by Ani Gonzalez
But she was nowhere to be found.
The house was impressive, an enormous purple Victorian with a sweeping wrap-around porch and gingerbread trim. The old shingles were, truth be told, more gray than purple, and the white trim paint had peeled off so that the house appeared to have a severe case of dandruff. But the overgrown herb garden was now covered in a pristine blanket of snow and the morning sun peeked behind the turret, casting the house's imperfections in shadow.
Today, the Rosemoor looked like a grand old lady, one who had seen better days, and who would, after liberal applications of aged sherry, be willing to tell you all about it.
He smiled. He couldn't help it. He really liked this house. The Honorable Millicent Danvers, a fervent Theosophist, had built it as a sanitarium-cum-spiritual center and, with a little imagination he could still see a bit of the charm and beauty that lured hundreds of wealthy hypochondriacs to its doors in the late eighteen hundreds.
And, so, apparently, did a lot of people. Two Arcane Films camera crews circled around the structure, taking panoramic shots. Other film people scurried in and out of the house, toting clip boards and digital cameras. The Banshee Creek natives paid no attention to the camera crews, who were, by now, part of the town landscape.
Elizabeth, dressed in a curve-hugging white wool suit with a dramatic neckline, waved him over.
"Where the hell have you been?" she asked smiling tightly.
"Out," he repeated.
She rolled her eyes, opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by one of the out-of-town event planners, who looked like he was about to have a conniption.
"There's a ghost?" he screeched. "No one told me the place was haunted."
"It's Banshee Creek, you dolt." Sarah, who'd just walked up behind Zach, used her snootiest British accent. "Everything is bloody haunted."
Diego looked surprised and pleased, and Zach tried hard not to smile. Acid-Queen Sarah may have just won over the natives.
They entered the house while Elizabeth soothed the skittish event planner. The foyer was all dark paneling and old wallpaper with a small crystal chandelier in the middle. The foyer table was gone but the registration counter was still there, and two volunteers were setting up a computer and going over the registration paperwork. A stack of floor plans sat on the counter and they each took one, noting where the different stations were set up.
"The bakery girls got the conservatory." Sarah said, with a slight hint of disapproval. "We're in the library."
"Great," Diego interjected. "The library's perfect for our concept," He shrank back, however, when Sarah glared at him.
"Have you seen the conservatory?" she grumbled. "It's all glass and wicker furniture and they brought in live plants. It's fantastic. I wonder why they didn't give us the drawing room. It's a lot more impressive and it has a baby grand."
"The library is nice too," Zach interrupted, trying to head off an epic rant. "It has wood paneling and antique books. You like books, don't you, Sarah?"
Sarah stopped in mid-complaint. The books seemed to do the trick. His restaurant manager was a closet bookworm and Zach knew that one of her most treasured possessions was a set of first edition Harry Potter books signed by J.K. Rowling.
He was happy about the library assignment. Growing up in a poltergeist-infested pizzeria had taught him one thing: haunted buildings had epicenters, places where the supernatural phenomena strengthened, and you wanted to stay the hell away from them. The pizzeria had the basement, which people, particularly his older brother Gabe, stayed out of.
The Rosemoor had the ballroom. The other rooms also had incidents, but nothing like the ballroom, which Mrs. Danvers had turned into a recreation room for her invalid guests.
And the conservatory was right next to the ballroom. He didn't envy Patricia one bit. Mrs. Danvers was not fond of parties, and she let her feelings known in unmistakable ways. The library was on the other side of the building and it had, as far as he knew, no paranormal activity whatsoever.
"Go check the room out and see how much space we have," he asked. "I'm going to measure the ball room and get the final crowd estimate."
Sarah sighed.
"Sure," she grumbled, heading for the library. "I just don't know why baker girl gets a fig leaf tree and I don't."
Zach watched her go with a sinking feeling. "We're never going to hear the end of this, are we?" He glanced at Diego. "Go talk to Elizabeth and see if you can get Sarah her tree. They must have extras lying around."
