The Ghostess and Mister Muir

by J. L. Salter

  Lucy already had one heel on a bench and was extending her shapely hamstring when Muir reached the structure, with styling of a century ago, but looked in relatively new condition.

  She clearly noticed his puzzlement. “Refurbished about ten years ago, for the bicentennial I think.”

  “This town is two hundred years old?”

  “It was in 2004. Well, that’s two hundred from its founding.” Her breathing was still rough. “Of course, it’s changed a lot in the past two centuries.”

  “I can imagine.” As he gently rotated his bad ankle, he intently watched her stretches. Lucy was a fine specimen of physical fitness and a pleasure to monitor. When she caught his eyes, he looked away quickly. Should I apologize for noticing beauty?

  “At least your eyeballs are getting a workout.” She smiled slyly.

  Muir felt his face redden, so he changed the subject. “Sorry, I couldn’t keep up. It’s a little embarrassing to be out-walked…”

  “By a woman?”

  He nodded and resumed his dedicated study of her stretching motions.

  “So what happened to your ankle?”

  “Bad sprain.”

  “Exercising?”

  “Considerably less heroic. I just stepped into a pothole in a parking lot.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Doctor in Alexandria said to keep it moving but not to rush things, and it should eventually heal.”

  “Good advice. And after it heals, you’ll probably need to get your wind back.” She paused in mid movement and eyed him like an appraiser. “And your legs back in shape, too, I’m guessing.”

  “Yours are certainly nice…” Muir halted, before he said too much.

  “So you just blurt out whatever you’re thinking, don’t you?”

  “No offense intended.” Actually, Lucy’s legs were much more than nice… they were spectacular.

  “Not offended, just a bit surprised. Most people are more circumspect.” Her eyes followed an antique roadster which made a complete circuit of the square while someone in the backseat took photos.

  “Tourists?”

  “Or spies,” she laughed. “Anyway, I thank you. It’s good to know that some of my diligent exercise is paying off.” She leaned forward and rubbed her calves.

  Muir smiled lamely. “You do a lot of this run-walking?

  “Nearly every day that weather permits.” Lucy pointed skyward. “Need something physical to burn off the stress of teaching four sections of General Science.”

  “Me too… the stress, I mean.”

  “You could come with me, Levi… if you want. And if your ankle can stand it.”

  Pleased to receive the invitation, his default setting still caused him to demur, “I’d only slow you down.”

  “Not as much as you’re thinking. Besides, I could meet you as I near the end of my program.”

  After a noticeable hesitation for his internal debate, Muir asked, “What’s your route?”

  “I start at my house — a duplex actually.” Lucy seemed pleased he had asked. “It’s right next door to the old cemetery.”

  “The one across the river?” He pointed northward.

  “No, that’s the new cemetery, started in about 1950.” She nodded southerly. “The older one — catty-corner to the post office — goes back to the early 1800s.”

  “I’ve hardly seen that part of town yet.”

  “Then you should visit me and I’ll show you.” Gulping as though she wished she’d swallowed some of those words, Lucy resumed her virtual mapping. “South of downtown, near the corner of Bridge Street and Maple.”

  Muir nodded warily. The route seemed more like punishment than exercise, but the destination sounded pleasurable.

  “I’ll point it out when we take our first trot. There’s a really cool funeral parlor across from the cemetery. Refurbished Victorian mansion. Beautiful.”

  Due to his temporary lack of interest in leg exercise, Muir partly tuned out, but he heard enough to comprehend Lucy was inviting him to speed-walk with her the next day, around noon. Pointing to his ankle, he declined with a shrug.

  Lucy finally ceased her post-exercise stretching and rechecked both her watch and pulse. Evidently satisfied, she exhaled noisily and then plopped down on the bench, closer than Muir would have figured, but not too near to be forward.

  He didn’t mind a bit, but began wishing he had a breath mint.

  “So you still don’t know the general backstory of the old haunted hotel?”

  “Haunted? No, nobody’s told me anything.” He pulled her card from his jeans pocket. “Except your vague hint that something was amiss.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty amiss, Levi. The old Majestic has been haunted since about 1914.”

  “Around the time of the first centennial?”

  “No, this started about ten years later.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits, so I doubt there’s any reason to accept haunting phenomena as real.” He flicked her card slowly against the heel of his left palm. “But suppose there were such entities, which ones allegedly haunt the hotel?”

  Lucy leaned closely and studied his eyes. “You’ve spent an entire night in that place and you don’t know?”

  “Spirits are just figments of an overexcited imagination.”

  “Don’t you ever get overexcited?”

  “Not about ghosts.” He felt his cheeks flush again. “So what type of spooky creature is this?”

  “Tell you what.” She paused as if rehearsing the words. “I’ve been wanting to see the inside of that second floor ever since they reopened it a couple of years ago, but the manager won’t let us in.”

  “Us?” She likely meant her boyfriend.

  “Us… the local paranormal chapter.” She peered again into his face to see how much registered. “We research and investigate phenomena… take readings, measure electromagnetic anomalies, and shoot photos and video.”

  “Ghost hunters?”

