A Fright to the Death

by Dawn Eastman

  “Hello, welcome to Carlisle Castle,” he said. His name tag read: WALLACE PRESCOTT. He wore round glasses, a bow tie, and a thatch of dark hair flopped over one eye. “Whoa, cool!” he said as I stopped in front of the desk. “Your eyes are two different colors!” Wallace pointed at my eyes and squinted his own as he examined me. He wasn’t the first person to announce it to me as if I hadn’t noticed in the past thirty years that one eye was bright blue, the other brown.

  Mac cleared his throat and Wallace seemed to remember that staring at the customers was not in his job description. Mac asked about a room for the weekend.

  Wallace’s smile fled. “I’m sorry, we’re completely booked. We have a group here this weekend and all the rooms are taken. . . .” Wallace clicked on his laptop but shook his head the whole time.

  “Let me check some other nearby hotels for you. I looked at the weather channel before you came in and they say once the snow starts we’ll get two inches an hour.”

  Just as Mac turned to me to discuss our predicament, we heard, “I knew it!”

  I felt Mac stiffen next to me as my stomach dropped. We both turned in the direction of the voice and, as I had already surmised, there stood my Aunt Vi. At five foot two, she was shorter than me by several inches. She wore her gray hair in a long braid down her back and favored brightly colored skirts with layers of cardigans. Like my mother, she was in her seventies, but refused to acknowledge it.

  “I just had a feeling your flight would be canceled,” Vi said as she rushed toward us. “This is a great place, don’t you think?” She waved her arms to encompass the entire castle. “I can’t believe you came here! Are you staying for the whole weekend? This’ll be a hoot! Wait ’til I tell your mom and Lucille.”

  “Lucille?” I squeaked.

  Vi cocked her head at me. “Remember I said I was going to ask her to come with us since she’s such a good knitter?”

  Mac turned to me, his eyes a bit wild.

  “My mother is here?” he said.

  It came back to me in snippets. I’d been so excited about my escape from a snow-covered and frozen Crystal Haven that I hadn’t paid much attention. I remembered talk about yarn and knitting classes and how my dad and my nephew, Seth, would have a boys’ weekend . . .

  “The knitting conference is . . . here?” I asked.

  Vi nodded and grinned. “You should see this place, Clyde, it’s so . . . castle-y. Wally here will give you a tour.” She nodded toward Wallace.

  “Ms. Greer, I don’t have a room for them,” Wallace said. “And it’s Wallace.” He pointed to his name tag. She looked him up and down and then turned away.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “They can stay with us. Rose and I have double beds and Lucille has two twins in her room. Clyde can stay with us and Mac can stay with Lucille. It’ll be great!”

  Mac and I exchanged a terrified glance. Vi was unstoppable when she got an idea in her head and we both felt the tide of this vacation washing farther out to sea.

  “We can’t impose like that, Vi,” I began. “Wallace was just checking some other hotels . . .”

  Vi shook her head and crossed her arms. “Nonsense. Have you looked out there?” She gestured at the window. “You’ll never get anywhere and then you’ll be stuck in the woods in a blizzard.” She pointed a knobby finger at me. “No. You can stay here at least until the weather clears. It’s really no bother.” She put her hand on Mac’s arm.

  Mac and I looked outside to see heavy flakes pouring down.

  Wally cleared his throat and said, “Sometimes the road does become impassable in a bad storm.”

  “Let me just talk to Mac,” I said and we walked a few steps away from the desk.

  Vi crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

  I put my hand on his back and turned away from our audience. “What do you think?”

  Mac pressed his lips together and then let out a breath of air. “Well, it’s the exact opposite of the way I thought I’d be spending the evening, but I’d hate to get stranded on the road somewhere.”

  I snuck a look at Vi over Mac’s shoulder. “We can stand it for one night and we’ll figure out where to go in the morning. How long can a snowstorm last, right?”

  We walked back to the desk and I nodded to Vi and Wally.

  “You make a good case for safety,” Mac said. “We’ll stay tonight.”

