Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky

by A. J. Matthews

  "Isn't it? But I’ve got something better here," Bruce said, getting up, too, and crossing to the window bench. He opened one of the cupboards and drew out a bottle of clear peat-brown Scotch. "There!" he said proudly, handing it carefully to Martin.

  He looked at the black and gold label with the stag motif. As he read the date his eyebrows rose. "A 1920 Glenfidich!" he said softly. "My God, this is rare stuff!"

  "It sure is. One of the few perks of running this place," Bruce added enigmatically. "Solve this case and we'll celebrate your success with it!"

  Martin stared past him to where another man sat at the window, his head in his hands, seemingly oblivious to their presence. Unlike Bruce, casual in denims and a check shirt open at the collar, the man wore khaki overalls, heavily stained with oil, mud—and what looked like blood. A waft of liquor-scented air emanated from him. He glanced at Claudia.

  She shivered and rubbed her arms. "Martin, is it me or has it gotten cold in here?"

  Bruce closed the cupboard door then noticed Martin's fixed expression. Puzzled, he followed his line of sight to the empty window seat then looked back at him. "It has gotten cold. What's wrong, Martin?"

  The figure had vanished. Martin looked up and gave Bruce a searching look, then smiled grimly. "I think you'd better keep the bottle ready. I've just seen your ghost!"

  "What?" Bruce stared at him then looked again at the empty window seat. "Why's he here?"

  "I've found that spirits or ghosts tend to be attracted to refurbishment or rebuilding work. Perhaps it's just curiosity, a still-human desire to find out what's happening to their old home."

  "Yeah?" Bruce scratched his head. "Never thought of ghosts behaving like humans, although I guess it's obviously what they are, or were. You think he may've lived here at one time?"

  "It's possible. Is there anything in the resort records that hint at a tragedy, or strong upheaval?"

  "Upheaval?" Bruce snorted. "The whole place is in constant upheaval! Like I said, some of the things that happen here…" He trailed off and shook his head. "It'd drive a saint to drink. As for tragedy, I don't know. This place sees its fair share of flaky types amongst the staff. Last month, one girl tried to kill another over some guy they were both dating. The local cops took three hours to bring her down off the roof of the restaurant."

  Claudia put her hand to her mouth. "Good grief!"

  "Yeah! So, Martin, there could well be something in the past just lurking there for you to uncover." He smiled ironically. "I'm glad it's you, and not me doing the looking!" He gazed around the office. "Can you still sense anything?"

  Martin focused, and shook his head. "No, nothing." He yawned and blinked. "Sorry! Like Claudia said, it's getting late and we've just spent a number of scary hours driving the American highways. We'll get some rest, if you don't mind, then have a look around in the morning."

  "Sure thing!" Bruce smiled and rose to his feet to escort them from the office.

  *

  As Bruce ushered them out, Claudia felt his hand lingering in the small of her back for longer than she thought polite. He was close enough for his cologne to be overpowering and she fought the urge to cough.

  On reaching the gallery he leaned forward and called down to the desk clerk, who was leafing through a magazine. "Donna? Would you escort our guests to their cabin, please?"

  The girl sighed, the sound audible from where they stood, pushed her magazine aside and reached under the desk. By the time they descended, she was waiting by the door, holding a large flashlight. "We do have lights over the path," she said in a defensive tone as she pushed open the door. "They're out of action at the moment. Someone'll fix 'em next week."

  "Are we in for another haunting in a blackout?" Claudia murmured to Martin and was rewarded with a sharp look from the girl as she headed out into the cold night air.

  "Ah, memories!" he said with a smile as he took her hand and followed the girl.

  Donna switched on the flashlight and the powerful beam spread out over a stretch of lawn and gravel path. Her breath steamed in the light as she swung it to the right. "Your cabin's up here," she said, waving the flashlight. "It'll take a few moments to reach. Do you have any baggage?"

  "It's in the boot of the car."

  Claudia smiled to herself, knowing what was coming.

  Donna looked puzzled. "Boot?"

  Claudia nudged Martin and he clicked his tongue. "Sorry, I mean it's in the trunk." He gave her a faint smile, which Claudia thought wasted in the dark. "Two nations divided by a common language."