  “Well we don’t have fancy matching t-shirts, but that’s close enough.” She tamped a wide wrist band against the perspiration on her smooth forehead. “Once the manager found out we were investigators, he refused to let us in.”

  “Why?”

  “Said he was having enough trouble keeping the offices and apartments rented, especially the second floor corner suite.”

  “Northeast corner? That’s where I am.”

  “Awesome.” She grinned. “Anyway, Mr. Coombe said nobody local would take it, or if they did, they didn’t stay. Said he’d have to find some out-of-town sucker…”

  Muir’s head jerked back and his eyebrows arched.

  “Sorry. It came out wrong.”

  “I’m not a sucker just because I don’t believe in spooks.” He looked at her note again and slid the card back into his jeans pocket. “Besides I didn’t know it was supposedly haunted.” After a pause, he added. “That must be what’s in Aunt Martha’s craw.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. My aunt said she won’t visit my apartment at any time for any reason, but offered no explanation.”

  “Everybody local knows the whole story.”

  “Which nobody — including you — has yet provided even in the slightest detail.”

  “I was getting to that. I want to see the insides and you want the history. Show me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” She grinned crookedly.

  “You don’t trust me to show you my place after you reveal your scary tales?”

  “After you hear what I know, Levi, it’s possible you’ll jump in your truck and drive back to wherever in Louisiana.”

  Wonder how serious she is. “Say again?”

  “Just kidding. You being such a skeptic, it’s possible you’ll stick around a few nights. But, to my knowledge, nobody has lasted a full week in that corner suite.” She checked the small window on her watch. “If you’re still here by Labor Day, you will have beaten all the odds.”

  “That’s about,” he close
d his eyes to count, “nine days. I spent nearly that long in a glorified foxhole at 120 degrees half the time. I think I can withstand the horrors of a renovated hotel suite.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean anything personal. I’m just explaining the situation here.” She leaned forward again and lowered her voice half an octave. “You asked for the information.”

  “Okay, I understand. But you still haven’t told me anything specific — just that I’m supposed to be terrified.”

  She stood and arched her back as her arms stretched toward the open ceiling of the bandstand. Doing so showed all her curves. “If you’ll indulge me — let me see the interior — I’ll sit down and tell you everything I know. But we have a chance here to get some uncontaminated witness testimony.”

  “Some what?”

  Her stretch ended abruptly. “Uncontaminated. You see, everybody around here knows at least part of the accepted story, so when they observe something, it’s typically what they’ve expected to see. You on the other hand, have no expectations…”

  “And no information yet.”

  “…plus an abundance of skepticism. So whatever you see will be without contamination.”

  He nodded. “Okay, I get it. But I don’t like being stiffed.”

  “I won’t stiff you, I promise.” She pointed south toward the hotel. “Let’s go. The sooner I get inside, the sooner I’ll spill.” She spotted something at her instep and bent way down to correct a shoelace malfunction. As she was in that position, Muir, struck by a sudden impulse, leaned over and sniffed her hair. When she straightened suddenly they collided. “Hey… watch it! What are you doing?”

  “Sorry, I was checking your perfume.”

  “I seldom wear much scent anyway, and certainly don’t have any on now.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Then why were you sniffing?”

  “I smelled some beautiful perfume this morning while I was dressing to meet you. But I can’t place it.”

  Apparently forgetting her indignation, Lucy’s eyes widened. “What was it like?”

  “I could say it reminded me of honeysuckle, but that would give the wrong impression. It’s not that sweet, but it’s as pleasant. This scent has more boldness, more body.” Muir struggled for the right words. “I’ve never actually sniffed a butterfly, but butterflies were what I thought of when I smelled this. I only got a little whiff, but it seemed like a swarm of butterflies had bombed me.”

  “Oh, wow!”

  “Is that a perfume you know?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve heard of that scent.”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Hold your thought. Maybe I’ll catch a sniff when we go inside.”

  Chapter Four

  Lucy headed straight for the Majestic’s main entrance until Muir steered her to the left. She started to pull back, but instead stopped in her tracks. “What?”

  “One more thing before we go inside. I wanted your help to figure out where the reflection came from.”

  “What reflection?”

  “The one I saw last night coming back from supper.” Cupping her elbow, Muir led her around the corner, down Orchard approximately eighty feet, and looked around to get his bearings. “I was standing about here, looking up at the room.”

  She followed the line of his gaze to the northeast corner of the Majestic.

  “I first noticed the window was so unusual.”

  “Looks the same as the others to me.”

  He seemed puzzled. “Don’t know. From up there it seemed just like the rest of them, but last night from down here it was different.”

  “How did it differ?” Lucy squinted as she shielded her eyes with both hands.

  “I can’t really describe it.”

  “Could you sketch it?”

  “It wouldn’t look right, but I could try.”

  “We’ll do that first thing, after we get inside.” This was the closest she’d ever been.

  “Maybe it was the reflection, or whatever, that bounced the image of the lady.”

  Lucy turned suddenly and clutched his upper arm, feeling the tightness of his bicep. “What lady? Where?”

  Muir pointed again to the corner of the second floor.

  “Which room was she in?” Goose bumps prickled her skin.

