by D. L. Wood
“Maybe,” Chloe mused, lifting a forkful of creamed spinach to her mouth.
“Although…” Riley let the end of his sentence hang over the table.
“What?” Jack said, his eyes narrowing.
“When I was down in the basement storage today…” Riley let his words drift off again, and several seconds of silence followed.
“Riley?” Chloe asked.
“When I was in there I thought—” He stopped himself and shook his head. “No. You know what? Never mind. I’m being paranoid.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth rose playfully. “You didn’t see a ghost, did you? You’re not telling me you got a visit from Lily Stone.”
Riley snorted, then in the well-known rhythm of the song, muttered, “I ain’t ’fraid of no ghosts.”
Chloe chuckled, but mortified incredulity cemented Jack’s features. “Please tell me you did not just say that.”
“What?”
Jack’s eyes cut to Chloe. “Is it too late to send him back to Miami?”
29
RILEY
Riley stepped softly down the third-floor hallway, his running shoes barely making a sound. The sconces along the walls were dimmed to a low glow, providing just enough light for someone venturing out in the night. So far he hadn’t come across anyone else. At two in the morning, it was unlikely he would.
If he did run into anyone, he would say he couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. His black sweats would back him up on that. They also made it more likely he wouldn’t be spotted if he didn’t want to be.
Maybe I’ll tell anyone who asks that I’m hunting for Lily Stone’s ghost.
Though it wasn’t his final destination, he swung by the gallery exhibit. As far as he could tell, everything looked in order. It was neat, seemed well-organized, and the few hairs he and Jack had borrowed from Chloe and placed strategically throughout—over her piles of papers, across the entryway, and on her chair—were undisturbed. It was an old trick but a good one. They had planted the hairs after dinner. Going by that, it looked like no one had been in there since.
He moved on, taking the back way and servant stairwells he had memorized from the drawing he’d spotted in Deidre’s office when she stepped out for a moment. It wasn’t a map but rather a historical blueprint framed behind glass, so those concealed avenues weren’t exactly secret. But the hotel didn’t advertise them either. Also, as far as he could tell, there were no CCTV cameras in them either. A major oversight on the hotel’s part. He’d be having a chat with Jack’s father about the security arrangements at the resort ASAP.
Right now, though, Riley had other things to worry about.
He went down a narrow set of spiral steps hidden behind a door that looked like regular wall paneling. The stairs led to the kitchen level, and then into the basement below. Spiral stairs weren’t the most practical when it came to moving things up and down from basement storage to the kitchen, but it was fine for a crate or box. The designers in the twenties probably hadn’t anticipated anything more than that. But Riley was a big guy, and even angling himself, his shoulders rubbed against the stairwell frame all the way to the bottom.
He hadn’t wanted to say anything about his suspicions to Chloe and Jack at dinner. Their anniversary getaway had already been marred by so much trouble. And it was possible he was wrong. If he pointed a finger wrongly, someone innocent could get hurt. But if he was right, he might be able to put a stop to the whole mess.
Which was why he was checking it out himself. After what he’d seen that afternoon, someone had to. The uneasy feeling he had experienced earlier in the day percolated in his gut. He shoved it down, hoping more than anything that he was wrong.
The bottom of the stairs ended in one corner of a particular section of the large basement, which served as a storage room for food and supplies. The musty odor permeating the room hit him immediately, as did the natural chill in the underground space, magnified due to the last few days of dropping temperatures. Riley rubbed his arms to generate a little heat.
The dim light from the sconces in the stairwell barely made it into the room, leaving it quite dark, so he pulled out his phone and used the flashlight app on its low setting. He had hoped whatever light was available down there already would be enough. Using the flashlight made the element of surprise impossible. If anyone was down there, they would see him coming.
But would someone be down here? He hoped not. He didn’t often want to be wrong. But this was one of those times. He pressed his back against an open space against the wall and listened. Nothing. Not even his own breathing, which he had reined in to inaudible levels.
The main area of this storage space contained row after row of tall metal shelves. They stored a variety of food items in boxes, bags and cans, and more cases of bottled water than Riley could count. Built-in cabinets against the walls—all labeled—held serving pieces, linens, tableware and such. Boxes of decorations, including the ones he had brought down earlier with Deidre, were kept there too, easily accessed for swapping out over the seasons. But it wasn’t what was in this room that interested him.
He turned his attention to the wall on his far right. It was made of concrete blocks and had three old wooden doors set evenly along it. According to Deidre, each door led to a separate smaller storage area. The last room on the right was the one Riley had come to see.
He pulled on that door’s ancient handle and cringed as it creaked loudly, his heart practically stopping as he froze, waiting for the worst.
But no one jumped out at him. All was quiet and still. He panned the flashlight through the main storage area once more. Nothing.
He turned back to the door and opened it wide enough to step through—
Pain like a crack of lightning erupted in his brain. Disoriented and dizzy, blackness pushing in on the edges of his vision, he turned, and another explosion of pain rocked his skull.
