A Girl, a Guy, and a Ghost

by Patricia Mason

  Nodding, she turned looking around “Where are the stairs?”

  “You don’t have to take the stairs, miss. The other elevator is working.”

  “It is? There was an out-of-order sign on it earlier.”

  The desk clerk’s eyebrow arched. “That’s odd. I saw no sign. And no one told me that it was out of order.” His tone told her clearly that he thought she was lying or crazy or both.

  Her stomach rolled.

  “I don’t care if it’s working. I’ll be taking the stairs—probably from now on.”

  She staggered and another wave of dizziness overtook her. The last time she’d felt like this was the ten minutes following her ride of the roller coaster called The Tornado. And that time she’d upchucked her breakfast shortly thereafter.

  “Oh no.” She barely got out the words and turned from the serviceman when her stomach heaved and she helplessly vomited its contents at the feet of the desk clerk.

  The box of chocolates didn’t look so appetizing now.

  * * * * *

  Giselle had to wash her hair twice to shower out the gunk that had accumulated on her scalp during her travels. She’d brushed her teeth three times to get the taste out of her mouth. She didn’t even want to think about it.

  Now wrapped cozy in a bathrobe and sitting on the bed in her hotel room, Giselle reviewed the history on her cell phone. There it was. The number of the person who had called her in the elevator. The person who must somehow have made the car fall and nearly killed her.

  Pressing the talk button to call the number, Giselle waited for an answer.

  “Room service.” A young female voice answered.

  Great. The call had come from a hotel phone. No help there.

  Giselle disconnected the call.

  She pondered the yellow flyer that had come from the trunk of her abductor’s car. The flyer was the only clue as to the identity of her abductors at this point. The car had driven away while she’d rolled on the pavement, so Giselle had not had a chance to see any part of its license plate. And the two men who had abducted her existed in her memory as indistinct blobs.

  Strong and rough but a blur.

  The Savannah police still hadn’t called to get a statement about the two attempts on her life. They probably didn’t have time to investigate the abduction or the elevator tampering either with so little to go on. Since Ry’s assistance was no longer an option, she’d just have to do a little investigating of her own.

  Picking up the phone on the bedside table, Giselle punched in the telephone number from the flyer. She didn’t want them having her cell phone number.

  Three rings and the call was answered with a mechanical click.

  “Welcome to VICTIM.” The male voice was low, sultry and vaguely familiar. The electronic message continued. “Are you a victim? If you’re not a victim, become a victim. VICTIM stands for Vampires in Crisis, Together in Misery. Our mission is to raise awareness as to the plight of vampires nationwide and to mount legal challenges to the rampant discrimination against our brethren. Every fifty seconds in the United States a vampire is subjected to prejudice. You can help. With a small donation of just twenty-five dollars per month, you can join VICTIM and sponsor a needy vampire―”

  Giselle cut off the call. She’d found out what she needed to know.

  Chapter Ten

  A trip to the hotel’s business center allowed Giselle to do some surfing on the internet. She found that a filing had been made to create a nonprofit organization with the name VICTIM. The incorporators were none other than Marissa La Bianca and the Vampire Lester. Could that be his legal name? It seemed that the government didn’t discriminate against vampires in the creation of a bogus charity.

  The corporate information did provide a surprise however. As if Giselle needed any more shocks this weekend. The name of the registered agent for VICTIM was listed as Armand Kopeleski and his home was identified as the address of the corporation.

  Talk about muddying the waters of suspicion. Bad choice of expression. The words muddy and water brought back disturbing memories. Too much of both of those lately. But this information about Kopeleski did create confusion. Since Kopeleski was associated with VICTIM, it could be him, and not the Vampire Lester, who had plotted her abduction. Or it could still be Lester. Or it could be both of them. For that matter, it could be Marissa La Bianca. Who knows how many people had become a victim? It could be anybody, really.

