure forming so he threw up a hand in protest and moved toward her.
“No need to look so disapproving, Dora. I haven’t been standing in the dark for long.”
He heard her tell-tale snuffle.
“I should hope not!” She met him half way, offering a glass and two aspirin tablets. “Here, take these!”
Grateful, Lloyd took the glass and tossed the tablets down.
“Have you become a mind reader in the last weeks, Dora? Perhaps I should have you tested along with the others.”
She sniffed disdainfully. A sniff that sounded to Lloyd like some large, aberrant animal wheezing.
“As if I’d let you poke around inside my head with all that magic drivel! Don’t care to know what’s rattling around in my head. Don’t care to have other folks knowing it either!”
Lloyd handed the glass back, marveling at its skillful disappearance into the folds of one large pocket. He pushed by her, settling in his desk chair once more.
“You’re eminently sensible, Dora. It’s far and away your best quality.”
She took a chair beside him, a noticeable creak emanating as she sat.
“Waste not, want not. That’s my motto.” She pulled a notepad from her other miraculous pocket and grinned at him.
“You’re a terrible snob, Dora,” he stated.
“Yes, sir. Proud of it.”
Lloyd let the remark slide and turned to retrieve his own typewritten sheet.
“Everything ready downstairs?”
“All taken care of and the solarium’s been arranged as Mr. Magus requested. His boxes arrived this morning.”
“Good.” Lloyd brushed at his temple. “I expect one hell of a show here next week, Dora. We spare no expense. No shortchanging the bed sheets.” At the half-censure, Lloyd expected to hear one of her haughty sniffs but it never came. He stole a peek at her out of the corner of his eye. Her face was relaxed; she was listening to him attentively. “Have we a final guest tally?” he asked.
“Five for the weekend, twenty-two starting Tuesday. I’ll return with the staff Sunday afternoon to finish up the room arrangements.” Dora stiffened suddenly. “There’s that obnoxious smell again.” She lumbered from her chair and approached the terrace doorway. Once there, she flung the latch back and began to fan the air repeatedly. “This room reeks of lilac and dead frogs.”
Lloyd scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on Dora’s rigid figure.
“It’s jasmine, Dora, remember? We’ve been smelling the stench for three days.”
“Well, it’s obnoxious nevertheless.” She fanned the air again. “Shall I send Giles up to investigate?”
“Don’t bother. By the time he comes, the smell will have evaporated.”
“But suppose the guests should smell it?”
“Suppose they should.” Lloyd commented. He rose, seizing her elbow and propelling her to the doorway. “It’s not so bad. I’m actually becoming used to it.” He saw her look of repugnance and groaned. He never could tell a lie well. She was seeing right through him and he detested her for it. “Will you stop being a scaly prig and make one last check of the bed sheets?”
Taken back by his attack on her person, Dora pulled her elbow from his grasp and barreled out the doorway with a final sniff. Lloyd cringed inwardly again. That sniff said it all. He was dead meat. Well, at last he knew what that infantile phrase meant. He heard the door slam and released a long drawn-out sigh. Yes sir, he was dead meat. And all because of a damn sickly sweet smell and an overworked nasal passage.
Whirling about, he caught a whiff of clean, fresh air. No jasmine! Gone! Vanished, just as he predicted. He sought his pipe on the desk. And if the smell returned? Let it! He’d not be here to endure it. He had guests arriving over the next four days and all of his time would be spent getting them settled and seeing to their needs.
Stoking his pipe, Lloyd dropped into a turquoise recliner and shifted its angle more in line with the blazing fireplace. Leaning forward, he lit his pipe from a glowing remnant of ash and then settled back. At last his nose was clearing and the room was livable again. His eyes gravitated to the top of the mantle-piece and he laid his head back, studying the photograph. She was still there, smiling at him. He felt the hammering in his head begin to ease. He closed his ey
es and let his mind drift. A vivid image of words began to dance in his head. He transported himself to an alpha state and once there, he could almost hear Janice’s lyrical voice offering inspiration.
Cherish yesterday. Dream tomorrow. Embrace today.
