Bottled Up

by K. J. Emrick

  Then again, it’s me who’s always saying that time moves on. I haven’t actually seen Jasmine for a long time. People change, and not always for the best.

  But Jasmine?

  “Hey,” Kevin says, his voice full of concern for me. “Mom, let’s go talk to her. Maybe she has an explanation. Maybe it’s not what we’re both thinking at all.”

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

  “Is it working?”

  “No.”

  I don’t see how it can be anyone else. I’m trying really hard, because I want there to be another explanation, but every reason I try to think of comes up flat. This wouldn’t be the first time that I had a friend do me wrong, but it might be the first time I’ve had a friend try to kill me for a hidden treasure of gold. But hey, I’m still young. Well, young-ish. I’ve got plenty of time left for my friends to start stabbing me in the back.

  For now, I need to talk to just one friend in particular.

  More of the guests had left the dining room. It was almost empty now. In fact, the only person still there having something to eat is Mister Brewster. He lifts a hand to me from his seat in the far corner, his silver eyes flat and unblinking. I swear he looks like he wants to say something to me, but he doesn’t call me over, and I don’t have time for small talk right now. Not that Mister Brewster is much for small talk.

  I wish I didn’t keep forgetting his first name.

  Through the swinging door, Kevin and I stepped into the kitchen. There wasn’t any new disaster to clean up, so that’s a good sign. That’s where the good news ends, however.

  Rosie’s the only one here.

  “Oh, Dell!” she greets me, whisking batter in a bowl. “I’m thinking of making soufflé for lunch tomorrow. Whatchya think of that?”

  “Sure. Soufflé. It’s fine… how long have you been here alone?”

  “Hmm? Dell, this is my kitchen. I’m supposed to be here.”

  “No, I mean…” I check all around the kitchen again although there’s nowhere that I can’t see from right where I’m standing. There’s definitely no one else here. “I mean, where’s Jasmine?”

  “Oh. She left when you went out to meet Kevin. G’day, Kevin.”

  “Hey, Rosie,” he says back to her. “How’s things?”

  “Busy as always. Got a passel of guests and plenty of tourists coming in to eat.” She sets the batter aside, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. “Of course, business is gonna slow if this snow gets any worse. Hasn’t reached Lakeshore yet but it’s coming. Weather man says so. Nobody wants to come to the back of Bourke like this if there’s snow to deal with, too. Be a different story if we had some mountains for people to ski.”

  “Rosie,” I say, trying to get her attention.

  She doesn’t notice. “Can’t ski Hartz Peak. No, sir. Oooh, we could do a winter theme for the menu! Sugar dusted ice cream pie, and coconut crusted cod, blanquette of course, oh my, the possibilities are endless!”

  “Rosie, focus. Please. Where’s Jasmine?”

  ‘Oh, she left.”

  “You told me that already. I get it.” I’m already frustrated at the thought of what Jasmine might have done to me. I’ve got no patience for Rosie’s normal quirky absentminded nature. “Rosie, please. Where’s Jasmine?”

  “She left,” she says, as if she’s a broken record. Then she points around her shoulder. “She left out the back. Said she’d be back later.”

  I look at Kevin, and he looks at me. Jasmine was here, and then my police officer son shows up and she jets. Out the back. I tend to forget we even have a back door. No one uses it much except our handyman George. Not even me. Seems Jasmine found it, though.

  “We could call her,” Kevin suggests. “You’ve got her number, right?”

  “Yeah, I do.” But still I stand there, not reaching for my mobile, not doing anything. Rosie and Kevin are staring at me, waiting to see what I’ll do next. “Tell you the truth, I’d like to just let this be for a bit. Jasmine’ll turn up. Her car’s still here. If she doesn’t know… if she doesn’t think we suspect her of anything she’ll probably pop right back in once you’re gone, Kevin. You know how some people are around the police.”

  “Suspect her?” Rosie asks, bewildered. “We suspect her of something?”

  “It’s a… long story,” I say, knowing it’s not even half the truth.