  "O-kay!" Donna nodded gravely. "Let's go get it."

  He cocked an eye at Claudia. "I suppose I'd better not mention what 'fanny' means in England?"

  She grinned but wagged a finger at him. "Behave! Go help the girl with our baggage."

  He unlocked the car and hauled out the two suitcases. In spite of his protests the girl took one, hefting it with surprising strength. She must've read his mind, because she gave a soft chuckle. "You don't work around here for long without developing a few muscles!" she said, leading the way up the path.

  "Have you been here long, Donna?" he asked as they walked.

  "Four years."

  "I bet you've seen quite a lot of things going on," he remarked idly.

  "Nothing I can't explain, Mr. Grey," she replied shortly. "Here's your cabin."

  Climbing onto the narrow deck she put down his case and fumbled a set of keys from a ring at her belt. The key stuck in the lock, requiring a certain amount of force before it grudgingly did its duty. The door opened and Donna reached inside to turn on the lights.

  They revealed a large and reasonably modern room, with a double bed, cream-painted walls and utility-gray carpet. Claudia was relieved to find the designer had left the faux-mediaeval style back at the reception. Martin's expression had fleetingly turned reserved when he'd seen it and she'd felt embarrassed by association. He'd told her enough about his home town for her to know that mediaeval buildings were a matter of everyday life for most Brits.

  Donna toted the cases inside and stood them at the foot of the bed whilst she and Martin explored further. Two doors opened off at the rear, one onto a small second bedroom, a depressing room with flaking plaster and damp-stained ceiling. A faint but persistent odor of damp hung in the air. The second room was the bathroom, consisting of the toilet, basin and a shower booth all in a revolting lime-green color scheme.

  "Cozy!" she said, returning to the main room.

  Donna's face settled into an expression of bored resignation. "I'm not happy about the condition of the staff cabins either," she said firmly. "Didn't Mr. Baker tell you the lodge is closed for redevelopment?" She shrugged. "We have very few cabins available for out of season guests. The others are used by staff."

  "What about those two big cabins up on the hill?" Claudia asked.

  "Those are for the managerial staff." Her lips twisted so briefly Claudia almost missed it. A comment seemed to hover on her lips, but she let the moment pass.

  "I'm sure you're doing your best." Martin glanced at Claudia, and she gave him a barely perceptible nod. "Look, we really don't mind staying here if there aren't any alternatives." He patted Donna's arm gently. "This is fine."

  Donna managed a brief smile. "Thanks for that. Most other places around here—and there aren't many—are closed 'til Thanksgiving weekend. Mr. Baker did ask us to give you a cabin. I'll see what I can do to make this one more comfortable."

  "Thanks. Sorry if we upset you," Martin said, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

  She shrugged. "It's okay. Like I said, things haven't been too good around here, you know?"

  "I understand," he said. "I'll try not to be too much of a pain." He looked around the room. "Is there a telephone socket?"

  Donna showed him one located behind the bedside cabinet and took her leave, giving them a last small smile and shrug before closing the door.

  *

  "Whoo-ee!" Claudia whistled between her teeth as
she stretched to work the kinks of long travel out of her back. "We've been here less than fifteen minutes and I can already see this place is a real fruit basket!"

  "Resorts tend to attract eccentricity the way rotten fruit attracts wasps," he replied as he plugged his laptop into the socket then sat on the bed, ignoring the slight musty odor released from the bedclothes. "I know; I worked in a holiday center back in Britain one summer to earn money during the college recess. It was all fun and jollity out front where the punters were. Behind the scenes it was an awful place." He shuddered with recollection. "Never again!"

  She came over and knelt behind him on the bed, her strong fingers seeking out and finding the knots of tension in his neck muscles. "One more feature of your past life I'm going to winkle out of you," she purred in his ear.

  Turning his head he kissed her on the cheek and she nuzzled close, releasing a warm gust of scent. Smiling he opened the machine and dialed-up the connection. The modem warbled. A few moments passed then words popped up on the screen. "Ah! We've got an e-mail from Carla."

