“You’re so right,” said Deb, and sighed also. She brushed a hand through her curly, blond hair, looked off into the distance, and did her dramatic long-ago-and-far-away impression. “When I went to Endurance College, we’d go to the train depot on the first morning of finals. Blueberry pancakes. They’d melt in your mouth. I’ve never eaten any better, and the memory of them is stored in my taste buds. We would walk in the front door and see a group of shoeshine stands—guys would be sitting in the high chairs with their feet up, and youngsters would be shining shoes, whipping those cleaning rags across the shiny surfaces and twisting them around. It was such a grand old station. The porter and ticket agents would have on snazzy uniforms. Hard to forget. Now it would be as if you had walked into another time.”
“Strangely enough, the station was already there when the Lockwoods lived in the huge house Jeff is buying. They might have taken a train from that station,” Grace said.
“Must have been nice to get on the train, go to Chicago for the day, and come right back to this little town. And that depot was an architectural gem—all black stone, tile floors, high ceilings, and huge spaces. Most of the small town depots have been phased out in favor of speed, ugly architecture, and less overhead,” TJ said, and she yawned. “Man, I must have been hungry. I’m done while you all are about halfway through.”
“I can never figure out how you eat so much food, TJ, and still stay in such amazing shape,” snapped Jill. “I have to run miles and miles just to keep even.”
TJ leaned back in her chair and patted her firm belly. “Good genes, Jill. And, every so often I get a good workout . . . at night.”
“Oh, honestly,” said Grace, her voice feigning exasperation. “We haven’t heard anything about the latest boy toy to grace your nocturnal hours.”
“Let’s say I’m between relationships. What is it they say these days? ‘It’s complicated.’ ”
“Well, not to change the subject, but this should be a celebration,” Deb said. “After all, we haven’t been together for a while, and Grace has finally returned from Arizona. Now that all our kids have gone back to where they live, we finally have a little time together. How was Arizona, by the way, Grace?”
Before she could answer, Grace noted a small but growing problem at the back table with the bankers. The red-haired waitress had delivered food and coffee, and just as she was leaving, Conrad Folger pulled the belt ties on her apron so it came loose. She turned, gave him an exaggerated smile, and spilled some coffee on his pant leg. Folger immediately stood up and grabbed his napkin and his leg where the hot coffee hit. Grace could barely hear their conversation in the buzz of voices in the room.
“Why, you little—I’ll have you fired. You did that on purpose.”
The waitress looked at him with mock concern and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. My clumsiness. Just a second and I’ll get a wet cloth to fix the damage.” She turned and went through the door to the kitchen. Will smirked at his brother as only a competitive sibling could.
“Grace? Arizona?”
“Oh. Sorry. I was watching the bankers. Arizona. Yes. It was wonderful. Lower sixties and seventies instead of twenties like it is here, and gorgeous, blue skies every day. But I had to come back to my besties, my best friends, that is.”
“And the children?” asked Deb, a solicitous look on her face.
“Oh, they’re fine. Very busy. You know, when you’re retired, you forget how busy you were all those years you worked and raised kids. It’s wonderful to go out and see them, but they have crazy, over-scheduled lives, and I don’t really fit into those schedules well. Reminds me of those years when I raised my own three, and we’d go see my parents in Indianapolis. It was lovely to visit, but the older my parents got and the busier I became, the less our worlds had in common.” She paused and looked at each of them. “Kind of sad when you think about it.”
“All right. Enough ‘sad’,” TJ cut in. “We’re celebrating. Remember?”
Camilla Sites came out of the kitchen and walked over to their table. Grace could see she was perspiring from the hot ovens. She had a bandanna over her black hair, and drops of sweat glistened on her forehead. Camilla smiled, a beautiful smile with white, straight teeth, framed by mauve lipstick. Grace remembered Camilla and Abbey from their high school days, and they were best friends then, too. From what Grace had heard, they were evidently a couple and partners in the restaurant as well.
“Ms. Kimball. Abbey said you were out here, and I just had to come and say hi. Was lunch okay?” She wiped her forehead with the hem of her apron, and Grace could see she was exhausted.
