by Lena Gregory
She’d been planning this for over a month and had already gotten permission and cooperation from the owners. Her idea might be nuts, but she was pretty sure it would be a big hit. If she could convince her two best friends to help her out. She forced a smile, waggled her eyebrows, and held the front door key up between them. A puff of condensation enveloped the shiny new key each time she exhaled.
“Are you crazy?” Bee’s voice only hit that high note when he was completely shocked or extremely upset. In this case, it was probably a little of both.
“Look, Bee. I have to find a way to generate income during the winter.”
He offered a quick look of sympathy. Before his designer dress shop, Dreamweaver Designs, had gotten so big, he’d had the same problem. Now that his designs were becoming more popular, and big names in the fashion industry had started attending his annual fashion shows, he had a steady stream of orders pretty much year round.
Good, maybe he’d help her.
“You know how we do the group readings in the shop?”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah.”
Although Bee didn’t believe in psychic powers or talking to the dead, he stayed as far away from it as possible, just in case. Cass had cajoled him into helping with the group readings since there were no dead people involved. She’d also convinced him it was all done very scientifically.
She shrugged, hoping to appear casual. “Well, I want to do a group reading.”
He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and rocked back and forth. The thought of him falling through the old boards of the rotting porch ran fleetingly through her mind. “In addition to the once-a-month readings you usually do?”
“Sort of?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and peered at him from beneath her lashes.
It only took a moment for him to figure it out. “No. Oh no. Not happening, sugar.”
“But—”
“Not on your life, sweetie. There is no way I’m going into that house while you”—he shook his head and waved his hand wildly—“do whatever it is you do.”
“It’s just a reading, Bee. I’ll do it the same way I do in the shop.” Knowing she was perilously close to whining, she rushed on. “I need your help. You have a background in theater, plus you put on the best fashion shows.” No need to remind him how much Cass had helped with those shows. All right, now I’m getting catty. She sucked in a deep breath of the frigid air. “How about you just help with the setup? You don’t have to stay for the reading.”
Bee sighed.
Yes!
“I don’t know.” He glanced toward the front door, shaking his head. “We’ll see. Okay?”
“Bu—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Be happy with it, honey. It’s the best you’re going to get.”
“I’m telling you, it’ll work. A group reading at a haunted house? Are you kidding me? People will line up for that.” Cass pushed the mansion’s front door open and held it for Stephanie, who followed her into the foyer.
Bee caught the door, held it open, and lodged himself firmly between the door and the jamb without actually crossing the threshold.
“I rented the space fairly cheap, and I’ll charge more for the tickets than a regular reading. If I’ve figured it right, I should be able to make a decent profit.” She moved through the foyer and peeked into the large living room, weaving between several ladders, drop cloths, cans of paint, and paint trays with remnants of several different colors splattered in them. The inside of the house was in considerably better condition than the outside.
Bee swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably. “How did you manage to rent it cheap?”
She shrugged. “It’s owned by Wellington, Wellington, and Wellington.” The same investment company her ex-husband and ex-best friend both worked for. She tamped down the flare of anger that always accompanied thoughts of her exes.
She’d met Priscilla Wellington at a few holiday parties, when the staff was invited to bring their spouses. Though they’d never shared more than a few words, Priscilla always seemed warm and approachable. “I called Priscilla Wellington last month and she loved the idea. They’ve been having work done on the house anyway, to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast–style hotel, so they allowed me to do the reading next Friday, a few weeks before their official grand opening is scheduled. They’re hoping the guests will stay the weekend.”
Bee lifted a skeptical brow. “Why would they open a hotel on Bay Island in the dead of winter?” A cold gust of wind blasted through the open door, hammering home Bee’s point.
Cass couldn’t help but frown. She’d wondered the same thing, but shrugged off any misgivings. She needed this to work. Whatever ulterior motives the Wellingtons might have were of no concern to her. “Who knows? Some people love stuff like this, Bee.”
He scowled and remained in the doorway while she and Stephanie moved farther into the room. It obviously had not been cleaned yet. Cobwebs marred the corners, as she’d expected, and dust floated in the dim light filtering in from the front door. It could definitely use a few coats of paint. Priscilla had said the guest rooms were already finished, so apparently this room was next up on the agenda. She shuddered upon seeing the cracks running down several walls, hoping they were only cosmetic. Having the house tumble down around them was the last thing she needed.
The sound of car doors slamming pulled her from her reverie, and she and Stephanie moved back toward the front door.
