by Lena Gregory
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 the Wellingtons 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, pleated slacks, cashmere sweater, and short blond hair—but she had no idea which one.
“Conrad Wellington the third, Ms. Donovan.” He gripped the tips 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 some sort of 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.”
She 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 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 grey 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 so 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 stark contrast from 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 Saturday, 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, S
tephanie 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 leaving 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 were 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 she planned to invite about Friday night’s reading and 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, e-mail me a proposal listing the itinerary, the cost, and the 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?
2
Wind chimes tinkled as Cass pushed open the door to Mystical Musings.
Stephanie looked up from a paperback she was reading at the counter.
Great. Apparently she hadn’t been swamped with customers. Cass sighed. She loved her small shop, with the gleaming driftwood countertops and the glass cases filled with trinkets, souvenirs, and crystals. She enjoyed the challenge of reading people, using her instincts, intuition, and years of psychiatric training to delve into their minds and offer advice and guidance.
Beast, the giant Leonberger puppy she’d sort of inherited from Marge Hawkins, and then again from Ellie Callahan, bounded in beside her, tracking mud across the polished hardwood floors. Ugh . . . She’d grown to love the clumsy pup, who was just starting to grow into his too-big paws, but he was a handful. “Thanks for keeping an eye on the shop while I went to pick him up. He only ate one cushion off a kitchen chair today.”
Stephanie laughed. “I don’t know when you’re going to listen to me and crate this monster.” She rubbed behind his ears.
Beast flopped over onto his back and bared his belly for Stephanie to pet.
Cass shrugged and grabbed a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaner from behind the counter, then bent to clean up the mess. She really should crate train him. Everything she’d read said so. “It just seems so mean to put him in a cage all day. As soon as it gets warm, though, he’s going for obedience training.”
The big, furry dog ignored her glare and simply rolled over toward Stephanie, content with the attention.
“I really have to run if you want me to stop at Bella’s and drop off the deposit check for the catering.”
To Beast’s disappointment, Stephanie stood and brushed off her hands.
“I left the check in the register drawer.”
“Got it,” Stephanie said.
“Thank you.”
With a quick hug for Cass and one last pat for Beast’s head, Stephanie shoved the check into her pocket, pulled her coat tight, and ran out into the cold.
Cass dropped the wad of paper towels into the trash can, then surveyed the empty shop. Not a single customer had come in all day. This psychic weekend idea had to work. If it didn’t . . .
Island life agreed with Cass. The front door of her shop opened to the boardwalk, and the back door opened onto the beach. What could be more perfect? Sitting on the back porch looking out over the bay, feet propped on the railing with the scent of the sea invading her lungs soothed her in a way nothing else could. The thought of going back to the hustle and bustle of the city sent a shiver up her spine.
Beast stared at her and whimpered.
“Don’t worry, boy. We’ll make it work.”
Cass lifted her gaze at the tinkle of the wind chimes she’d hung above the door of the shop. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” Bee shivered. “It’s freezing out there.” Brushing a light dusting of snow from his hair, he stomped his boots off on the welcome mat.
With a yelp of recognition, Beast launched himself toward Bee.
“Stop right there, mister,” Bee scolded as he juggled the armload of books he held to pet the dog’s head. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be over at the mansion.” He hefted the stack of books to the other hand and slid his coat off.
“Nah. I’d just be in the way.” She lifted the basket of lotions she’d been pricing, skirted the counter, and dropped the basket into its holder. “Priscilla Wellington is going all out.” She shot Bee a grin.
“Seems a bit much, don’t you think?” With a frown, Bee dumped the books onto the table in the corner and shook out his arms. “You want tea?”
“Sure.”
“And why is she rushing so much? It hasn’t been that long since you came up with this whole cockamamie idea.” He dropped a tea bag into a foam cup and filled it with boiling water, then filled a second cup for Cass.
She’d wondered the same thing, but she wasn’t going to argue. At this time of year, she was just grateful for the prospect of income.
Bee lifted a brow as he stirred milk into his tea. “Like I’ve said before, I don’t know that winter is the time to open a hotel on Bay Island, but she sure seems gung-ho about all of this nonsense.”
Laughter bubbled out of Cass. “Some people actually like all this psychic mumbo jumbo, Bee.”
Bee harrumphed and dropped his bulky frame into one of the velvet-covered chairs surrounding the table.
Beast grabbed a toy from his basket and settled down beside him to chew.
“What have you got there?” Tilting her head to the side, Cass studied the spines of the books he’d dumped on the table. The History of Bay Island, Bay Island: Past and Present, True Hauntings . . .
“I told you I’d help with the preparations.” He blew on his tea, sipped, then set it aside and shuffled through the books, settling on Modern Day Hauntings. “If you’re going to put on a show, you may as well do it right.”
Biting back a grin, Cass took her tea and sat beside him at the big round table. “You’re the best, Bee.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Twin spots of red tinged his
cheeks. Of course, they could have been caused by the warmth in the shop after the below-freezing temperatures outside. “I figured if you know the history of the house, it would be more realistic if you contact an actual former resident.”
“Does this mean you’ll help with the reading and . . . uh . . . stuff?”
His pointed glare told her he probably wouldn’t.
Time to pull out the big guns. She offered her best smile. “I’ve already worked out the menu with Isabella from Bella’s on the Bay and ordered desserts from Tony’s.” She waggled her eyebrows, knowing he’d be tempted. If there were two things Bee couldn’t resist, they were Isabella Trapani’s Italian cooking and Tony’s desserts. Especially . . . “Tony’s bringing a nice big tray of cannoli balls Sunday morning.” They were Bee’s favorite dessert, and Tony only made them on Sundays. “If he brings me a huge tray, there might not be any left for the bakery. And even if there are a few, you’d have to get up awfully early to get some before he ran out.”
Bee often worked on his dress designs through the night, and nothing short of an earthquake would roll him out of bed much before noon.
The chimes tinkled and he gave her a dirty look.
Beast’s ears perked up as he lifted his head, but he went back to chewing when he didn’t recognize the customer.
“Brrr . . . It’s freezing out there.” An older woman unwound her scarf. Something was familiar about her, but Cass couldn’t quite place her.
“If you’d like, you can take off your coat and hang it on the coatrack in the corner.” Cass stood and rounded the table to approach the woman. “Would you like a nice hot cup of tea?”
“Oh, sure, dear. That would be very nice. And could you pour one for my gentleman friend, too, please?”
Cass paused halfway to the counter, studying the woman, who was obviously alone.
Rich laughter poured through the shop as the woman removed her loose-knit hat and patted the tight, blue-grey curls clinging to her head. Why did she look so familiar? “No, I’m not crazy or senile . . . yet, anyway. He dropped me off at the door and went to park the car. Didn’t want me to slip on the ice and break a hip or anything.” Her eyes sparkled with a smile.