  Giselle also checked her email selectively. No need to open those ten, no eleven urgent messages from Willie. She’d just talked to him on the phone. Of course she’d been incoherent at the time, but it still counted. She had at least another twenty-four hours before she had to open his messages.

  She did open an email from the Vampire Lester. She read with amazement.

  Dearest Giselle, How do I love thee. The ways count more than flowers. And if it would make you come to me, I would use all of my powers.

  Well, he wasn’t the best poet and not at all original.

  The email was signed, Forever yours, The Vampire Lester. P.S. Tonight at eight p.m. please :(=

  She supposed the symbol was supposed to be an unhappy vampire.

  He had included an address for the assignation. Giselle would definitely make time for that date.

  The poetry confused Giselle even further. What did this strange communication from Lester mean? As if the flowers hadn’t been confusing enough. Forever yours? When had he acquired this great love for her? Somewhere between the restaurant last night and arranging for the delivery of the flowers this morning. What about Marissa? It was bizarre. Plus, he could be a kidnapper, or at least a conspirator to kidnapping. And he was in league with that old wizard Kopeleski, who was in league with Madam Divinity. Giselle would never forgive that woman. When someone called her fat, there was no coming back from it. Plus, Madam Divinity was Ry’s mother. Ry. No, don’t go down the Ry road of thinking. That road led to heartache and misery.

  What she needed was to clear her head. What could she do? Nice bowl of healthful fruit? No. Exercise? Lord no. A drink? Yes, but probably counterproductive to a clear head and also a little scary at this time of day. Memo to self—Don’t become a wino. Aspirin? Yes, but not good enough. What she needed was retail therapy. Serious retail therapy.

  As Giselle walked toward the front door of the hotel, the desk clerk hailed her. “Ms. Hunter, just a moment.”

  Giselle sighed. Well, at least this time the clerk would see someone clean and not at all wet. A vast improvement over her appearance during her earlier encounter with the man. The clerk, however, had the same pinched look on his face. When she reached the front desk, he pulled her to the side and spoke with a condescending curl to his lip and in a loud stage whisper.

  “Ms. Hunter, the management would like you to check out of the hotel, shall we say, forthwith.”

  “What?” It wasn’t clever. But it was all she could think of to say.

  “You are not the, shall we say, caliber guest the hotel is used to.”

  “Why?” Brilliant.

  “You have caused too much, shall we say, disturbance since you checked in yesterday.”

  “Huh?” Another great comeback.

  “There was the, shall we say, unfortunate appearance you just made with your clothing and your smell. I don’t even want to mention how you attempted to destroy our elevator. Nor do I want to mention the unfortunate sickness all over the lobby floor…and my shoes. ”

  “Urmmm.” Inspired.

  “And if that wasn’t enough, there was that, shall we say, strange little French man who loitered around the hotel lobby for hours.”

  “Vector?” Still monosyllabic. Or was that doublesyllabic. Was that even a word?

  “And let’s not forget the odd, shall we say, woman hovering around and mumbling about casting of spells. She was frightening the guests.”

  “Witch?”

  “Yes, but one letter different.”

  “Ahhhh,” Gi
selle nodded.

  “Then there was the crazy old man bullying the hotel staff for access to your room and demanding we turn over some metal.”

  “Huh?” Come on, Giselle, you can do better than that.

  “And then there were those two other, shall we say, gentlemen.”

  She forced herself to speak more than one word. “What did they look like? Not the vampire. I know what he looks like. And you probably didn’t see him anyway since the flowers were delivered. And of course I know what the French man looks like too since I talked to him in the lobby. Plus, I realize that he looks like a skunk. But that’s neither here nor there. And I don’t mean the crazy old man and the b— I mean odd woman. As you know, I talked to them too. I’m referring to the two gentlemen. Were they here together? What did they look like? I think I might know what they look like. But I think it would help if you told me what they look like.”

  Giselle had finally achieved more than a one-word response. However, she didn’t impress the clerk with her discovered vocabulary. He just stood there with his mouth agape. She had to admit that it hadn’t been the most erudite retort she could have hoped for. More of a babble really. The words always sounded so much more articulate in her head just moments before they came out her mouth.