“Wonderful, Camilla,” said Grace. “You’ve done it up big here. I love the restaurant, the décor, the menu. My food was fantastic.”
“That’s what we like to hear. It’s been a dream of ours, Ms. Kimball, ever since we were both waitresses ourselves. But we’re hard workers, and we plan to stick around. I’m so glad you and your friends came. Abbey’s fixing you a special dessert, and it’s on the house. You always told us to dream big, and we followed your advice.”
Laughter from the Folger table drifted across the room, and Camilla looked in their direction, a frown on her face. “I wish we could refuse those jackasses service.” Turning to Grace, she covered her mouth and said, “Oh, sorry, Ms. Kimball. Sometimes my mouth gets away from me.”
“I figured you got your loan from them,” Grace said.
“No. He refused to loan us money because of ‘our sexual orientation.’ It seems lesbians aren’t welcome at his bank.”
“What? He can’t do that. Not in this day and age.”
Camilla shrugged. “We know. We’ve already contacted a lawyer and filed discrimination charges against him and his bank. He’s a despicable man, and the world would be better off without him.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Grace, shocked by Folger’s prejudice. Even as she watched Camilla watching Folger, she could physically feel the anger bleeding from Camilla’s body language.
Then Camilla relaxed and said, “It’s all right. Abbey keeps me calm. She says the courts will handle him.”
Grace, too, took a deep breath because she remembered Camilla in high school. Abbey was a slow smolder, but Camilla had quite a temper, and she was one strong woman.
“We’ll be back again, I’m sure,” said Grace. “By the way, the planters with the gorgeous greenery are perfect. Who’s the one with the green thumb?”
“That would be Camilla,” said Abbey, advancing on their conversation. Unlike the tall, willowy Camilla, Abbey was short, somewhat stout, and had blond hair hanging straight down from the center of her head. Her dark eyes twinkled as she patted Camilla on the shoulder. “She can grow anything. I can’t even get a philodendron to stay alive.” As if to prove her statement, she looked up at the ceiling where large pots of plants hung from a metal bar, and their greenery spilled over the edges and dangled down like forest vines. “Yup, she is amazing with plants. And the décor was her idea too. Thought the train history would be a good connection with the town. Paint, wallpapering, signs, plumbing. She can do anything.”
“Electricity. I don’t do that,” said Camilla, with a grin. Then she headed back to the kitchen.
“Don’t believe her,” said Abbey. “She put in our alarm system. It even works.”
The redhead came up to Abbey and waited.
“This is Sandra Lansky,” Abbey said, by way of introduction. “She’s new in town, and we hired her on the spot. Had lots of experience waiting tables in Chicago, so we thought she’d be a great asset here.”
Sandra smiled at them and added, “I’m so glad to get away from the hustle and bustle. This seems to be a nice little town. My cousin lives here and told me to come visit her. I hope to stay for a while, and The Depot seems to work just fine for me.” Her red hair almost tumbled out of the clip holding it back.
TJ chimed in with a grin on her face. “I see you’ve learned to handle the guys over there.”<
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Sandra glared across the room at the Folgers, disdain on her face. She put her hand on one hip, leaned over closer, and cracked, “I’ve had my share of groping, pickup lines, and unwanted attention while waitressing. Not much I can’t handle. Been on my own for quite a while.” She turned her head and looked across the room. “Those guys are child’s play.”
“Oops. We’d better get back to work. Enjoy,” Abbey said.
Camilla came back about the time they left for the kitchen, and placed four plates of brownies and ice cream in front of Grace and her friends. “Compliments of the house, ladies. Come back soon!”
“Oh, my,” said Grace, as she counted the calories in her head. “These look great. Thanks, Camilla.” They all dug into the dessert with many oohs and ahhs.
Then TJ managed to say to Grace, between bites of chocolate, “Are you back at the newspaper again?”
“Yes. Now that Jeff has bought Lockwood House, I’m going to research the house and the historical district. According to Jeff, people liked the history articles, and he definitely wants to know about his house. He thinks it might be haunted.”