  Claudia wrapped her arms around him and laid her chin on his shoulder to read the screen. Her firm breasts pushed into his back, a not-unwelcome distraction. "How's the girl?"

  "Doing well, from what she says here. The lawyer her uncle hired feels sure she can claim the Cloverdale necklace. There's no statute of limitations for theft and she can prove her lineage directly back to the last owner."

  "Good! I'm glad she's doing well and is free of Kyle Marshall's clutches at Phaeton. It wasn't good for her; that bastard was riding herd on her all the time."

  "I remember." He kissed her again, longer this time. "You're free of Phaeton yourself now. Any regrets?"

  "None whatsoever, lover." She nestled closer and sighed. "You have that horrible resort in your past; now Phaeton Realtors is in mine."

  "Instead you've hitched your wagon to an eccentric English de-haunter." He smiled and stroked her back, feeling her pliant body, her warmth, and reveling in her presence. "From the sublime to the ridiculous!"

  She pushed him back onto the bed. "Shut up! There's no way what you're doing can be considered ridiculous. Lie down. Kiss me." He obliged. She straddled him and put her hands on either side of his head. He looked up into her beautiful face framed by her long auburn hair as she gazed down at him. "Love me?"

  He slipped his hands about her waist and kissed her tenderly. "Absolutely!" he murmured.

  Chapter Two

  Daylight revealed the valley to them as they stepped out of the door into a cold, crisp morning. A sprinkling of snow had fallen during the night, coating the grassy slope. Steep forested slopes tended away to either side, the vibrant fall colors fading with the approach of winter, and Claudia could see the distant silver-blue shimmer of a lake to the east. A solitary sail rode across the still surface, heading for a point on the far shore.

  "Wow!" Martin rubbed his hands together. "It's snowed again."

  "We're quite high up here, and winter’s not far off." Claudia looked at the snow with a frown.

  "Why the long face?" He slipped his arm around her waist. "Didn't you once say you like the first snows of winter?"

  "Yeah, but that was back in New York." She waved an arm. "Out here, I'm reminded of what havoc it can do. Sure, a dusting of snow looks wonderful, but we get some real deep stuff in Indiana. It's no fun if you have to dig your car out and drive in it!"

  "I know what you mean. It only takes about an inch of snow in Britain and the whole country grinds to a halt."

  She chuckled. "Martin, now I know you're an Englishman. You're complaining about the weather!"

  "Okay, point taken." He held up his hands and winked. "I'll be quiet."

  She pecked him on the cheek. "You'd better not keep quiet! I don't go for the strong silent types."

  Pulling up the collar of her coat against a probing cold breeze, Claudia slipped her hand through the crook of Martin's arm and they made their way towards the restaurant and breakfast.

  In daylight the resort’s main building was huge, a four-storey stone and timber affair that filled the entire south-facing slope of the valley. Rustic-looking chimney stacks thrust up from the roof in an irregular pattern, smoke trailing from three of them.

  "That smoke reminds me; where was that bonfire we passed last night?"

  "It was on that bend in the drive." Martin pointed and blinked. "Oh!"

  "Yeah, it's what I thought." She scanned the place they'd passed in the early hours of the previous evening. The gap in the hedge made the spot easy to recognize, and the dusting of snow was very thin there, but she could see no sign of a blackened patch on the grass to indicate burning had taken place. "Damn!"

  "Very odd," he said softly. "Now, why didn't I pick that up?"

  "Lost in the background count, perhaps?"

  "Could well be so." His handsome face wore an expression of mixed interest and annoyance.

  She pulled on his arm. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Martin. Let's go eat. We can poke around down there later if you want."

  * * * *

  The restaurant filled most of the western end of the main building, a wooden veranda providing shade and an extensive outdoor eating section for milder weather. When she and Martin entered, a number of people were gathered at a long table set next to the self-service counter and the buzz of conversation dropped as they looked up.

  Bruce was sitting in deep discussion with a woman at a separate table. They were sipping coffee from huge mugs; a litter of greasy plates spread to one side of the table was evidence of their breakfast. As they entered Bruce saw them, got up from his seat and waved. "Claudia! Martin! Good morning. Help yourself to food then come sit here."

  "Thanks."

