The Lonely Artist

by Skye, Autumn

  I stuffed my overnight bag full with a couple pairs of jeans and tank tops, along with a comfortable pair of tennis shoes and said goodbye to Shelia before heading out.

  “I'd tell you not to do anything I wouldn't do, but that's such a short list it'd be useless,” she muttered.

  “Very funny.”

  “Don't talk yourself out of having fun. That's all that matters.”

  “That's good advice,” I agreed, realizing I'd almost done just that.

  When I made it back to Corrine's the guard had to call inside to make sure it was all right for me to enter. I hadn't thought of that, or I'd have called ahead myself. Apparently, she'd woken while I was gone. She answered the call and he cleared me through the gate. I parked at the roundabout in front of the house and she met me on the porch, once again looking comfortable in a robe.

  “Did you grab everything you need?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said walking through the door with my bag slung over my shoulder.

  “Good. I'd hate for you to disappear on me again.”

  “I half expected you to call and check up on me. I was torn over whether or not to wake you.”

  “I considered calling, but I was afraid I'd come off as clingy.”

  “Corrine, when I think of all the things you are, clingy never comes to mind.”

  “Yeah, so what comes to mind?”

  “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  “Maybe. Think on it and you can flatter me after you put your bag in my room. Just toss it anywhere.”

  I dropped the bag on the floor at the foot of her bed and went back downstairs to join her, a little disappointed that she hadn't followed me up. It wasn't like me to have such an insatiable sexual appetite, but I couldn't stop thinking about the way her intimate touch made me feel. She certainly had an effect on me the likes of which no one else had ever come close.

  “What do you want to do? Should we get back to work on the portrait?” I asked when I found her in the kitchen.

  “I'm starving. It feels like lunch was so long ago.”

  “It was,” I agreed.

  “We could cook or go out. I'll leave it up to you. I do know of a place you might like.”

  “Where is that?”

  “It's a restaurant adjoined to a bed and breakfast. It's very quaint, and the best part is, it's allegedly haunted.”

  “Oh, you're talking about the old Harper Estate. I've heard rumors about that place having ghosts since I was I kid.”

  She nodded. “That's the place. I thought it might be fun to grab dinner and maybe rent a room for the night. It's October. Halloween is on the way, so it seems fitting. It's hard to book a room this time of year it gets so busy, but I bet I can get us a reservation on short notice if I try.”

  “Hey, if I had a last name like yours I'd be using it for all it's worth.”

  “You're in, then?”

  “I think it sounds like the most fun I've had in a while. Have you stayed there before?”

  “Quite a few times. I used to be a regular. I never saw any ghosts, though. Still, it has the right ambiance. I could have a great time trying to spook you.”

  “I spook easily. You'll give me nightmares.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I wasn't planning on us getting much sleep,” she winked.

  “Hmm, in that case, I'm definitely in,” I laughed. “Can you really get us a table and a room this late in the evening?”

  “Have some faith in me. Let me see what I can do.”

  She made a phone call to the manager of the estate. It took less than three minutes for her to make the arrangements.

  “We're all set. Make yourself at home while I run up and change. I'll pack a bag and bring yours down to you.”

  Up until that point, I hadn't led much of an adventurous life, if you could call braving a night in a bed and breakfast that might or might not be haunted an adventure. I was more likely to call it a scam, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be fun.

  The Harper Estate was sixty-five miles west of the Dallas city limit, befittingly near a small ghost of a town called Thurber. It was already passed eight O'clock by the time we got into the limo and with traffic it would over an hour drive.

  “Are you sure it isn't too late for dinner?”

  “I bribed them well. They're keeping the kitchen open for us. We have all the time in the world,” she explained as if it were no big deal that an entire restaurant was there just to serve her.

  “Wow.”

  “Don't worry. I made it worth their while, not only for the restaurant, but I'm paying triple for the room. I made their night and, hopefully, ours, too.”

  I settled back for the long ride, excited to see where the evening would take us. One thing I'd figured out was that as long as I was with Corrine, it was going somewhere and there were likely to be some twist and turns along the way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Katrina

  We pulled up to the Harper estate at quarter past nine. I imagined the parking lot was usually full during normal business hours, but now that the restaurant had officially closed, only a few cars belonging to overnight guests remained. The building itself was lit by a blue neon sign and a cast of golden light streaming from the windows, giving the overall appearance a surreal look. That was probably what they were going for, since most of the business's popularity came from the rumors of paranormal activity, which were likely unfounded, but enough to draw in the crowds this time of year. I wasn't superstitious, and I loved a good ghost story or a scary movie, but that wasn't to say they didn't come back to taunt me in my dreams.

  “Ready?” Corrine asked.

  “Whenever you ask me that question I'm usually not,” I replied.

  “That's funny, considering you haven't even scratched the surface of my truly naughty side,” she retorted in good nature.