"Are you serious?" Diego stared at Sarah's retreating back."That's --"
"Smart," Zach interrupted. "You want to hear about that tree all day and night and then another day?"
Diego paused, thinking hard.
"Good point," he said, and walked quickly toward the foyer.
That left the ballroom. Zach walked through the house, trying to picture how the party would go. He consulted the map, following the crowd flow with his finger. The attendees would gather for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in the lobby, a large marbled hall with a curving staircase that led to the second floor; then they would head to the ballroom for a tasting meal and dancing.
He drew up a mental staffing list, and decided to get two bartenders. One of them could double as a waiter. If he were being judged by peers, he'd focus on the food, but the judges in this case were amateurs, which meant that his number one priority was to keep the alcohol flowing.
He walked into the ballroom, ideas swirling through his head.
And stopped in his tracks. The room was transformed. The moth-eaten purple velvet drapes were gone and sunlight streamed through newly cleaned windows and skylights. The gilt-edged mirrors and white marble floor gleamed. True, the gold trim was still dull and dark, and only the most charitable souls would call the paint white since age had rendered it an antique-looking ivory color. The chandeliers were missing a fair number of crystals.
But that didn't matter. Surrounded by a snow-covered landscape, the ballroom looked magical, a true winter wonderland.
And, hopefully a functional one. Workers were setting up a bandstand and dancing platforms, and new lighting was being installed. A motley group was testing music equipment nearby, and he recognized the girl in high-heeled cowboy boots, a loose tunic camouflaging her pregnant stomach.
He'd just flown in with her two hours ago.
He walked toward the group. "Hey, songbird," he called out, instantly forgetting about the event planning. "How are you feeling?"
Abby smiled. Her tunic was bright pink, her brown locks were long and loose and she looked radiant, a far cry from the limp, green-faced waif he'd flown with. "Oh, I'm fine now. The Exorcist pea-soup scene attacks only happen in the mornings. They're perfectly normal."
"Really?" he asked, feeling queasy. "Normal" wasn't a word he would associate with the kind of scene he'd witnessed on the plane.
Abby laughed. "Really. Wait until you have to go through it."
"I don't plan to," he replied, smirking. "I have this handy little thing known as a Y chromosome."
More laughter. "Oh, you'll go through it, trust me. Mike is having sympathetic symptoms." She looked thoughtful. "Or maybe those are just taco cravings."
"That sounds... unpleasant."
Abby just smiled. "You'll see." A concerned look crossed her face. "How are you doing? It isn't every day that someone drags you off to an all-night taping and makes you sing non-stop for several hours. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He wasn't ,though. He felt... dislocated somehow, out of place. But that wasn't Abby's fault. "It was fun. I hadn't done that in... a long time."
Years, in fact. He hadn't sung or played in years and, yet, in the space of a few days, he'd written a new song, done a video, and recorded a complete demo tape. They hadn't meant to do so much. The trip was just an emergency recording session for the "Gypsy Ghost" duet, which would be included in the Space Cowboys' new album. But the session had gone on and on. The band chemistry had been str
ong, and they'd hit "the flow."
And, as every musician knows, you don't mess with "the flow."
He'd felt naked and exposed without his instrument. The Space Cowboys' guitarist was very talented, but, still, the middle riff wasn't exactly how he would have done it and the intro was, in his opinion, a tad fast. Adjusting to being a singer was... strange.
But he'd done it. The song sounded good. It used to be a compelling friendship story, but it was now an irresistible love song.
"I really owe you." Abby said, her tone serious. "I've been freaking out about the tour and the twins and the new album deadline looming over me like the sword of Damocles. The record company has been hounding me for that demo, but these guys," she patted her belly affectionately, "have sucked up all my energy."
"I bet." He frowned, staring at her belly. "Technically, those are parasites, right?"
Abby's eyes widened in shock. She turned to a cameraman who was wandering around the ballroom and pointed to his equipment. "That thing's on, right? You got that on film, right?"