  The clerk shook his head and his eyes rolled. “Ms. Hunter, you are not getting the point. I must insist that you leave immediately.”

  “But―”

  The desk clerk held up a halting hand. “No. Don’t protest. Just go. I don’t want to have to call the authorities. But I will.”

  From there Giselle suffered the humiliation of having an assistant manager escort her to her room to pack her things. She didn’t retrieve the muddy—and other stuff—clothing she’d thrown away in the bathroom wastebasket. The magazine credit card would no doubt be charged for hazardous waste removal or some such thing. Oh well.

  The assistant manager waited in her room and then led her out the hotel’s front entrance. The embarrassment left Giselle strangely calm about the whole thing. In the scheme of humiliating experiences suffered this weekend, being evicted from her hotel didn’t even number in the top three. That was comforting. Come to think of it, not even top five. More like number ten. She quit trying to rank it in its precise order because the exercise was becoming depressing rather than comforting.

  * * * * *

  Since she didn’t want to make any embarrassing disclosures to Mary Ellen—and there were so many to choose from—it was time to find another hotel.

  However, it didn’t turn out to be easy. After a marathon of calls, Giselle checked into a motel on the fringes of Savannah’s downtown but still within walking distance to most of the historic locations on the map.

  The motel didn’t have the quality of her last accommodation and had no doubt been awarded significantly less than five stars. It would in fact have surprised Giselle if it had achieved one star. But the motel had a business center with high-speed internet connection according to a sign on the door of what had been generously termed the lobby. Of course the business center turned out to be a closet, without doors of course, near the front desk. The computer did seem to get most of its use from the desk clerk surfing for internet porn sites.

  The dive—er, place—had been all she could find on a busy Sunday afternoon. At least she didn’t have to pay by the hour. Another surprise.

  She dumped her suitcase, which now had two broken wheels, in a room that looked like a replica of the one in that slasher movie. She expected a knife-wielding transvestite to burst through the door at any moment. Better just avoid the shower altogether.

  Giselle shivered and walked over to the combination heat and air conditioner wall unit near the window. Fiddling with the control didn’t appear to make any difference. The temperature of the room remained an unalterable fifty degrees. On the upside, her room had a scenic view of the parking lot and the bus station beyond. Great. She comforted herself with the thought that she wouldn’t be spending much time here. However, the thought didn’t provide much solace. Still depressed, Giselle decided she needed that retail therapy now and lunch. Lunch was a must.

  Giselle departed the motel and hiked back to the historic area. After wandering in and out of a few shops, Giselle found a small hot dog stand and made a purchase. Hot dog, deluxe of course, chips and a sugary soda. She wasn’t going to worry about some people’s opinion of her figure. No need to do something crazy like eat a salad, especially not in her fragile emotional state. A salad could trigger some kind of psychotic break. Although a break from reality might be restful. Hmmm.

  With her comfort food in hand, Giselle took a seat on a bench in the nearby square. It was the one with the big boulder, Wright Square. The old man could be heard yelling at the courthouse again. This time the music in the air consisted of a slightly off-tune saxophone playing Three Blind Mice.

  Many of the other benches in the square were also occupied. A twenty-something man with a bulldog chatted with a twenty-something woman with a dachshund while the two dogs chatted with each other with their noses. People walked north through the square in the direction of the riverfront and south along the square’s sidewalks in the direction of the park.

  Was it really little more than twenty-four hours ago that she’d been seated in this very same square? Little more than a day since she’d met Ry in his office? Ry. The lying jerk meanie. She should have listened to that kindly gold-toothed guy. What was his name? Oh yes. Edward. That was it. She should have listened to Edward.

  Hey. Edward seemed like a native of Savannah. Perhaps Edward knew something about a ghost she could use in her article. She’d go back to the gold tooth emporium later and try to find Edward.