  Vi clapped her hands and grinned.

  “How about that tour, Wally?” Vi asked. “I’ll come along. I have a few questions. Plus I want to hear about the ghost again.”

  “Ghost?” Mac said.

  Vi nodded. “It’s a great story. I’m trying to talk the knitters into doing a séance. Come on, let’s go!”

  Wally hurried out from behind the desk in an attempt to take control of the tour. He smoothed his jacket, and smiled at us.

  Mac took my hand and glanced longingly at the door. We heard it rattle on its hinges as a gust of wind struck it full force.

  3

  Our guide led us toward the back of the hotel and to the right, where we came to a restaurant surrounded by windows. It had the feel of a greenhouse except today everything was white outside. Small tables were scattered about the room. Black tablecloths topped with white squares lent a more cosmopolitan feel to the space than I had expected. The walls displayed black-and-white photos of Paris, and the large windows shared a view of the back of the property, which sloped down toward the woods. The snow was picking up and any lingering thoughts of escaping the knitters’ convention fled as I watched it fall.

  “This is our restaurant.” Wally swept his arm in the direction of the dining room. “Complimentary breakfast is here from seven until ten. Usually we recommend reservations for dinner, but I don’t think that will be a problem today.” He chuckled and then turned it into a cough when no one joined him.

  Wally led us out of the dining room and gestured toward a hallway outside the door and said that it led to the kitchen and offices. He took us to the back door, where a small area had been fitted with hooks for coats.

  “Sometimes our guests prefer to leave coats and such here so they can grab them quickly if they want to enjoy the gardens.” Wally pointed to the coats, scarves, and hats hanging on hooks—it looked like there were quite a few knitters here if the amount of outerwear was any indication.

  I didn’t imagine we would choose to enjoy the gardens on our brief stay during a blizzard, but we shrugged out of our jackets and found hooks for them. Mac took a slim envelope out of his inside coat pocket. I saw my name scrawled on the front. He folded it and stuffed it in his back jeans pocket without looking at me.

  Mac felt more comfortable expressing himself in writing and I had been the recipient of a whole box full of notes over the years. I decided to pretend I hadn’t seen it and let him give it to me when he felt the time was right. But I did wonder what could be so difficult to say that he had brought a letter with him on vacation.

  We followed Wally back out toward the front and to the other side of the entry hall. This was the room I’d imagined when we’d first pulled up to the building. Rich mahogany wainscoting and subtly patterned wallpaper made the room feel cozy. Dark reds and greens accented the deep leather couches and chairs placed about the room in conversational arrangements. Worn Persian rugs anchored the seating areas. Heavy red velvet curtains looked as if they could insulate the room from any storm. An enormous fireplace with a bright and cheerful fire glowing within beckoned me toward the couch.

  I sighed and squeezed Mac’s hand, for the moment forgetting that we were leaving as soon as possible.

  “Isn’t this terrific?” Vi said in my ear.

  I glanced upward in a reflex eye roll and saw something pink on the chandelier.

  “What’s that?” I pointed.

  “You spotted it!” Vi said. She patted my back.

>   Wally rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head.

  “Spotted what?” Mac craned his neck upward to see what we were looking at.

  I noticed that it wasn’t just something pink. It was also something purple and teal and lime green. Every arm of the beautiful crystal chandelier had a small tube of knitting attached.

  “Yarn bombing,” Vi said. She crossed her arms and nodded decisively.

  “What bombing?” Mac said.

  “It’s a knitter thing,” Vi said, and patted his arm in a reassuring way. I was pretty sure no one had patted Mac’s arm in a reassuring way in many years. “When a bunch of knitters get together we just have to show off. There’s a contest for the most interesting and difficult yarn bomb. It’s supposed to be a secret until the last day when each knitter takes credit for her pieces. So you’ll see lots of little knitted items all over the castle this weekend. This one wasn’t easy to pull off. They must have gotten the maintenance guy involved. . . .” Vi walked in circles under the chandelier to get a better look at the knitting. “I would have liked to see that. He’s a hottie.”