“So will he live in the house?” Jill asked, cutting her brownie in half and putting one of the halves on TJ’s plate.
“Well, not yet. It’s a mess. He calls it a fixer-upper, but I think it may be a project for life. Once he gets some of the rooms in order, I’m sure he’ll move in. But I hope he finishes it before he’s too old to climb all the stairs. Wants to make a bed and breakfast out of it, but also put it back in order the way it used to be when the Lockwoods lived there—plus modern appliances in the kitchen, I hope. He’ll never get back what he put into it, but I don’t think it bothers him.”
“And?” TJ looked at her with one of those inquiring, detective faces.
“And what?” Grace said.
“And how are things with Mr. Maitlin?” Deb finished.
Grace tried to hold back a wide grin. “Well, things are fine, if it’s any of your business.”
“Of course it’s our business,” Deb said. “But we don’t know much about him. He’s still ‘Mr. Mystery Man.’ I think we’d better get on top of that.” She looked around the table, and everyone nodded.
“We? ‘We’ will not do that. I will grill him when the time is right,” Grace said.
The Folger brothers and their banker friends pushed in their chairs, grabbed coats and hats, and left as loudly as they had arrived. As they passed Grace’s table, they said hellos. Then the restaurant was quiet once again. As if filling the void, Grace’s friends began to make leaving noises.
“I have to get back to the Historical Society,” Deb said.
“Me too. That is, I have to get back to work. No rest for us accountants. Tax time will be here soon,” Jill added. They each rose, took their bills, and headed for coats and the cash register.
“See you guys,” Deb turned and added, as she followed Jill.
TJ’s cell phone rang and she grabbed it quickly. “Sweeney.” She listened briefly. “Yeah.” She listened with more concentration, her lips pressed into a fine line, and then replied, “Okay. I’ll be right there.” She looked at Grace and shook her head. “I knew I should have left sooner. We hired a couple of guys at the police department while you were in Arizona. Alex Durdle is fine, but Zach Gray is a bit difficult to handle. Has a real chip on his shoulder. It’s like herding cats.” TJ gave Grace a playful grin and rose with an easy manner.
“Well, shape them up,” Grace replied, as TJ pocketed her phone and left.
Grace finished a couple swallows of her coffee, pulled on her coat, and paid her bill. She pressed the door open with her shoulder, and the wind ripped at her face and hair, forcing her to wrap her scarf tighter around her head. And this is only January, she thought, and early January at that. She walked around the corner of the restaurant to the parking lot. As she was about to get in her car, she noticed Will Folger at the other end of the lot. Grace was surprised to see he was talking to Sandra Lansky. They both smoked cigarettes, and Will was angry. Occasionally, his voice carried on the wind, but Grace couldn’t make out the words. The tone, however, was unmistakable. He stood back from the red-haired waitress and gestured furiously. The Lansky woman appeared to simply take it all in, smoking and looking bored, her arms folded across her chest. Frigid winds whipped around them too, and Grace wondered what they were saying.
I suppose he’s still mad about the spilled coffee on his brother. Or is it more than that? She strained to hear their words, but the wind made it impossible. Still, their body language said they were more than casual acquaintances.
CHAPTER FIVE
Grace stepped out of her car and felt a gust of wind clutch her scarf. She was meeting Jeff Wednesday morning at Lockwood House on Grove Avenue. She grabbed her scarf just before it blew into the air and glanced up at the gray sky and clouds promising more snow. The bitter cold was a little better today—all of twenty-five degrees—but the wind still buffeted the trees and made her pull her collar up tighter. It almost took her breath away. According to the weather forecast, tomorrow would be even colder. Why, oh why, did I leave Arizona?
She glanced up at Lockwood House dominating the corner lot of Grove and Second Street and noted the torn curtains in a third-floor turret. The entire mansion had a neglected, forlorn look, as if no one had paid it much attention in years. The vacant windows stared at Grace, and the bare wooden siding resembled a wrinkled face, abandoned by time and neglect. Jeff was just getting out of his car on Second Street, which ran north and south past the Lockwood lot, and he waved at Grace and waded through the snow to meet her.