  “My bedroom has the second window, so whoever I saw was looking out the living room window.”

  Lucy’s grip intensified. “My friend Anna said she saw a lady in that window too.”

  “Some previous tenant?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get upstairs.” She released her grip on his arm.

  “Well, that sitting room, or whatever you call it, is furnished in a completely different style than any of the other spaces.”

  “What era?” Lucy was itching to say it herself, but didn’t want to contaminate his testimony. She’d read an entire article about the parlor décor. Sparing no expense, the original dwellers had furnished the entire suite in the manner prescribed by Elsie de Wolfe

  , one of the first American female interior designers. Ms. de Wolfe found Victorian styling too cluttered and oppressive and instead emphasized space planning, practicality, comfort, color, and light designs. Lucy recalled there was a six-panel chinoiserie screen, a convertible davenport in a muted floral design against rich curved mahogany, and a delicate wooden serving table, with fold up wings featuring handle slots. A luxurious Oriental rug appeared in several photos and somewhere in the original apartment was a grand period fireplace. “What era, Levi?”

  Muir shrugged. “Not sure. I just sense it’s about a hundred years old or so. All the furnishings in that corner room.”

  “Wow.” She wiggled her fingers as though she was deciding which piece of delicious chocolate to sample. “Now tell me more about the lady you spotted.”

  “Well, she was in an old costume and totally gorgeous. But all I could figure was it had to be a reflection from one of these other windows.” He pointed as his upper body turned. “It was after seven and the sunlight would’ve been coming from the other side of the building, so I thought maybe it bounced off one of those windows and beamed the image into this one.”

  Lucy eyed him carefully and then shook her head. “You English teachers have no head for science.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The setting sun could indeed reflect light off those other windows and you might easily experience a glare. But it’s not like a projector… you wouldn’t see any images bouncing off those windows into your parlor.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Cross my heart.” When she pantomimed an X over her own bosom, one fingertip snagged on the front of her sports bra; she realized Muir had noticed because he quickly averted his eyes.

  A short silence followed before he resumed his queries. “So where did that image of the elegant lady come from?”

  Lucy took one more scan of all the other second story windows which could have a view of his corner apartment and then administered one brief pat on Muir’s firm chest. “I think you already know the answer, but your brain won’t let you recognize it yet. Let’s go inside and I’ll fill you in.”

  Finally, after four long years, Lucy was about to enter the old Majestic’s haunted second floor. She felt a thousand goose pimples as Muir inserted his master key into the front door — evidently always locked on weekends — and she gasped at the luxurious grand staircase and its restored surroundings. “Gosh, this is beautiful. I’ve only seen photos.”

  “Well, come on upstairs and you’ll get the deluxe ten cent tour.” He climbed the steps as quickly as his ankle allowed.

  Lucy took each riser slowly and absorbed features around her with alert senses — sight, hearing, smell, and touch — as she moved. Along the ornate wooden banister, her fingertips trailed lightly but thoroughly enough that she detected occasional burrs and nicks. The carpet was likely new, but had the authentic pattern and texture of its vintage surroundings. Each landing featured a p
laster statue on a marble pedestal — evidently the original statues were too valuable to remain in this setting. Covering the walls were rich dark linen with subdued floral designs.

  By the time she traversed the long hallway and caught up with Muir, he stood in his open doorway and handed Lucy a hurried sketch of the window he’d seen the previous evening.

  “This looks like leaded glass at the top.” She studied the drawing more closely and squinted toward the north-facing window visible from the doorway. “That’s nothing like all these others. I think I recall hearing they replaced all the old ones when this floor was renovated.” She folded the page and tucked it into the elastic waistband of her tight jogging shorts. “Let me hold on to this. I know who has some old photos of the Majestic when it was basically in original condition, shortly before they added the third floor.”

  “Okay, but let me see those pictures too.”

  “Sure. It’s a date. We can go after school one day this coming week.” As Muir took off his shoes and wiggled his toes into the lush rug, Lucy toured the suite, beginning with the hundred-year-old furnishings of the parlor. “Wow, this part is just like the photos I’ve seen.” Her fingers trailed over the mantel, the davenport and one of the twin upholstered chairs. She even flipped down one of the wings of the serving table. “Cool. Always wanted one of these.” She straightened and pointed toward the northeast corner. “What’s behind that screen?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged as he removed the wrap from his ankle. “But there are marks in the carpet back there and over by the fireplace which suggest something was there, and likely for a long time.”

  “Wonder what.” Bent double to examine the two indentations, Lucy straightened and realized Muir had been watching her intently. She decided not to say anything.

  “Nothing special in the kitchen or bathroom. Looks like all those fixtures were added much later.”

  “I think you’re right. I recall an article about the renovations. A hundred years ago, this suite was larger. Not sure when they chopped off whatever was over there,” she pointed west, “but that’s probably when they added the kitchen. Maybe this bathroom, too. The archives will have a copy of that story and likely more.” Lucy’s stomach fluttered as though she were attending her first dance. “Sure wish I’d brought some instruments to take a few readings…or at least some digital video. My buddies won’t believe I’ve actually seen this interior.”