  “Are these normal knitters?” Mac whispered to me. I shrugged and moved a little closer to him. He moved his hand from the small of my back and put his arm around my shoulders.

  Wally cleared his throat and gestured toward the door.

  Mac and I followed quickly. I reconsidered the idea of braving the storm to go anywhere else.

  We walked to the front of the hotel again and up the wide, dark wood staircase. Just as in the lounge, mahogany wainscoting gave way to Victorian-style wallpaper halfway up the wall. Torches had been placed along the hallway every ten feet or so. Fortunately, they were electric, but the effect was still one of walking into the past. We turned the corner at the top of the staircase and the sensation intensified. Tapestries hung from the walls and a large stained glass window loomed at the end of the hall. The weak outside light was unable to do it justice. I was no expert on antiques, but if any of the décor was as old as it looked, the furnishings alone must be worth a fortune.

  Wally led us down the hall that ran along the front of the building. His description of the paintings, tapestries, and sculptures solidified the sense that we were in a uniquely preserved Victorian mansion.

  “Here’s your room, Ms. Fortune.” He pointed to the left. “Mr. McKenzie, you’ll be in here.” He showed Mac the room two doors down. Wally pointed to the end of the hallway. “And that door leads to the turret room.” His voice became quiet and his expression indicated we should know what he meant by “turret room.”

  “Tell them the ghost story,” Vi said while bouncing on her toes like a six-year-old.

  Wally lowered his voice. “Ms. Greer, I don’t think I should have told you that story. I don’t know if Ms. Carlisle wants to advertise the ghost.”

  “Oh, come on, Wally.” Vi gave him a good slug in the arm. “Everyone in Kalamazoo has heard the story. There’s no way she’s going to get everyone to un-hear it.”

  He sighed and rubbed his arm. He glanced over his shoulder. “Okay, but not here, she might hear us.”

  Mac sighed.

  “The ghost?” I whispered. I didn’t believe in ghosts, per se, but in my anti-jinx state of mind decided to keep that to myself.

  Wally shook his head. “Ms. Carlisle.”

  “Let’s go in here,” Vi said. She led us to her door. “All the rooms are decorated in a different theme. We got the red Victorian room—it’s the best.” She glanced at Mac. “Yours is good, too. Green, I think.” She took her key and opened the door, gesturing us inside.

  Mac hadn’t said a word, which indicated his level of shock that his plans had fallen apart so completely. Wally sheepishly followed Vi inside before shutting the door behind us.

  The room was larger than I’d expected, and definitely red. And Victorian. Dark, carved wooden headboards loomed over the two beds. Red and white floral bedspreads matched the curtains, swags, and tassels that framed the windows. I crossed to the small sitting area and a window that faced the back of the property. Snowcapped fir trees and white-outlined branches were just visible through the falling flakes. The tops of the cars had disappeared under a blanket of white.

  “You can have that bed,” Vi said. She pointed to the bed nearest the window. She stood next to me and looked out. “It’s getting pretty bad out there.” She turned and rubbed her hands together. “I’ll have to empty one of the drawers. I brought a lot of yarn, but I can store it downstairs where we have the workshop.”

  Mom’s tarot cards covered the coffee table in her standard pattern. I looked away, not wanting to know what dire predictions they held. Vi had evidently been using the pendulum and it sat waiting in the middle of its yes-no cross. Wally’s eyes darted around the room.

  “Okay, tell us.” Vi sat in an armchair and gestured at the rest of us to sit.

  “All right, but I have to make it quick,” Wally said. “I’m supposed to be at the front desk.”

  Vi shook her head. “I don’t think you’ll get any more customers today.” She waved her arm toward the window and the full-on winter storm that raged outside.

  Wally’s mouth tightened at the corners. He took a deep breath. “Alastair Carlisle built the castle in 1895, after a trip to Scotland. He and his wife, Ada, had fallen in love with the castles over there and wanted to build one of their own. Ada had inherited a large piece of forested land from her father, and the two of them designed the house together using her land and his money.”