  Kevin knows there’s a lot more to it than that. He knows I’m disappointed, and sad, and upset to think that my good friend might’ve done something to hurt me. Well, that’s something I’ve got to live with, one way or the other but for right now, I just don’t want to deal with anything.

  “Kevin, would you mind leaving me be for a while? I’ll let you know if Jasmine comes back. Promise.”

  “Are ya sure?” he asks me. “Maybe I should stick around for a bit? What would James think if he knew I left ya alone like this?”

  I force a laugh. “See, there’s something else I have to do. I need to call James and let him know I’m back. You’ve got to take care of that beautiful girlfriend of yours. Rosie’s got to set the menu for tomorrow. There’s just so much going on. So, yes. I’m sure you can go. Thanks, Kevin.”

  “Wait,” Rosie says, knowing that she’s missing something. “What do we suspect Jasmine did?”

  “Rosie…” I can’t not tell her. What affects me affects Rosie as my business partner. Plus, Jasmine was her friend, too. At the same time, I don’t want to say anything to cast doubt on Jasmine... just in case I’m wrong. “It’s got to do with our trip to Blue Laguna. Can I tell you all about it later?”

  “Er, sure. As long as everything’s okay for now?”

  “It is. Promise. Just, um, tell me if she comes back, okay?”

  “Sure, Dell. Whatever ya say. Oh!” Rosie exclaims, already back to worrying about her kitchen. “We could serve celery root soup. How’s that sound?”

  Nothing I’d eat, truth be told, but I always trust her judgment when it comes to food.

  Leaving her to think up more items for her all white winter menu, Kevin and I walk out into the front room, standing off to the side over by the portrait of Lieutenant Governor David Collins.

  He puts his arms around me and draws me into a gentle bear hug. If either of us ever get too old for this, I’m pretty sure the world would come to an end.

  “Sure you’re going to be okay?” he asks me.

  “Oh, sure. Right as rain. I mean, there’s just someone out to maybe kill me, again, and it might be that one of my best friends has been helping them. I mean, how could I be anything but okay?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “A childhood friend, you mean.”

  I don’t follow his meaning. “What?”

  “Well, Jasmine was a friend of yours back in Uni. It’s been, what? A decade since ya saw her last? She’s not exactly one of your best friends anymore.”

  “Is that a comment on my age?”

  He smiles at my lame attempt at a joke, but I know he’s not wrong. It has been a long time since Jasmine and I spent any time together. There’s been e-mails and a Christmas card or two, and the occasional phone call, even, but just like most of my friends from that time we’ve grown apart. People change, and time moves on.

  So maybe he’s right. Jasmine’s not one of my best friends anymore. She’s still a friend.

  “Kevin, I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m going up to my room. I’ll lock the door, and I’ll have my mobile with me, and I’ll call James. I’ll also have… our mutual friends to watch us.”

  The ghosts, is what I meant. He knew what I meant without me needing to explain it.

  “In that case,” he says, with his voice very low, “if you see dad, tell him I said hello.”

  With another hug, he’s off. Nearly brings tears to my eyes to remember all that happened between my kids and their father, even after his death. I never stopped loving Richard but for our kids it was a long road back to a loving relationship. It�
��s tragic that it had to happen after Richard died.

  Anyway. It won’t be too much longer before Danni will be in to watch over the front desk. I’ll need to let her know I’m back and check in to make sure everything is all right, but for now I’m going to do exactly as I told Kevin. I’m going upstairs to my room.

  Or at least, that was the plan.

  Up on the first floor, in the middle of the hallway, Mister Brewster is standing and waiting for me. The Pine Lake Inn was built in such a way that the stairs to the top floor are at the other end of the first-floor hallway. My rooms are up on the top floor. To get there I have to walk right past Mister Brewster. Of course, he would know that. It’s why he’s standing there, waiting.

  “G’day,” I tell him with a smile. “Something I can help you with?”

  “I was wondering how close the Inn is to being full,” he asks in that deep gravelly voice of his, like thunder rumbling up from his chest.