30
CHLOE
“So what’s on your agenda today?” Chloe asked, propped up on one elbow, the down comforter pulled up around her as she snuggled close to Jack just after waking. Weak morning light filtered into their suite through gaps in the curtains, which also allowed a view of the misty fog rolling across the grounds.
“Riley and I are getting together around nine to go over what we’ve got so far. We’ve nearly got a rough outline of the whole book.”
Chloe grinned. “I knew you could do it. When can I see it?”
“Um, when it’s done.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, punching his arm playfully. “I should get a special-screening.”
“You can read it after I get a draft done, okay?”
She groaned and started to roll out of bed, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “How about you stay here this morning? We could order room service.”
She was tempted. “I wish I could, but I’m supposed to be in Albany by nine to meet with Joseph Graves. I need to leave in”—she checked her phone—“oh, wow, half an hour.”
“You’re really driving all the way up there for that?”
“I may be the only person who’s ever sought him out. Maybe he’s got a story to tell. I feel like I should at least try. I’m actually kind of excited about it.” She turned to climb out of bed.
“I’m proud of you, you know.”
Chloe looked back to see his face full of genuine adoration. She felt her forehead wrinkle in consternation and suspected that the line between her eyes was probably showing. “What?”
“I’m proud of you. You’ve jumped into this thing with both feet—not that I’ve ever seen you do anything halfway, mind you—but you’ve really thrown yourself into it. You didn’t have to, but you’ve made a difference here. I know you’re feeling lost, but just like you found this project, I know the next great thing is out there, waiting for you. When the timing is right, it’ll come along. And whether you realize it or not, you’ve significantly helped the family out by pitching in. There wouldn’t be an
exhibit if it weren’t for you. You’re part of why this resort will be a success.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch. They would have had the photos and clothing and all—”
“Maybe. But it would’ve been thrown together, if they got it done at all.”
“Well, it’s my family too now, right? If I can do something to help our family, then I will. Besides, if a little extra effort can pull your father a little further into my corner—”
“Are you kidding?” Jack laughed. “I think he likes you more than he likes me.”
“Then the man has good taste.”
“Just promise me lunch, okay? Get back by noon if you can. I know I’m supposed to be working, but”—he pulled her back again and kissed her—“I miss you.”
She grinned and rolled away from him. “It’s a date.”
As Chloe headed north on New York State Highway 9, the sun was still peeking through the clouds in what promised to be a short break from the on-again-off-again snow. That was another reason Jack had made her promise to get back by lunch. He didn’t want her driving in dicey weather. With a pop music station playing, she rolled along on the scenic two-lane road lined with trees laden with snow and little pockets of quaint villages until reaching the Rip Van Winkle Bridge. There, she crossed over to the west bank of the Hudson—where the river was icier than further to the south where Stonehall Estate was. Forty-five minutes later, she took the exit for the Glenmont area, a suburb south of Albany, where the Briar Haven Assisted Living Facility was located.
The main building was two stories and covered by white plank siding and black shutters. Three-story wings shot off either side of the main section, with windows and balconies running down their lengths, likely the residents’ personal living spaces. The short drive led to a covered entrance supported by boxy columns. Chloe pulled through without stopping, continuing on to the visitor parking area.
Inside, the place was simple but clean. Bone-white walls decorated with brightly-colored impressionistic oil paintings lent the area a cheerful feel, and the streamlined leather seating added a contemporary touch. At the back of the foyer was a circular desk manned by a woman with curly graying hair cropped close to her scalp. Her cream-colored scrubs contrasted handsomely against her dark brown skin. Her name tag read, “Serena.”
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I have an appointment to see Joseph Graves at nine.” Chloe was twenty minutes early, but she hoped she might be allowed to see Mr. Graves now. That way she could get back on the road as soon as possible.
“Of course, I spoke with you yesterday. Joseph will be delighted. He so enjoys visitors.”
Serena took Chloe’s driver’s license, entered the information into the computer, and had her sign the visitor record. “You know, if you’d be inclined to stop in every once in a while, I’m sure he would benefit. Our residents always do better when they have guests.”
A pang of sympathy struck Chloe as she took the visitor badge. “Unfortunately, I don’t live here. I’m only visiting for a couple weeks.”
“That’s too bad,” Serena said, a tiny frown slipping onto her face. “Well, he’s just down that way.” She gestured to the hallway on her right. “You can go on back if you want. I know he’s already back from breakfast. Unit 212.”
“Thank you.” Chloe headed down the hall, eager to hear what secrets Joseph Graves might have to share. It was a short thirty-second walk to Unit 212. She rapped lightly on the door.
“Who is it?” The voice that called out was hoarse, deep, and a little weak.
“Chloe Bartholomew. I arranged to meet with you this morning at nine. I know I’m a little early—”
The door slowly opened. Grasping the handle was a short, very old man with wispy white hair covering a speckled scalp. Thick white eyebrows with hairs poking out in multiple directions crested eyes that, though sunken and heavy-lidded, were crystal blue, bright and curious. He was hunched over from the mid-back, and Chloe realized that he was probably actually much taller than he seemed because of the curvature. Wrinkled, age-spotted hands with blue-veined, nearly translucent fingers waved her inside.