  Vi waved her hand in a move-along gesture.

  Wally grimaced and continued.

  “During the five years it took to build the castle, Ada fell ill. By the time it was completed, she was essentially bedridden. The couple had two small boys and needed to hire a governess to watch them and begin their schooling. Alastair built a small cottage on the grounds for the governess and designed the turret bedroom for his wife.”

  “You can probably tell where this story is going,” Vi broke in. “Mr. Carlisle and the governess had an affair and thought that his invalid wife would never be the wiser.”

  “I was getting to that.” Wally cleared his throat. “And there’s no proof . . .”

  “Well, Ada was no dummy,” Vi said, ignoring him. “Even though she was sick, it didn’t mean she was stupid. She figured out what he was up to and she was furious.”

  Wally opened his mouth to continue the story.

  Vi held up her hand. “She had nothing to do up in her turret room other than knit and contemplate her own death and feel betrayed by her husband,” Vi said. “So, she hatched a plan.”

  “We don’t know that, Ms. Greer,” Wally said.

  Vi crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes at him. “The rumors say she told the nanny she had put a curse on her. The Victorians were very interested in spirits and many believed in ghosts. Mrs. Carlisle said if anything happened to her, she would return and curse the nanny and her husband.” Vi nodded to Wally to tell his part of the tale.

  Wally continued. “According to the story, by the time the castle was finished, Ada and Alastair were barely speaking. Her illness left her confined to her room, where she heard about the happenings in the castle from her trusted maid. The governess took over the care of the young boys and eventually,” Wally said and paused with a severe look at Vi, “rumors said, Alastair fell in love with her.”

  Vi nodded to encourage him.

  “One night, in the dead of winter, Ada drowned in her own bathtub,” Wally said. “She had sent the maid to get some hot cocoa and by the time the servant returned, Ada was dead. Of course, there was an investigation, but they found no evidence of foul play. The police assumed she had passed out from her liberal use of narcotics and drowned by accident.”

  “Narcotics?” Mac asked.

  Wally nodded, and began to speak when Vi interrupted again. “
Calm down, Kojack. They all took laudanum back then.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It wasn’t like she was dealing drugs.”

  I placed a calming hand on Mac’s arm. Not that I needed to. There were many things I loved about Mac, but his restraint in dealing with Vi was definitely at the top of my list.

  Wally raised his eyebrows at Vi.

  Vi ignored him and took over the story. “Since then, rumors have flown and people say that Alastair or the nanny actually killed her off so they could be together. Her ghost looks out the upper window of the turret room and some people have seen it wandering the halls and climbing the stairs.”

  “Why would her ghost be walking the halls if she was bedbound?” I said.

  Vi held my gaze. “You know as well as I do that ghosts can do anything they want—it’s one of the perks of being a ghost.”

  “I hadn’t realized there were perks . . . ,” I said.

  Mac cleared his throat and glowered at us both.

  Vi resumed her tale. “Tragically, the nanny died about a year later. She had moved in to the main house and she fell down the stairs on a perfectly clear night. No one knows why she was out of bed, or what she was doing wandering the halls. The people in town said it was the ghost of Mrs. Carlisle who pushed her. Alastair never got over the double loss of his wife and his mistress.”

  “Alleged mistress,” Wally said.

  Vi narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Alleged mistress,” Vi said. “The boys grew up and had their own scandals. Prohibition was very lucrative—”

  Wally stood, interrupting her. “I really need to get back to the desk. I’ll let the chef know there will be two more for dinner.”

  “This is gonna be great!” Vi said.

  4

  After Wally left, Violet dragged Mac and me back downstairs to meet the knitters and to let Lucille know the “good news” that she and Mac would be sharing a room.

  The knitters were ensconced in the library toward the back of the hotel. Vi led us to the doorway and swung her arm to usher us in. Mac stood motionless in the doorway and I bumped into him. I peeked over his shoulder to see what had stopped him.