Bee stood blocking the doorway, his arms folded across his massive chest. “It’s a crazy idea. For all you know, this house is falling apart. It’s dangerous. Right, Stephanie?”
Stephanie bit her lip and stared at Bee, excitement lighting her eyes.
“Oh, don’t even tell me. Not you, too.” Bee slouched against the doorjamb, dropped his arms to his sides, and sulked.
“Why not make it a weekend? You could do a bunch of stuff. There are a gazillion rooms in this house. Do a psychic weekend. You said the Wellingtons were hoping guests would spend the weekend anyway, so they’ve probably worked that out already. You could offer individual readings, a large group reading, sell crystals . . .” Although Stephanie offered Bee a sympathetic smile, her enthusiasm grew the more she spoke. “And maybe on Saturday night, you could have a masquerade ball or something.”
“I don’t know.” But ideas were already barreling through Cass’s mind. It was brilliant. An entire weekend devoted to psychic events.
The voice of reason intruded in the form of Bee’s whine. “Do you have any idea what something like that would cost? You’d have to have everyone stay over, have inventory to sell, feed everyone . . .” Bee ticked off the list on his fingers.
Stephanie waved off his concerns. “We can get Isabella Trapani to cater it. Her shop is dead in the winter, too. She’ll probably give you a really good deal. As far as the guests, it’s only going to make the Wellingtons money. Let them worry about it.”
“Let the Wellingtons worry about what?”
Bee jumped, startled, and squealed as he closed the door on the man standing on the porch behind him and launched himself toward Cass.
She held her breath, waiting for all two hundred or so pounds of him to jump into her arms like a frightened child. Thankfully, he stopped just short of her.
“Will you calm down, Bee?” Stephanie stepped around him toward the man who’d pushed the door open and was now entering the house, eyeing Bee with suspicion. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Cass Donovan?”
“No.” Shooting Bee a warning glare, Cass sidestepped him and held out her hand. “I’m Cass, and you are?” He had to be one of the Wellington brothers—with his neatly creased and pleated slacks, cashmere sweater, and short blond hair—but she had no idea which one.
“Conrad Wellington the third, Ms. Donovan.” He gripped the ti
ps of her fingers in a tentative hold, quickly releasing them to wipe his hand on his perfectly pressed pants. “And, in case my sister hasn’t mentioned it, I’m completely opposed to this absurd idea.”
Ooookay. “Uhh . . .”
“Marring our pre–grand opening weekend with a bunch of psychic drivel . . . ” His face reddened as he glanced around the room. “Well, let’s just say anyone with even the slightest amount of intelligence knows there’s no such thing as ghosts, and having a so-called psychic”—his gaze crawled up and down Cass, lingering on her chest—“feed into the reputation this house has for being haunted can’t possibly bring us the type of clientele we are hoping to attract.”
Cass resisted the urge to pull her coat closed around her.
Bee stepped forward, chin lifted, broad shoulders squared, and tossed one end of his silk scarf over his shoulder.
Uh . . . oh.
Ignoring Cass’s warning glare, he stood toe to toe with Conrad Wellington. “I actually agree with you about the whole no-such-thing-as-ghosts idea, but what exactly do you mean by so-called psychic?”
Conrad’s upper lip curled, and he looked down his nose as if Bee was something disgusting stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
Bee wasn’t deterred. If anything, his haughtiness increased to match Conrad Wellington the third’s. “And just what sort of clientele were you hoping to attract?” He tilted his head and lifted one bushy brow. “A bunch of snooty, stick-up-their—”
“Hi, all.” A woman breezed through the still open front door. “I’m Priscilla Wellington.” Although she had to be in her fifties, she appeared much younger at first glance. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and she wore jeans, a gray pullover sweatshirt, and black boots—a stark contrast to her straight-laced brother. Ignoring the tension, she strode through the room as if she owned the place.
Oh, right. She does own the place.
“Ms. Donovan.” She approached Cass immediately and gripped the hand Cass managed to extend between both of hers. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“It’s . . . uh . . . nice to see you, too, Ms. Wellington.”
She released Cass and waved a hand dismissively. “Please, call me Priscilla. Now . . .” She paused and glanced around, seeming to notice the tension for the first time. Pursing her lips, she turned her attention to her brother. “Do I even need to ask what this is all about?”
Twin spots of color blossomed on his pale cheeks. “Nothing, Prissy, just having a discussion with . . . ” He gestured at Bee. “Seems he agrees with me about the psychic babble.”
Bee harrumphed, folded his arms across his chest, and pouted.