  “Are you serious? How much more of a bad girl could you be?”

  “Too much for my own good,” she confessed mysteriously.

  We went inside and the desk clerk led us into the empty restaurant. Most of the chairs were flipped upside down and hanging off the edge of the tables, save for one in the corner they'd reserved for us.

  “Want to know what I really used to love about this old place?” she asked me after ordering a bottle of Chablis.

  “What?”

  “They used to do role playing.”

  “Sounds kinky,” I said, shooting her my most devilish grin.

  She laughed. “Not that sort of role playing, though I might be game if you are. But no, once a week they hosted mystery night. They'd gather the guests into the sitting room and give everyone clues to a murder. Each guest was a suspect as far as the others were concerned and one would receive a guilty card instead of clues. Based on the evidence who had to guess the killer. The one who solved the case won a free dinner.”

  “That would be an awesome time, but what did the one who got the guilty card get out of it?”

  “They automatically got dinner as well. It was a lot of fun. My father used to bring me here on mystery night. He almost always won.”

  “That's a great memory to have.”

  “What about you? Do you have any favorite memories of you and your mother?”

  “My mother was gushing over the phone when I called her and told her I got the job with you. I suppose she could have simply been relieved I wasn't going to have to move back home like a complete failure. She was never pleased about my pursuing an arts degree. I think she was hoping I'd go to law school or something more practical.”

  “I don't see you as the type to accept failure as an option. You'd have found something if I hadn't given you the job.”

  “I like to think so, but I was, nevertheless, relieved when you gave me the job. I actually thought you were going to fire me.”

  “Oh, you needn't have worried. I'm nowhere near prepared to run the gallery by myself. I didn't have time to find someone else to fill the position,” she
said, averting her eyes to stare across the empty room.

  “Gee, thanks. It's good to know I got the job because you didn't have a choice in the matter.”

  “Don't take it personally. I have no doubt you'll excel beyond my expectations,” she said.

  “Okay, well, at the risk of getting myself fired on the spot, I'm going to say something.”

  “Uh-oh, better think it through,” she warned.

  “It's just that, you don't seem very happy about running the gallery. I can't shake the feeling you'd rather be someplace else, doing something else.”

  “I assure you, Kat, there's no place I'd rather be now than here with you, getting ready to bite into a huge steak dinner.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do, and frankly, you're right. I've been considering selling the gallery.”

  “Oh, I see. What's stopping you? Why haven't you already put it up for sale?”

  “A purpose, I guess. Everyone needs one. Do you know how I spent the last two years overseas? I drank too much. I slept too little. That's no way to live. I'd have burned out eventually. I was half way to it when Ryan convinced me to come home.”

  “You could find a purpose that doesn't involve running a gallery,” I said softly. “If you could do anything what would it be?”

  “I don't know the answer to that question. If I did, maybe things would be different.”

  “Then you should give it some thought.”

  “Perhaps I should.”

  “You do have the right to do what makes you happy,” I said stretching out my arm and placing my hand over hers.

  We ordered dinner and by the time the waitress brought it we'd moved on to discussing the possibility of holding the private auction that would repair the gallery's damaged reputation. She hadn't decided to sell yet, so she still had business to attend.

  “When would the auction take place? Do you have a date in mind?”

  “It couldn't be any earlier than spring, I would think. You need a collection before you can hold an auction. Ryan is working on it.”

  “Off topic, but this is the best steak I've ever tasted in my life,” I said.

  “It's delicious, well worth the trip,” she agreed. “I told you it's possible to mix business and pleasure.”

  “Tell me more about acquiring the collection. Isn't it tricky to buy one at an auction and then hope it goes for more at ours?”

  “Yes, that would be very risky. Typically, we buy from private sellers at a good price and then hold an auction. You'd be surprised how many people inherit art that means nothing to them. They're more concerned with a quick sale than getting top dollar. We'll buy a few pieces from auctions to make the collection look bigger and grander, hopefully breaking even on those pieces, but we'll get the majority of the collection from individuals.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “That can be your next project. Start searching for sellers. Between you and Ryan, who has a never-ending list of contacts, we might get where we need to be by late spring, or at least early summer.”

  “I'll start the search Monday morning,” I said.

  “Now that we have that settled, would you like dessert, or should we go up to our room?”

  “I'm full and I can't wait to see the room,” I said. I'd only gotten a peek at the inside of the house on our way into the restaurant area, but it was like stepping back in time. The décor was very Victorian, quite authentic looking. It was truly a grand old house and while I didn't believe in ghosts, I could imagine it might hold a secret or two from generations ago.

  We stopped at the desk so she could pay for the room and grab the key. The building was three stories tall and we were on the top floor.

  “This room is the most sought after in the place,” she said, flipping on the Victorian lamp on the bedside table.

  “What makes it so special,” I asked, a bit out of breath from the hike up the stairs. Maybe some modernization would be okay, like an elevator.

