Be My Ghost

by Carol J. Perry

  “Okay, Ms. Doherty, and I’ll start thinking about tomorrow’s.”

  Chapter 25

  It didn’t take Maureen long to pull together the components of the poster she’d visualized. Bartlett’s of Boston had featured a top-floor restaurant and a first-floor food market. She still had computer access to print advertising archives for both venues. Photos of pot roast dinners were readily available. The same was true of apple pie and ice cream. Large type proclaimed: TONIGHT’S DINNER SPECIAL AT THE HAVEN HOUSE INN FROM 6 TO 9 P.M.! Menu description, price, time, address, and phone number for reservations completed the text. She added a few artwork pumpkins and witches and printed out two dozen eleven-by-seventeen copies, then e-mailed one to the Chamber of Commerce with a request that they share it with their membership.

  “Post these around town,” she instructed George and Sam. “Some of the shop owners might agree to put them in their show windows. Otherwise tack them to telephone poles, message boards, wherever you think they’ll get noticed. And,” she added, “be sure to put one at the Quic-Shop.” She framed a poster for display on an easel in front of the dining room and prepared smaller versions of the menu for each table.

  “When you said ‘last-minute’ you weren’t kidding. We’ve just finished cleaning up after lunch.” Elizabeth picked up one of the table menus. “You really think these will pull people in on such short notice?”

  “Worth a try,” Maureen said. “As far as ‘dinner out’ goes in Haven, except for the hot dog stand down near the beach, we’re the only game in town. Otherwise, people head for St. Pete. I’m thinking we could do a special every night. Why not?”

  Elizabeth tossed the paper onto the table. “I guess I won’t need any extra serving help for tonight anyway. You’ll have to talk to Ted about any future specials.”

  “He’s already on it,” Maureen said. “I’ll check with you on whatever we come up with. I’m going to take Finn out for a quick walk. We’ll see how George and Sam are doing with sharing our posters around Haven.”

  “Sure. Good luck with that,” Elizabeth said, “and I’m going to need George back pretty soon to do some shopping for tomorrow’s breakfast. We’re almost out of bacon and English muffins.”

  Unbelievable, Maureen thought. There should be plenty of both in the freezer.

  “Let’s schedule a meeting tomorrow morning to set up a better grocery-buying system,” she suggested, “so that we don’t run out of basics.”

  “I’ll try to fit it in,” Elizabeth said. “Wait a minute. I’ll get your package. It’s right here in the tablecloth cabinet. You said it was nothing important.”

  “That’s right,” Maureen agreed, accepting the bag, which had clearly been opened, its tissue paper inner wrapping sticking out from the top. “Thank you.”

  As soon as she stepped out of the elevator on the third floor, she heard Finn’s welcoming “woofs.” She hurried toward the door. “Poor dog,” she said aloud, “I’m coming. Sorry I stayed away so long.”

  “Woof woof,” came the reply. When Maureen pulled the door open she was greeted by Finn and both cats. Finn, with happy leaps and rug rolls, the cats with purr-full figure eights around her ankles. She put the paper bag on the floor, responding to the remarkable display of affection with pats and rubs and loving words. “Thank you, guys,” she said. “I love you too, but I wonder what brought on such a demonstration.”

  “I told them you might be having a bad day.” Lorna’s voice preceded her appearance this time. She popped into view barefoot, wearing a sarong, blond bob disguised with a sleek, long-haired black wig, “We wanted to make you feel better about that cop finding the poison in the bathroom.”

  “It worked,” Maureen said. “I do feel better about that. I have a lawyer working on it and I think I’m making some progress in my plans to make this old place pay for itself.” She moved closer to Lorna, inspecting the sarong and wig. “This is a different look for you.” She realized, as she spoke, that this sounded like a normal conversation between girlfriends. I’m talking fashion with a dead movie star who haunts the inn that was left to me by a woman I never heard of, she thought. Is this my new normal?

  Lorna twirled. “I know. I thought you’d get a kick out of it. The New Adventures of Tarzan. Nineteen thirty-five. I played an island girl. We made it in Guatemala.” She tapped a Guatemala sticker on the nearby trunk. “It was a twelve-part serial movie. This outfit’s in there.”