“Now, dear.” She patted Conrad’s cheek as if speaking to a small, rebellious child. “I thought we’d already settled all of this.” Her voice hardened. “We are launching the pre–grand opening celebration with a psychic reading on Friday night.”
“Actually, you and James settled this.” He spat the name with more contempt than Cass could ever muster. “I’ve disagreed from the beginning.”
“Yes, dear, but Joan is so excited and looking forward to the opening. Do you really want to disappoint your wife?”
Conrad scowled, but offered no further argument.
Ignoring him, Priscilla returned her attention to the others. “Why don’t I give you a tour of the mansion while you tell me about the reading. Turning the old Madison Estate into a bed-and-breakfast was a fabulous idea, if I do say so, but opening with a psychic reading was sheer genius, Cass. I’m just thrilled about it.”
Cass stood with her mouth open, not sure what to say or do.
Thankfully, Stephanie found her voice . . . sort of. “Um . . . ” Her gaze shot to Cass, who simply stared at Priscilla.
Even though she’d dismissed her brother so rudely, Cass liked the woman. She had a fresh, no-nonsense way about her that Cass appreciated. “Just before you got here, we were discussing the possibility of doing some additional events throughout the weekend,” Cass said.
Bee sighed.
Conrad balked.
Stephanie smiled encouragingly.
Ugh . . .
Priscilla wove her arm through Cass’s and started toward the stairs. “Come, dear, I can’t wait to show you the guest rooms. They’re all finished, and they look gorgeous.” She crossed the room slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. A different person than the whirlwind that had first blown through the door. “Tell me about your plans while we walk.”
Stephanie fell into place at Cass’s other side, while Bee and Conrad jostled for a position directly behind them.
“Well, I thought maybe we could make a weekend out of it.”
The elaborate, curved stairway gave way to the second-floor rotunda, which overlooked the living room and a ballroom behind it.
Cass’s breath shot out. Stunning. She tried to imagine how it would look once it was fully restored. Would the Wellingtons eventually invest the money necessary to completely renovate the old place? Maybe, if the hotel was successful. “I’d like to move the group reading to Saturday.” It would be easier to do a group reading after she’d gotten to know some of the guests. “Maybe have individual readings throughout the day, followed by the group reading that night.”
Priscilla frowned. “What about Friday night?”
What had Stephanie said? A masquerade ball?
“A séance.” With a quick wink at Cass, Stephanie continued. “She wants to do a séance on Friday.”
Priscilla stopped walking and turned to face Cass.
Elbowing Bee aside, Conrad stepped between them and confronted his sister. “No way.”
Bee leaned over and whispered urgently in Cass’s ear, “Are you out of your mind?”
“What? It’s a great idea.” Stephanie pushed past Cass to get to Bee.
The sounds of their bickering faded as Cass tried to focus on the confrontation between the Wellington siblings, their silent stare-off left Cass completely lost, until Priscilla stepped around Conrad to study her.
Cass held her breath.
Bee and Stephanie must have stopped arguing, because the hum of silence echoed loudly.
Cass waited.
Nothing.
The silence ate at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. What about Sunday? Hmm . . . “Then maybe Sunday we could have a brunch with the opportunity for guests to buy crystals and essential oils.” Lame? Too much info? She had no idea, but if Priscilla didn’t say something soon, she was just going to give up. “You know the house is supposed to be haunted, right?” All right, just shut up now.
Priscilla cleared her throat. “It’s brilliant.”
“Huh?”
“It’s brilliant. I love the entire concept.”
Conrad huffed out a breath.
“This could be just the publicity we need to make this all work. Have you sold any tickets yet?”
“Uh . . . no, actually. I just came up with the idea, but I’ve sold tickets to the Friday night event, and if most of the guests are planning to stay the weekend anyway, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Do you think you can still pull it all together by next weekend, even with the additional events?”
Cass shrugged. Could she? Getting together some inventory to sell would only take a few hours. She’d already touched base with most of the people invited for Friday night’s reading. She knew they planned to attend, and Isabella was a miracle worker. This time of year, she’d definitely be able to put something together at the last minute. The only thing that would take some work would be the séance, and she could probably talk Bee into helping her set that up. “Sure. I can do it by next weekend.” I hope. She crossed her fingers behind her back.
“Well, I’m quite intrigued. I’ll tell you what, fax me a proposal listing the itinerary, the cost, and t
he number of tickets available, and I’ll let you know how many I want.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll let you know how many tickets to put aside for me.”
“Um . . . great. Thank you so much.” Cass’s heart raced. What have I gotten myself into?
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