  How full the Inn is? Well. That wasn’t a question I was expecting from him. “That’s not something you need to concern yourself with. We’ve got a few rooms empty yet.”

  His unblinking eyes don’t smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Then he turns, and walks into his room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  Odd man. Very odd, unique man. He’s a steady source of income, and he’s never a bother, even if I don’t understand why he’s basically taken up residence in the Pine Lake Inn. I don’t need to know why he’s here. He keeps to himself, mostly, and he’s been a good guest. If he feels the need to say something cryptic to me every now and again, I’m sure I can live with that.

  Just wish I could keep his first name in my head. It was there, and then gone again. I feel like there’s some other things he’s told me that I’ve forgotten as well. I usually remember everything about our guests. Hmm. Oh well. If I’ve forgotten it, then it can’t be anything important. I’ve got a mind for important details, like my Kevin was saying earlier.

  Which of course brought me back around to what had happened in Blue Laguna. From the note in the bottle, to the attack in our hotel room, to the mystery of Orville McGowan’s treasure that Gimble the groundskeeper shared with us. Every memory, every thought, was blackened by the possibility of Jasmine putting my life in danger.

  Going up the stairs to the top floor, I sighed and tried really hard to believe it wasn’t true. My rooms were at the far end of this hallway, past all the other guest rooms. By the time I got there and put my key in the lock, I was still thinking about it. Jasmine was a friend. Jasmine was the only one who could have done these things.

  So much for coming up here to clear my mind.

  Inside my rooms, I close and lock the door behind me. Then I make sure to double check that it really is locked. The way the weekend’s been going so far, that seems like a good precaution. So I checked it twice.

  Of all the places in this Inn, this space is mine. The ghosts know not to come in here without my personal invitation. Lachlan is banned from here under penalty of exorcism, actually. The exceptions are Jess… and my husband Richard. Even he gives me privacy in here, although some days I feel his presence as strongly as if he was really here with me.

  The staff knows to leave me alone up here, too, unless it’s an emergency. Rosie’s downstairs still and will be for at least a few hours yet. She should be able to take care of anything that happens short of a fire.

  I wince and tell myself not to tempt fate. Some things it’s best not to even joke about.

  My room’s a little bigger than the other guest rooms. Maybe not so grand as room number nine, our Honeymoon Suite, but then I’m not trying to impress anyone. Except my boyfriend James, of course, and he certainly hasn’t complained whenever he’s spent the night. This space, my bedroom here and the attached bathroom over there, is really all I need.

  The trim has been painted purple, and then pink, and right now it’s white. I’m sure the mood will strike me to change it again sometime. A red closet built out from the wall over there was one of the additions I made not long after moving in here. The secret space under the floorboards for my valuables is a more recent addition, after seeing what the theft of a huge killiecrankie diamond did to the town a few months back. Not to mention the theft of the Van Dieman’s Land Chalice before that. Now, that was a thing.

  Better safe than sorry.

  That space is where I would’ve put Orville McGowan’s note, if it had made it this far.

  I throw myself down on the bed, an arm over my eyes. Was there a single thing that went right today? If there was, I couldn’t think of it.

  My bed, with its four wooden posts holding up a canopy of pink ruffles, is a bit big for the space but I don’t mind. My rooms are for being alone, and for thinking, and for sleeping. Er, and for having fun with James, when we’re in the mood.

  The only mood I’m in right now is a bad one and lying on my back on the bed with my head over the edge of the mattress isn’t making me feel any better. Maybe I need a shower. Or a bath. Now there’s an idea I liked. A nice, hot bath. With bubbles. And candles.

  I don’t have any candles, but I’ve got the bubbles.

  Stripping out of my pants and my shirt and my socks, I step into the bathroom in just my underwear, Jess’s unicorn necklace bouncing against my chest. I find that I’m humming and realize that just the prospect of a bath is enough to make me feel better. Should’ve thought of it sooner. It’s the simple things in life that do a girl good. I need to figure this thing out with Jasmine. I need to find her, actually. I still haven’t called James, either. All of that was going to wait because for the next thirty to forty minutes, I was going to be soaking in a tub full of bliss.