The cameraman nodded, trying to hide a smile.
"Send me the file when you're done," she said. "That's blackmail material."
Zach laughed and held his tongue. Those things were definitely parasites, but it wasn't good form to point it out to their mother.
Abby grinned, a goofy expression that was positively contagious. Or maybe that was him. He was happy, almost giddy, an unfamiliar sensation.
But not an unwelcome one.
Her face turned serious. "I mean it, Franco. You saved my bacon. I have a killer single and a demo tape for the next album, and that should keep the record company off my back for a couple of months. "
"I'm glad for you," he replied, although he didn't know why Abby was so paranoid about her record company overseers. "I met your record company guys and they seemed nice. They were happy about your pregnancy and excited about the new single."
Abby rolled her eyes. "Talk about parasites. Keeping those blood-suckers happy is a full-time job. I have stories I could tell you... But you're right about one thing, they're very happy about the duet, which brings up a question."
She paused, thinking hard.
"Would you be willing to sing tonight?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
"ZACH FINALLY showed up," Laurie said, walking throughout the Rosemoor's wallpapered halls. "I think the pizzeria guys are relieved."
"Where the hell has he been?" Patricia asked, annoyed. She hadn't heard a peep from Zach in three days.
"No one knows." Laurie shrugged. "Maybe his arm was acting up?"
"I doubt it," Patricia muttered. "I asked Mrs. Franco about him, and she didn't seem worried."
She also wasn't very communicative. But she'd seemed...happy? Excited? She'd definitely been a little bit too upbeat for a retired senior citizen with unexpected pizzeria administration duties. Why had Zach disappeared and dumped the pizzeria on his parents?
She pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She had to focus on the competition. The map said that their site, the Rosemoor's conservatory, was right around the corner. The room assignment was a big relief. It was directly off the ballroom, where the event would be held. They were guaranteed a good crowd.
It also fit with her theme. Mrs. Danvers had spent some time in India, studying with a yoga guru and she'd had healing sessions for her guests at the conservatory. She'd dress in white robes, led breathing exercises, read Vedic texts, and offer Indian-inspired refreshments.
The conservatory was perfect.
They reached a pair of white doors with colorful stained glass insets depicting opulent flowers and intricate vines.
"This is it," Laurie said, reaching for the door handle. "Ready?"
Patricia nodded and Laurie opened the door and stepped inside.
"Oooooh," Laurie breathed, looking around the room. "It's gorgeous."
It was. The walls were made of glass windows framed by ornately carved columns. Sunlight streamed through the ceiling, which was also mostly glass. White wicker chairs and tables were strewn across the room, and, Patricia was relieved to note, everything was bright and clean.
"It is pretty nice," Patricia agreed, admiring the gleaming panes of glass and ornately patterned encaustic tiles. "The plants are lovely."
The Historical Preservation Committee had provided a bunch of ferns in Chinese fishbowl planters and a couple of funny-looking trees with large, attractive leaves that Patricia suspected came from the head librarian's home. She was a houseplant fanatic.
They needed some flowers, though. Maybe she could borrow some orchids from that flower place in Reston. She added that to her mental to-do list.
It was a very long list.
"I'm not sure it's going to be that impressive at night," she mulled. "Maybe we can ask one of the workers to put up white Christmas lights around the windows."
"That would look fabulous." Laurie peered out of a floor-length window. "They seem to be setting something up outside. Maybe it's outdoor lighting."
"Oh, that would be lovely." She pictured a well-lit winter landscape outside, fairy lights around the windows and columns and maybe some sparkly ornaments in the plants. The walls were lavender and the encaustic tiles had a purple and green vine pattern, which would go perfectly with their linens. She'd ordered purple tablecloths because, well, the color seemed like a sure bet in the Rosemoor, but, still, the tile scheme was a big relief. What if they'd been orange?
That would have been a disaster.