“Hello, hello, young lady. Yes, I remember. Nine o’clock.” He shuffled to the side in his cinched khaki pants, blue button down, and slippers.
“Sorry about the slippers. Feet hurt too much for my shoes in the morning,” he said as she moved past him into the room.
Chloe’s heart melted. He looked like he had made an effort. The clothes hung on him, but they were pressed and tucked.
“You can sit on the couch, if you like,” he said as he shuffled to a charcoal microfiber recliner across from the couch and essentially fell into it, heaving a loud whoosh of air as he did.
Chloe sat and placed her bag beside her. “Mr. Graves—”
“Joe, please.”
She smiled. “Joe. I appreciate you seeing me. I hope I didn’t put you out too much.”
“If getting dressed ever constitutes putting a person out, that fella probably should just go ahead and call it quits, don’t you think?”
Chloe chuckled. “Well, I’m grateful.”
“I’m confused,” he said, his tone wry. His thick caterpillar-like eyebrows squeezed together, forming one long line. “Why are you here? They wouldn’t say yesterday except that you had some questions about an old friend of mine. Didn’t say which one.”
Chloe’s stomach fluttered. There was a lot riding on how she presented this. “I’m here about Stonehall Estate—”
“Oh, not that again!” he bellowed, then coughed, his pale skin reddening. “I thought I was done with this. You’re one of those treasure hunters, aren’t you? I’ve never talked to a one of you, and I’m not starting now. So you just best be on your way.”
He had started to push himself out of his chair by the time Chloe had a chance to squeeze a word in. “No, no. I’m not a treasure hunter. I’m not here for the treasure. I’m here for Lily.”
That stopped him cold. His eyes widened, his brows rising to meet the wisps of hair falling across his forehead. “Which Lily?”
“Lily Stone. Although I have spoken to Lilyanne Caudle,” she quickly added, not wanting to be accused of leaving anything out. “She’s the one who told me how to find you.”
“Cora’s girl? She sent you?”
“She thought you might be able to help me.”
“Help you with what exactly?”
“The estate’s been purchased by a wonderful hotel company that restored it and turned it into a boutique resort.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s smaller than a regular hotel, nicer, and with lots of extras. There are horses and gardens and a spa—”
“Lily always did like the gardens,” he said, his gaze not quite meeting Chloe’s now, but instead focused somewhere else.
“Lily…Stone?”
He nodded, his eyes returning to her.
“You remember her?”
He nodded again. “I do. Even though I was only five when she died, she was the kind of person who sticks with you once you meet them. A firecracker. Full of life.” His voice drifted off, his eyes narrowing. “What does this resort want from me?”
“We want to honor the Stone family. We want to pay tribute to Lily. We’re creating an exhibit, a gallery of sorts, to display vintage pieces from the time when the house was in its prime. But we also want to tell the story of what happened to the family, and we want to tell it well. That means sharing as much detail as we can to make Lily and Cora and the rest of them as real as we can. It also means sharing as much about the events and people involved in her death to thoroughly flesh it out, including the man who committed the robbery. I’m looking into his background and trying to see if there was more to the story than people realized.”
“Will?”
“Yes.” She clocked the first name basis he used, and her instincts fired. “Will Rader.”
“I don’t know how an exhibit like that’s
gonna make her death mean anything.”
“I don’t know either. But even if all we’re doing is marking it for history’s sake, making it more than a footnote, wouldn’t that be worth it? We can let people know what a wonderful, vibrant young woman she was. Someone who loved life and did what she could to make it better for others through her charity work. And though Lily can’t do anything more to help those who need it, maybe we can encourage the guests who view the gallery to pick up where she left off.”
As she said the words, electricity flooded Chloe’s brain, realization striking as if the clouds had parted and she was finally seeing the true purpose in this work for the first time. She had been wondering why she was so fixated on this project. For this. This reason. To make Lily’s death mean something. She hadn’t realized this thought had been simmering in the back of her brain. Now that it was out there, cast into the world, she knew it was right. The ideas began pouring from her, and she was articulating them as much for herself as for Joe.
“We could provide information about the charities she was trying to help, if we can find out what they were. Or what their modern counterparts are. We can take donations and connect guests to the organizations—”
“Her favorite was the orphanage near her home in the city.” His face grew wistful, and his eyes glistened. “I came from there. My mother adopted me. Her husband passed just two weeks later, so I never knew him as a father. Mrs. Stone, Lily’s mother, let us move in with them. She had a heart like Lily’s.”
“Then that’s what we’ll work toward. Bringing awareness to the needs of local and regional orphan programs and foster groups.” She leaned forward and placed a hand on Joe’s. It was cold and trembling. “You know, I’m an orphan too. I wasn’t lucky enough to get adopted. I was in the foster system for years. But my husband’s family—they own the hotel company—will listen when I share this idea. They’ll love it.”