  “I like hearing about your movie career,” Maureen said. “And look, I bought something for you.” She picked up the bag. “Shall I unwrap it for you?”

  “Yes, please.” Lorna held up her hands. “I don’t want to mess up my nails. Actually, I’m not too good at picking things up. I kind of envy those kid ghosts who can throw things around.”

  “Poltergeists.” Maureen smiled. “I’m glad you don’t do that. Here. I found a new bell for you.” She placed it on the desk.

  Lorna did the hand-clapping move she did so well. “It’s so pretty. First present I’ve had in years.” She pointed a tentative finger and gently touched the push button at the top of the bell. The resulting ding brought a big smile. “Thanks, Maureen. I’ll enjoy ringing it.” She sat on the floor beside Finn. “Now tell us about your plans for the inn.” The gray cat looked from Maureen to Lorna, then walked through Lorna and climbed onto the cat tower. Bogie took a seat on the windowsill, looking out at the oak tree. “I guess the cats aren’t interested, but Finn and I are, aren’t we, Finn?”

  Finn gave an enthusiastic “woof.”

  “Plans aren’t really formed yet.” Maureen sat on the blue couch. “I mean they’re just scattered thoughts—like I might do this, I might do that. You see, time is short before Ms. Gray’s money runs out. I have to figure out how to make the inn pay for itself or I’m afraid I’ll have to sell it. And I guess you know what that means.”

  “No. What exactly does that mean?” Lorna asked.

  “My lawyer says it means a ‘teardown.’ It means the land the inn is on is worth more than the inn itself. He says it might be condos or even a fast-food place. I’d hate to see that happen.”

  Lorna wrapped her arms around Finn’s neck. “They’d tear it down? Where would we go? Me and Billy and all the rest?”

  “I don’t know,” Maureen said. “You seem to travel quite a lot. Could you go to Hollywood or maybe wherever you were born? I don’t know how that works.”

  “It’s true some of us travel around, but we each have a ‘home place.’ This place, this old inn, is my home place as much as the closet in suite twenty-seven is that guy’s home place. Do you get it? Like the Babe and the vice president and Joe DiMaggio visit here, but they all have home places too.” Lorna looked as if she might cry. “I don’t want my home place to be a Burger King!”

  “Joe DiMaggio comes here?” Maureen said. “You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t? Yeah, he shows up every once in a while. Sometimes Marilyn comes with him.”

  “Marilyn? Marilyn Monroe?”

  “Sure. They were here together back in nineteen sixty-one. All lovey-dovey. I remember. Ms. Gray even had a picture taken with them. It’s in her album with all the others.”

  “All what others? I haven’t seen any album.”

  “The movie stars. The famous people. She loved having her picture taken with them. But let’s get back to talking about how you’re going to save this place, please.” Lorna sat beside Maureen on the blue couch, tossing long black hair over one shoulder. “You really do have to save this place. For me and the others.”

  “Those pictures might help a lot. Remember I told you my idea about figuring out which room Babe Ruth slept in, so we could call it the ‘Babe Ruth Suite’? What if we could put a picture of the Babe with Ms. Gray in there? That would be a great sales tool.” Maureen was excited. “Where did she keep the album? I can hardly wait to see it.”

  Lorna shook her head. “I haven’t seen it since Ms. Gray died, now that you mention
it. And there hasn’t been anybody famous staying here for years. Last one I remember who was sort of famous was Buffalo Bob Smith. He stayed here back in the late nineteen-nineties. He even brought that little puppet with him. Howdy Doody. He was signing autographs at a collectibles show over in St. Petersburg.”

  “Do you think Elizabeth might know where the album is?”

  “Maybe. She isn’t too interested in historical stuff, if you know what I mean. She likes new things better.”

  Like white wicker furniture and neon signs and plastic pumpkins, Maureen thought. “I’ll go downstairs and ask her,” she said. “Come on, Finn, time for a walk.”

  The two hurried down the two flights to the first floor. Elizabeth was at the reception desk, the old-fashioned black telephone to one ear. She put a hand over the receiver and whispered, “We’ve started getting some reservations for tonight already. I sent Sam to the store to get another roast and some vegetables. Molly’s out in the kitchen making more apple-raisin pies.”