He looked up at the Victorian mansion. “After yesterday, it’s all mine—all four thousand, four hundred, and ten square feet—well, except for the eighty percent currently owned by the bank. So that probably means a piece of wood in the ballroom on the third floor is mine.” The vapor from his breath disappeared into the wind.
“Ah yes, the ballroom,” Grace repeated, and she shaded her eyes and studied the third-floor tower, starting with the tattered roof and moving down. It was three stories high with gables and a pointed tower over a third-floor window. She and Jeff stood near the front porch stairs, which led up to what used to be an impressive entrance. Now, however, the wood was splintered and uneven. Wooden spindles—a few missing and others at odd angles—enclosed the porch, and three pillars—their paint chipped and neglected—held up the porch roof. A dark picture window brooded over the snow cover just to the right of the porch. The upper floor had five windows on the front side of the house. The wooden siding was rough and splintered in places, and the roof looked like it would need to be replaced completely. Grace couldn’t help but shiver as she noticed the dark windows and the general atmosphere of decay and neglect. I’d better be cheerful and optimistic, she thought, seeing Jeff’s animated face, but I truly think it resembles the doomed house in Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. All it needs is a moat in which to sink until it disappears.
“It looks . . . really impressive. Am I wrong in thinking this may be more than a weekend fixer-upper?” she asked. Then, wanting to be supportive, she suggested, “Let’s walk around the outside, but quickly because it’s so cold.” She pulled her scarf tighter. “How many doors are there?”
Jeff counted doors under his breath, and then he said, “The east side has a door that probably went into a dining room, and the north side has a door into the kitchen.” They waded through the snow. “I think the original house had an entrance on the west side, but it’s something you might research. If it did, it’s been closed off for a long time.” He pointed toward the door they were passing. “I believe another door on the northwest goes up the back stairway. I think it was the servants’ staircase, and the outside door was added when they divided the house into apartments. Just wait. We’ll whip it into shape in no time.”
“We?” Grace asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Well, the royal ‘we.’ Come on.” He g
rabbed her hand and led her around the last corner of the house, emerging again at the front door.
“Did you get the keys from the realtor?”
“Got it—well, the main key—right here.”
Grace looked up, marveling at the size of the house. “Just one family lived in this whole house when it was built?”
“Yes. Judge Lockwood was evidently expecting lots of kids because there were six bedrooms on the second floor, and the third floor had, besides a ballroom, a few small rooms for servants. Of course, whoever owned it somewhere down the line partitioned the second and third floors into apartments.”
“Please tell me they added inside plumbing.”
“Of course. Lots of people have lived in the house since the late 1800s. I’m depending on you to do the research so you can tell me who all those ghosts are.”
“Ghosts? Really?”
“Nah. I just figure someone must have been unhappy in this house. Look at it. Can you imagine creaky, rusty hinges—I do know how to use WD-40—and dark, secret passages?” He glanced at Grace, his eyes shining and his voice buoyant. “I’m hoping to make it a much lighter, sun-filled place. Research—your project, Grace. I can’t wait to hear what you find out, and if I meet a ghost some night on the second floor, I’d like to know who he or she is.”
“I’m freezing, Jeff. Can we go inside?”
“Sure. Right this way. The key to the front door is huge.” Grace looked at Jeff’s hand, which held a large, antique skeleton key. “This could be the original,” he laughed. They walked carefully up the front steps, and he turned the key easily, opening the door. “I had the furnace guy come over yesterday, and he decided the furnace wouldn’t blow up. We turned it on, and it started right away, so we should have heat.”
Grace peeked in. “This looks kind of spooky. It’s so dark. Are you sure it isn’t haunted?”
“Just follow me.” They walked into an entrance hallway and stopped, closing the door against the frigid outside. Jeff flipped a switch and coaxed dim lights to come on, which caused Grace to look up at the chandelier suspended from the second-floor ceiling. A wide stairway, its dull carpet threadbare, rose right in front of them. Grace viewed the distant ceiling and the leaded glass windows high up on the walls. Probably to let light in, she thought.
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