Chapter 5
FRIDAY — 3:30 PM
Squaring her shoulders, Janice inhaled deeply. The cold ocean spray splashing against her skin was invigorating — just what her tired, screaming muscles craved after a long day of traveling. She clutched the handrail, jostling her feet along the wooden deck and smothering a groan. If she didn’t erase the numbness that threatened to invade her lower limbs soon, she’d reach Carrington House curled into a tiny ball fast asleep atop the orange crates stacked nearby.
Pensively, she shifted her gaze to an orange life jacket hanging along the forward rail. ANNIE B. The words were bold, but fading. Her glance skimmed left. The ANNIE B seemed a sturdy vessel, trim and seaworthy as her bow coasted through the crested waves with a graceful rhythm. To the out-islanders cut off from the mainland, Janice surmised, the ferry would be a welcome lifeline, serving as postal, passenger and delivery ferry.
Jamming her hands into her pockets to ward off a blast of icy wind, Janice let her gaze drift to the horizon ahead. In the distance, the rooftop turrets of Carrington House were no longer mere silhouettes on the horizon. They were now towering peaks, inching closer by the minute. Studying them, Janice gave an unexpected shudder. Now, what was that for? she wondered. Her brain signaled a primitive warning. Déjà vu. Stuff and nonsense, she chided her inner voice, but the nagging refused to be stilled. Déjà vu, Janice, déjà vu. She glanced ahead again. Was there a vague familiarity about the twin peaks?
Overhead, the sky let loose with a somber rumble and Janice’s gaze shot upward. Now, what was that all about? Patches of light scurried in a series of alternating patterns through the clouds and she felt her breath catch in her lungs. Lightning storms in winter? She studied the light patterns more closely, enjoying the sporadic activity until a sudden rush of perplexing emotions sent her pulses racing.
Gripping the handrail for support, she fought to control the swirling emotions. For a brief instance, the world around her darkened, faded, then came back. Instincts kicking in, she stepped back from the rail and sought cover. She had almost tapped in. What had prevented her from doing so? Damn! She hated storms. They played havoc with her brainwaves, overloading and confusing her thoughts.
Seeking cover beneath a canvas roofing, Janice perched atop a packing crate filled with the zesty smell of lemons and oranges. She folded her arms across her chest and decided not to budge until the storm had run its course. Not even for Lloyd would she defy her intuition and stay out in the open. Her intuition was always right. And right now, it was warning her to be on the alert.
Smoke assailed her nostrils and Janice turned to find the ANNIE B’s captain studying the skyline with the same odd wariness in his eyes.
“It be powerful strange to see lightning in winter, lass.”
“Powerful strange.” Janice agreed, her gaze gravitating to the skyline with renewed interest. Seeing no ominous flutters, she brought her attention back to the man who had stopped alongside her. She had liked Captain Bowers on sight. Calloused hands, massive oarsman shoulders, thick sandy hair, fulsome red beard, he was the very picture of a ferryboat captain. She especially liked his deep, tobacco-roughened voice flavored with a light Scottish brogue. Obviously feeling her stare, he turned from his contemplation of the sky.
“Would’na thought you’d be part of the party going to Spook House, lass.”
“Spook House?”
“Aye.” He gestured with a firm, direct nod that Janice felt told a lot about him. “Leastways, that’s what folks ’round here calls her.”
Janice’s lips snaked to a smile.
“Is the chateau haunted, Captain?”
“Some say she be, back when she were Witchwood.”
“Witchwood?”
“Aye, lass. She be fancy Carrington House today, but she wasn’t always so respectable.” A merry twinkle appeared in his eye and his laughter was a full, hearty sound. His broad wink at her was mischievous. “The waters hereabouts used to be filled with pirates, lass. Cutthroats they was. Luring ships to their doom. Ramming them up against shoreline reefs.”
Janice’s eyes widened in astonishment, yet in spite of herself, she chuckled. She was sure Captain Bowers relished telling this tale to strangers. She was also sure if one searched his family tree, they’d uncover a pirate of their own.
A sharp bolt of lightning sprayed the sky, causing both of them to wince at the ripple.
“That no be pirates, lass.” Captain Bowers commented. “That be spirits. They be signaling from the sky to leave them alone. They no want to be disturbed.”
Janice managed to hide a choking laugh.
“Are you trying to frighten me, Captain?”
“Sure thing, lass. Them that spooks the spirits pays, don’t ye know. One way or t’other.”