But it didn't happen. With the right lighting and staging the conservatory would look magical.
"We'll set up tables around the perimeter," she said. "And pile the food high. We'll need something to fill in the gaps, though. I have some pots and green branches leftover from that wedding we did last summer."
Laurie nodded. "The library had a multicolored Christmas tree up, I bet they have purple ornaments somewhere."
Patricia nodded. She could picture the conservatory lit up like a winter wonderland, music wafting in from the ballroom. She frowned. Music? Yes, she wasn't hearing things. There really was music coming in from the ballroom, really familiar music. The band must be practicing.
"I'll ask Holly if we can borrow theirs," she said, trying not to hum. She knew this tune. Where had she heard it before? She couldn't quite remember. "Did our china arrive?"
Laurie looked down at a bunch of crates near the entrance. "I think this is it."
Patricia walked over and opened a crate, uncovering an impressive amount of packing material. Styrofoam peanuts fell to the floor as she extracted a delicate teacup, surrounded by a protective coating of bubble wrap. She unwrapped the packaging, revealing bright green porcelain with small purple flowers.
"That's lovely," Laurie breathed.
"It's my big splurge," Patricia explained, trying not to think of the cost. "The teacups and plates are all antiques and they are all different patterns."
They were also hideously expensive, rented from a premier wedding venue in Richmond. But they were her ace in the hole. She didn't have waiters running around the venue offering hors d'oeuvres and exotic drinks, like Zach, so she had to make sure that the conservatory and its offerings were special.
And they would be.
The conservatory would be an escape, a place removed from the loud music and dancing where one could catch a break, enjoy a sweet and have a conversation.
Just like her vision for The Rosemoor.
"I heard the Brit Bitch complaining about the library. I guess that's what they were assigned."
Patricia considered that. "The library is nice. It has a fireplace." She'd have killed to get the library. She glanced at the heaters, half-hidden behind the plants. A fireplace in February was a big advantage. "I wonder why they didn't give Zach the drawing room. It's larger and much more luxurious."
"They're using it for something. I saw a bunch of tables and boxes."
They walked around the room, moving furniture a
nd making a list of items to be purchased or borrowed. They needed more tables and chairs, and maybe some lamps. Dare she? She remembered her earlier talk with the paranormies. Electricity and the Rosemoor didn't go well, but maybe just for one night...
They were still making lists, long complicated ones with plenty of items crossed out, when Elizabeth swept into the room with a camera crew.
Banshee Creek's resident bombshell-slash-real-estate-agent looked regal with her flawless body in a curve-hugging white suit and her blonde hair in a stylish chignon. Patricia felt positively homely in comparison.
"Hi, girls." Elizabeth's smile was so bright it could cause temporary blindness. "Got a moment? I need to do a short segment."
"Um, now?" Patricia asked, alarmed. Her jeans and "Banshees Football" sweater were definitely comfort clothing. "We're not exactly dressed for TV."
"That's the high school team right?" The cameraman asked, pointing at Patricia's sweater. "That's perfect."
"Isn't it?" Elizabeth said brightly. "Why don't you guys get a 'before' shot of the room while I talk to the ladies?"
The cameramen nodded and walked off.
Elizabeth glanced at the new furniture arrangement. "Gorgeous. I'm glad we got the plants, they really make the room a lot more inviting. It looked like a big old snowbank yesterday."
Laurie's eyes narrowed. "Why go through all that trouble? You could just give us the drawing room."
Elizabeth winced. "Ah, yes, about that..."
Patricia felt a dawning sense of dread. Elizabeth looked guilty. That was never good news. Her friend, she knew, had a very, shall we say, convenient sense of right and wrong. Anything that gave Elizabeth an uneasy conscience was a Big Effing Deal.
"There's a third vendor," Elizabeth whispered.
"What?" Patricia and Laurie squealed simultaneously.
Elizabeth grimaced. "We finally got a network to air the competition, but they insisted on bringing this guy in. We had to accommodate them. We had no choice."