  “Great,” Maureen said, while thinking, Sam’s probably shopping at the Quic-Shop and paying double-retail. We’ll stop that foolishness tomorrow. She sat in one of the wicker chairs, waiting for Elizabeth to finish the phone call.

  “Yes. Thank you,” Elizabeth said to the caller. “We’ll see you tonight. Six o’clock.” She hung up, made a note in the open reservation book, and walked around the desk. “Did you need to see me, Maureen? As you can tell, I’m pretty busy. All this extra work, you know.” The woman didn’t bother to disguise an annoyed glare aimed at Finn.

  “It’ll just take a minute, Elizabeth. I understand that Ms. Gray kept a photo album with pictures of famous guests. I’d like to take a look at it. Do you happen to know where it is?”

  “Lord, no. When Penelope died we had to drop everything and rush fix up the suite and the office for you. I told Gert to move the old woman’s personal stuff to someplace else.” Elizabeth closed the reservation book just as the telephone rang again. “I’m busy, Maureen. Ask Gert.”

  “I will.” Maureen pointed to the phone. “Better get that. Probably another reservation for tonight.” With a quick tug on Finn’s leash, she headed for the front porch. Gert was there, in her usual rocking chair. George was there too, apparently back from his last-minute run for overpriced breakfast food.

  “Hey, you two.” Maureen sat in the chair usually reserved for Molly, confident that pie making topped porch rocking, financially speaking. “I’m glad you’re both here. Thanks, George, for getting those posters out so quickly. I have another request. Would you get together with Mr. Crenshaw down at the thrift store? He’s offered to take a look at Penelope’s hoard and to give us an estimate of what it’s worth.”

  “Can do, Ms. Doherty. All the shop owners liked those posters.” George scratched the back of Finn’s neck. “I guess they figure after people tie on the old feedbag, they’ll want to walk off the calories shopping.”

  “Let’s hope so. Gert, I have a question for you.”

  George patted Gert’s knee. “Now Gertie here, she loves answering questions. Even if she doesn’t know the answer, she’ll make one up for you. Right, Gertie?”

  “Shut up, Georgie.” Gert stopped rocking and focused bright eyes on Maureen. “What do you want to know, honey?”

  “I’m looking for a photo album that belonged to Ms. Gray. It’s supposed to have pictures in it of famous people who’ve stayed here over the years.”

  Gert bobbed her head up and down a couple of times. “Yep, seems to me I remember seeing a book like that around this old place somewhere.” She folded her arms, leaning back in the chair, resumed rocking, watching Maureen’s face.

  “Do you think you could find it? It’s kind of important.”

  Gert was silent, rocking, watching.

  George interrupted, stage-whispering behind one hand, “She needs to know if you’re willing to make it worth her while to remember.”

  “Oh, of course.” Maureen reached for her wallet. Gert had seemed happy with the tip she’d been given for the good job she’d done on the apartment. Another twenty dollars added to that amount ought to make her even happier. Maureen folded the bills and pressed them into Gert’s promptly outstretched hand.

  Gert smiled, tucked the money into her ample bosom. “It’s coming back to me now, dearie. There are a couple of those big black albums. Says ‘Photos’ in gold on the front of each one. Pictures of Ms. Gray with some old-time movie stars, ballplayers. Those the ones you’re looking for?”

  “Exactly.” Maureen couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Those are the ones. Can you find them for me?”

  “Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I could,” she said. “I put them in that fancy new office of yours. Suite twenty-seven.”

  Chapter 26

  As she and Finn set out for their walk, Maureen was excited about the prospect of using the “famous visitors slept here” feature—complete with framed photos in the room—to promote the Haven House Inn. Gert, one of the very few people who’d dared venture into suite twenty-seven, had apparently added the black photo albums to the pile with similarly colored and shaped books—the guest registers—on the top shelf of the infamous bedroom closet.

  With Nora Nathan looking into the medicine bottle problem—fortunately on retainer, courtesy of Maureen’s late benefactor—and the first “dinner special” promotion already in the works, she dared to feel that she’d regained a bit of her missing self-confidence.