  “Remember, I told you that I couldn't wait to trade ghost stories.”

  “Oh, no, here we go.”

  “We should get into bed first. It's the type of story you only want to hear when you're snuggled up against someone you trust. I promise to protect you.”

  “Protect me from what?”

  “The ghost of Libby Harper.”

  “You know the ghost's name? You're making that up.”

  “I most certainly am not. It's an amazing story. Are you interested in hearing it or not?”

  “Okay, I'm game.”

  “Then stop stalling and get into bed.”

  I glanced around the room. Everything in it was Victorian, including the queen-sized palace bed with an overhead canopy. It looked inviting as all hell. I went down the hall to the one restroom on the floor to brush my teeth and change into my pajamas. I'd had a hell of a day. I was drowsy, on the verge of a food coma by the time I returned to her. It felt like heaven on earth when I finally sprawled out on the cotton sheets and burrowed myself under the comforter.

  “Are you prepared to hear the legend of Libby Harper and all the horrors it holds,” she asked in a mocking, exaggerated grave voice.

  “Is this legend anything like Lizzy Borden's?”

  “No axe. I'm not that full of gore.”

  “Just so you know, if you want to spook me you don't have to give it your best shot. It won't be that hard, but yes, so long as there's no axe or machete, I'm as prepared as I'll ever be. Please continue,” I said, giving her a look of exaggerated interest, my eyes narrowed, and my lips pursed tightly together to resist the urge to grin.

  “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

  She was always warning me about something or other. I never could seem to learn my lesson and listen.

  “I guess the story should begin on a dark and stormy night, right?” Corrine asked with a snicker.

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “I don't suppose I am. I'm really not a very good narrator, but all kidding aside, there is a legend involving Libby Harper. She was the daughter of the original owner, Stanley Harper, and she died here over one hundred years ago. She is the reason the estate has the reputation of being haunted, but it's more of a tragically sad story than a scary one.”

  “What happened?”

  “Scarlet fever. The town got hit back in the late 1800s.”

  “And that's how she died?”

  “No, her death wasn't that merciful. From the way the tale goes, I've always felt that Libby was a lot like me.”

  “In what way?”

  “She was trapped here by her own family’s good fortune. This community wasn't always so small. It was once ten times the size it is now, and the Harper's were the most well off of anyone. If you think this house is grand now, no one had ever seen anything like it back then. The Harper's moved here from St. Louis after Mr. Harper had the house built for his wife and Libby, who was around eighteen at the time. The problem was, she hadn't really wanted to come to Texas. It meant leaving her best friend, Estella, behind. The two girls had grown up together in St. Louis and they were closer than anyone realized.”

  “By close you mean?”

  “Lovers.”

  “I bet that didn't go over too well in those times.”

  “No, it was a dangerous secret, but it was also one no one would have expected, so they managed to keep it safe until the summer Estella came to Texas to visit Libby. Her visit coincided with the first outbreak of scarlet fever. No one thought much of it at the time, but when people get scared they need something to blame and the last thing you want to do is give them a reason to point the finger at you.”

  “Uh-oh, I predict this story ends in a witch hunt.”

  “Close, but the hysteria never spread any further than this house. One Sunday, the girls decided to play hooky from church. Libby claimed to be sick and Estella, of course offered to stay home and look after her. As luck would have it, the town's preacher had come down with the fi
rst symptoms of the fever and church was canceled. Mr. and Mrs. Harper came home to find Libby and Estella lying in bed together right in this very room.

  “This room?”

  “Yes, I have to say you do look a bit spooked.”

  “Did Libby die in this room?”

  “I'll tell you if you let me finish the story.”

  I nodded, though I had serious doubts as to if I wanted to know anymore.

  “Libby's father demanded that Estella get out of his house that very minute and the very rebellious Libby decided to run away back to St. Louis with her. It might have ended well, at least for the girls, if Mrs. Harper hadn't suddenly come down with symptoms of the fever before the girls could pack. Libby decided to stay until she knew her mother was all right, so Estella caught the train that afternoon without her, thinking her lover would join her eventually.”

  “Did Mrs. Harper die?”

  “Yes, but not of scarlet fever. The old man lost his mind. He was convinced that his daughter's sin had brought not only an inescapable shame down on the house, but a curse as well, so he decided to burn it to the ground. He nailed Libby's door shut and set the fire just outside in the hall. Then he went to bed to lie beside his dying wife. They all three died before the fire was brought under control. The whole house was abandoned and boarded up until the 1950s, when someone from New York moved here and thought it would make a great bed and breakfast. The place was restored to look like new, but the old legend never died. The house has changed owners several times since then, and each time it's made more of a profit than the last. You can't buy the marketing one ghost will give you for free. Libby has been sighted here, if you believe it or not, over and over, usually in this room. At least, that's what some of the guests have claimed.”