Janice met his gaze and her response was heartfelt.
“I promise I won’t spook any spirits while I’m here, Captain.”
“I believe you, lass.” His thoughtful gaze scoured her face. “You be pretty to look at with that red hair — if’n you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
“I don’t mind, Captain.”
“They say them that has bright red hair has the temper to match, but I think it no be true in your case, lass. You be comfortin’ — if’n you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
Janice still didn’t mind and found herself telling him so. A deep chuckle greeted her.
“Ye be different from the other ones, lass.”
“Other ones?”
“Brought them over a whiles back, I did. Four of ’em. They be powerful different from each other. The tall one, he be fierce handsome — some s’lebrity, he is. Stood where you be sittin’. Watches the sky, he does. Don’t say nothin’, mind ye, just watches. Fairly gave me the creeps it did. The pretty one with ’im, she tries to chat ’im up, but he no be listenin’. Leastways, he no be listening to outside folks. I think he be listenin’ to inside his head. It be an eerie crossing, ’im speaking to spooks and all.”
Janice offered no comment. She wondered what Captain Bowers would say if she revealed she herself had almost “spaced out” moments ago. Was it a trait common to most psychics? She must remember to ask one of the others if they had had a similar occurrence on the crossing.
“Now, the other ones be right pleasant,” Captain Bowers continued. “T’were a couple, him big, her small. Like a China doll he treats her, fussin’ over her, worryin’ whether she be warm or not. She laughs at ’im. Prettiest sound I heered in a long time. ’Minded me of Hattie — she be my missus — fore’n she died that is. They be right ones all right.” he concluded. “Tipped me plenty, they did. Didn’t have to — no sir — but they did. They no be snobbish like some others I could name.” He gave a distinctive snort Janice could only conclude was meant to single out the master of the chateau that now lay only yards away.
A last ripple of lightning showered the sky, outlining the mansion atop the cliffs as well as the human shape pacing the landing dock below with long, purposeful strides. Even at a distance and after the long, passing years, Janice recognized Lloyd’s lithe form. Tall, straight and supple, his long legs resembled a vibrant engine in motion. From her perch beneath the overhang, she could just make out the outline of smoke rings drifting around his head, intermingling with his cold intakes of breath. She gave a faint smile. Lloyd still hadn’t managed to kick his cigarette addiction after all these years.
“I’ll say goodbye to ye now, lass, and wish ye luck.” Captain Bowers tipped his cap respectfully and shot her one last admiring glance. “Don’t envy ye stayin’, though. Me scalp fairly prickles with el
ectricity. Somethin’s up.”
Janice nodded sympathetically, watching as he traversed the companionway and disappeared down the stairwell. She knew exactly how he was feeling. Her own arms were caked with goose bumps beneath the warm, plain leather coat she wore. And it wasn’t from the winter cold. Her senses fairly sang with electricity. The spirits were spooked. She gave a wide smile. It had been a long time since she imagined the spirit world as a living thing. Not since Anna.
Soon, the creak of rope against wood echoed and the ferry made a faint lurch. Slipping from the crate, Janice headed for the stairwell. Once on the lower level, she zig-zagged her way between two cars, then stopped alongside Captain Bowers who was unfastening the latch of a chain link gate. She quickly slipped him a tip and then her gaze met Lloyd’s across the space. He greeted her with a brief lift of his hand. She called out playfully to him.
“What an entrance, Lloyd! Did you arrange the fireworks especially for me?”
His rumbling laugh came floating back and he pitched his cigarette tip into the churning water beneath the bow. Stepping forward, he reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Quite a display, huh?”
Squeezing his fingers, Janice jumped across the tiny chasm to his side. As she landed, he spun her around for a careful inspection.
“You look terrific, Jan. But I knew you would.”
She executed a graceful curtsy at his compliment.
“You haven’t changed a bit either, Lloyd. You’re still telling lies to young women.”
“Well, you certainly fit that bill. You’ve hardly aged since the university.”
A deep foghorn blast belched loudly, claiming their attention and showering the air above their heads with cinder smoke. Diving away, both waved, catching sight of Captain Bowers’ massive frame outlined in the pillbox window of the wheelhouse. Another short blast bellowed and the ANNIE B slipped from the dock, churning sand, water, and sludge.