  Although, she was reluctant to go so near to Ry’s office. What if she ran into him? Oh, who cared? She wouldn’t even think about him. She wouldn’t give him the smallest kernel of thought. In fact, she wouldn’t think of the scrumptious, meanie, gorgeous, lying, jerk Ry ever again after this moment. Now. She would never think about him again. Ever. Really. Starting now. In fact, she couldn’t even remember his name. What was it again? Ry. Oh, who was she kidding?

  Just then she saw Edward walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the square. Giselle hurried to swallow the last chunk of hot dog lodged in her mouth. Coughing, she swigged at the soda and swallowed. Finally, she was able to get enough breath to shout.

  “Edward.” Giselle ran toward him and caught up to him just as he was about to cross York Street from the square. “Hi. This is a coincidence. I was just thinking about you,” Giselle said with a big grin. “Remember me?”

  Edward, again in black pants and white shirt, smiled in return as he inclined his head in a gentlemanly greeting. “O’ course I do, miss. You be needin’ some gold teeth, after all?”

  “No.” She chuckled. It felt good to laugh again. As if it had been years since she’d emitted such a sound. “No. I don’t need any gold teeth.”

  “How ’bout a puppy. You find you could be needin’ a puppy? I still got me a passel in need of a good home.”

  “I wish I could take a puppy. But right now I’m practically homeless myself.”

  “Aw, miss. I’s terrible sorry to hear dat. What can I do fer ya?” Edward and Giselle walked back into the square and sat on one of the shaded benches. A passing couple eyed them strangely. Maybe it was still unusual to see a white woman with a black man in the South.

  Giselle didn’t know where to start. “It’s a long story but you see I didn’t take your advice. I went and spoke to Ry Leland. And you were absolutely right. He’s mean. He’s a mean man. His mother is even worse, she—”

  “His mama!” Edward interrupted. “Aw, miss. She’s even meaner than Ry. She’s mean as a snake. At least he was a nice little boy. And he got the makin’s of a good man. But that mama. Oooh, child. She has her own sort of mean. I felt powerful sorry fer that husband o’ hers. You most definit’ don’ wan’ nothing ta do wit’ dat one. ”

&nb
sp; “I’m trying not to. But it sounds like you’ve had contact with her,” Giselle said.

  “Me? I ain never spoke a word to dat one. Does I look stupid?”

  Giselle laughed. “No. I think you’re the only sensible person I’ve spoken to since I got to Savannah. Anyway, enough about Madam Divinity. I wondered if you might be able to help me with a project I’m working on.”

  “Project?” He frowned.

  She wasn’t entirely sure he knew what the word meant, but she didn’t want to insult him by asking. He was such a nice old man.

  “I work for a magazine, for a few more days anyway, and I’m writing an article about Savannah. I need to include a ghost in my article. Do you know where I might find one?”

  Edward scratched his head. “I shorely don’. Dat’s a mighty fine idea fer a story tho.” He looked at her and his expression turned sympathetic as he continued. “Aw, miss. I’s mightily sorry. I don’ know fer personal, but I did hear tell of something about a store hereabouts. This store sells the old furniture and such. I knows folks call them antiques, but they jes looks like old to me. Anyhow, that store suppose to get a hauntin’.”

  “Really?” An antique shop. She could combine retail therapy with ghost hunting. Perfect.

  “I don’ know fer shore. But I think is dat one.” He pointed a bony, old finger toward a store on the south side of the square. A sign above the shop read Estoria.

  “Thanks so much, Edward.” She would have kissed him but she didn’t want to get too familiar and offend him.

  “If’n you see Ry you tell ’im to come around and see Ol’ Edward.” Then he mumbled, “Dat ornery boy.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again, but if I do I’ll tell him.” Giselle waved as she walked off in the direction of the antique shop.

  Slipping inside the cool air-conditioned store, Giselle found more than just antiques. She explored luxury soaps and handmade greeting cards before discovering one of her favorites, vintage salt and pepper shakers. The shop had an old-fashioned curio cabinet full of them.