  Might even take an hour and do it right.

  In the mirror, I’m smiling. The dark spots of the bruises around my neck don’t even bring me down. I wonder if I should put my hair up. Up, down, up, down... I decide to leave it down. One less thing to worry over.

  The bath oils are under the sink. Lavender? No. Not this time. Vanilla. Yes.

  When I stand up again, there’s words scrawled across the mirror.

  The shock makes me drop the bottle of scented oil. It lands very badly on my pinky toe.

  Ow, ow ow ow…

  The message scrawls from left to right, in a woman’s looping cursive.

  “I told you not to show the note to anyone.” The words are there, and they disappear as I read them. “The next death will be your fault.”

  In the reflection, over my shoulder, there’s a glimpse of hazel eyes staring back at me.

  Then they disappear as well.

  My legs give out, and I sit down hard on the edge of the bathtub in just my panties and bra. I need a moment to catch my breath.

  The ghost of Mabel McGowan has followed me to the Pine Lake Inn.

  Chapter 7

  My bath forgotten, I look all about the room, looking for the ghost of a woman I’ve never met. This goes against everything I know about ghosts. They aren’t supposed to move from one place to another. They’re supposed to be tethered to somewhere that was important to them while they were alive. Like where they lived. Or their gravesite. Or where they worked.

  As far as I knew, Mabel McGowan had no connection to the Pine Lake Inn. Or, for that matter, to me.

  Yet here she was.

  There was no mistaking that handwriting. I recognized those eyes from before. There was no doubt that it was her. Now she was here, blaming me for the disappearance of her dead husband’s note. One more ghost in an Inn full up to the rafters with spirits.

  Mister Brewster’s odd question to me just a few moments ago didn’t seem so odd anymore. He’d asked me if we were getting close to capacity. Almost as if he knew before I did that Mabel was taking up residency here. That was silly, of course, because what would Mister Brewster have to do with ghosts?

  A slight headache began forming at the back of my brain as I tried to puzzle that one out and, in the end, I de
cided to let it go. I had more important things to take care of than prying into my guests’ personal lives.

  Like explaining to Mabel McGowan that it wasn’t my fault the note was gone.

  “Mabel?” I ask out loud, hesitating to speak to her. “Um, you know you shouldn’t be here, right?”

  There’s no reply. Just the continued silence and the cold surface of the tub pressed up against the back of my thighs. All of me is a little chilled now, in fact. Goosebumps are stippling my arms. I’m barely dressed, but this cold is something else. This cold is… otherworldly.

  Mabel McGowan is in this room, silently watching me.

  Well, great. If she won’t talk to me except to leave accusing messages in mirrors, then this is going to be a very one-sided relationship. I could maybe get Jess or Lachlan to speak to her, or one of the other spirits, maybe. Jess disappeared on me after our moment downstairs in the kitchen. Lachlan is too unpredictable. Besides. No matter how you cut it, there’s a bit of a language barrier between our world and the spirit world.

  Sort of like trying to speak proper English with a bloke from America. It’s harder than you’d think.

  “Mabel,” I try again, “I didn’t show the note to anyone. Er, I mean, I showed it to Kevin but he’s my son and a cop to boot. We can trust him. He’s a good man.”

  More silence. The mirror is just the room, reflected back at me.

  “Mabel? Listen, I didn’t have anything to do with that note getting stolen. I’ve been trying everything I can to keep it safe. You have to believe me.”

  Now a pair of eyes flash into view, and then a face appears in the mirror. A woman, with severe lines at her temples and the corners of her mouth. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

  Then come the looping, scrolling letters.

  “Stolen?”

  “Er, yeah. The note was stolen. I thought you knew. You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

  “The note is gone?”

  The words burn more fiercely across the glass this time. Small lines of black squirrel in their wake, as if they were burned there by the force of the ghost’s anger.