  They walked along the counter and took a selection of food. Claudia helped herself to scrambled eggs and a sausage and smiled inwardly as Martin piled his plate with bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, hash browns and mushrooms.

  "I do love a fry-up for breakfast," he said, filling a cup with coffee. "It sets a man up for the day."

  "For the month too, I should think!" she replied and made a mental note to keep an eye on his waistline. It gave her a delicious little thrill to know that she now had such a wonderful guy to love and look after.

  They took their trays over to where Bruce sat. "Have a good night, folks?" he asked.

  "We slept like a log, thanks," Martin said, with a wink to Claudia.

  "Ah, the good ol' fresh mountain air!" Bruce said. He gestured at the woman. "I'd like you to meet Laurel Kratzmer, our resort manager. Laurel has her finger on the pulse of this place. If anyone knows what's going on around here, she does."

  "Mrs. Kratzmer." She and Martin reached across to shake hands.

  "Oh, please, call me Laurel." She smiled at them warmly and Claudia weighed her up covertly as she tucked into her eggs.

  A handsome, tanned, dark-haired Jewish woman of an indeterminate age between 40 or 50, Laurel Kratzmer had a pleasant smile of even white teeth and the air of a professional hostess. Her eyes seemed bright, her personality pleasant, but Claudia sensed a degree of neediness behind her manner, a desire to be liked.

  "Naturally, Laurel's fully aware of why you're here, Martin," Bruce said in a low voice.

  Laurel chuckled. "I sure am!" She rested her chin on her hands and gazed at him. "Martin, I must say I find this fascinating. I'm looking forward to working with you."

  "Likewise, I'm sure," he said, smiling politely as he sprinkled salt on his food.

  Bruce waved a hand. "Go ahead and enjoy your breakfast, folks; we can talk as you eat."

  Martin began to eat. After a few mouthfuls he nodded appreciatively. "This is good!"

  "Yep, it sure is. One of the few things we've got right around here," Bruce said with a half-smile.

  "Lenny, our chef, is a treasure!" Laurel nodded. "He cooks like an angel."

  Bruce's smile widened into a grin. "His looks notwithstanding."

  Marti
n let the comment pass by. "Have you had any…unusual experiences, Laurel?" he asked.

  "Oh, yeah! Plenty!" She leaned back and laughed, drawing curious glances from the staff at the long table. "Most of which are due to all too human causes, I assure you. Unusual experiences in your line of business?" She reflected. "I've had a few, but not here. I've been manager of the resort since March this year, and before that I stayed here with my parents when I was a girl."

  "Not so long ago, then," he said.

  Claudia shot him a mocking glance and scooped up more egg. Martin's natural gallantry and politeness had stood out like a beacon amidst the hurry and rush of the New York metropolis. It was one of the many things that'd attracted her to him. Even so, if it worked on her it would also act on other women. She swallowed and kept a covert watch on Laurel.

  "Oh ho! You're very gallant, Mr. Englishman," Laurel said with a twinkle in her eye. "Claudia and I shall have to watch you!" She dipped into her handbag and produced a CD jewel case. "At Bruce's request I've dug out some facts and figures on the history of the resort." She slid the case across to Martin. "Pretty dry stuff, apart from two murders, three suicides and several robberies."

  "Is that all?" Martin replied weakly, staring at the case.

  "Hey, this is a vacation resort!" She grinned. "Let me tell you, these places are a magnet for flaky types." Her gaze flickered to the long table. "It doesn't help when some work here."

  "Bruce gave me that impression," Martin said, slipping the case into his pocket. "Perhaps you'd give us a brief précis on the history?"

  Laurel sipped coffee to moisten her throat, and began.

  "The resort land was once part farm, part virgin forest, owned by a guy named Jeff Gottlieb. Guess he was Pennsylvania Dutch with a name like that. Back in the early 50's he decided to diversify into vacation cabin rental. He built a clutch of cabins on a piece of scrub ground alongside the old farmhouse and advertised in the New York press. It took off like a jet plane, so he cleared some more land, reinvested the profits into more and better cabins. Catskill vacations were becoming popular with the city folks, so he was in the right place at the right time."