  “We can do this, Finn,” she told the golden as they passed by one of her posters, prominently displayed among T-shirts and beach bags, bathing suits and flip-flops, in the window of BeachyKeen Gifts. “Building up the dining room business is just the beginning. No reason we couldn’t have a gift shop like this one on the premises—better than this one. I have ten years’ experience in retail sales, for Pete’s sake.”

  Finn’s “woof” was unmistakably positive. “You’re right. There’s no end to what we can do with the old place.” Maureen broke into a jog. “And there’s no reason we’ll ever need to depend on ghost hunters—or ghosts—to fill our rooms or our rocking chairs. I can hardly wait to get started. As soon as we get back, we’re going up to my office and grab those photo albums, okay?”

  Not waiting for an answering “woof,” she thought about her recent tentative butternut-squash-soup-induced plans to invest her five-thousand-dollar bonus in new light-colored draperies for the dining room. “And we’re going to redo the dining room too, okay?”

  “Woof woof,” Finn agreed. They’d reached the casino and she turned left, toward the Long Pier and the long-ago restaurant where Ted the bartender’s mother had taught him to fry fresh-caught fish. “And another thing, Finn,” she said. “I think tomorrow’s dinner special might be ‘fresh-caught native Gulf fish, fried or broiled, with sweet potato fries and Elizabeth’s green goddess salad, and jack-o’-lantern frosted shortbread cookies and orange sherbet’ for dessert.”

  She checked her watch. It was too late to contact one of the local restaurant wholesale suppliers to arrange for a delivery. Tomorrow morning for sure. If Ted was still around tonight she’d get with him to figure out quantities. She broke into a jog. “Let’s hurry, Finn,” she said. “I can hardly wait to get into those photo albums, and while I’m there I can grab some of those old Halloween decorations to use as centerpieces for the dining room tables.” She didn’t say it out loud, but she was looking forward to a meal-planning session with Ted too. That would have to wait until after the night’s dinner hours. By then they might have a rough idea of quantities of ingredients they’d need.

  When she and Finn reached the inn, both a little out of breath, she led him toward the side door, avoiding the trip across the porch and through the lobby. She hoped, as they made their way past the ice machine and into the rear corridor, that Officer Hubbard hadn’t observed their less obvious choice of entrance. She didn’t want to answer any more questions about her motives.

  She
and Finn used the back staircase up to the second floor and suite twenty-seven. There wasn’t any other activity in the area, and as she unlocked the door and stepped inside the room she rubbed her arms, feeling a chill in the air. There was a thermometer on the heating/cooling element below the largest window. She bent to read it. The air conditioner was set at 78 degrees, though the digital readout said 65. Strange. She turned off the AC and removed Finn’s leash. Shivering, he headed for the kneehole under her desk, while she walked around the row of plastic boxes and went straight for the bedroom closet. This time the closet door was closed.

  She turned the glass knob and the door swung open easily. “So that’s why it was ajar before,” she muttered, noticing the dry cleaner’s bag hanging just inside. “George must have put Penelope Gray ’s Halloween costume in here and then left the door open.” She cast a sidelong glance at the row of boxes. “Dent-free,” she said. “What did I expect?” she scolded herself. “A ghostly butt print?” Impatient now, she stepped inside the closet, reached over her head for the stack of books on the top shelf. She lifted two books from the top of the pile, noted the gold lettering, and put the two guest registers on the floor. These were followed by six more. The pair of photo albums were at the bottom of the pile. Leaving the guest books on the closet floor, and the door open, she carried the albums—almost reverently—to her desk and switched on the gooseneck lamp.

  The albums were the old-fashioned kind, similar to those she’d seen at her own grandmother’s house in Massachusetts. These were bigger than Nana’s had been but had black pages and the photos were held in place with little triangular stick-on corners. Someone, presumably Ms. Gray, had written notes in silver ink under each one. The first page held four deckle-edged black-and-white photos. They each showed three pretty women with beehive hair-dos. Two showed them in beach attire; in another they sat in rockers on the front porch of the inn. The last one showed them posed with a youthful Penelope Gray at one of the round tables in the dining room. The caption at the top of the page read: “The McGuire Sisters.” The McGuire Sisters? Apparently they were famous enough to be recognized by their last name. Maureen tapped it into the computer. They’d been popular singing stars of the 1950s, according to Wikipedia. That established the general time period for album number one.