Holly and Delilah entered the hotel from the garage, so she didn’t see Meredith before they rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. She’d been glad when Delilah got off with her to help carry her new clothes and shoes, and to see what else she might need in her new room - it meant that she wouldn’t be alone if Arthur Meeks was around. But he wasn’t. Delilah looked through her kitchen cupboards and refrigerator, nodding and hmm-ing approval of the groceries Meredith had stocked. When Delilah left, Holly watched through the peephole and saw her grandmother let herself into Cherry’s room. She only stayed a couple minutes before heading upstairs, looking irritated.
But Holly couldn’t help smiling as she turned to look at all the bags and boxes. It was better than any Christmas she’d ever had.
18
Unwanted Memories
Ben Gower sat in the pharmacy office sipping a root beer float for the first time in years. The bubbles tickled his old nose and bit his tongue, the same way they had when he was a boy. Heavenly, he thought.
“Mr. Gower?” Eddie Fortune stuck his head through the doorway. “Do you want me to close up?”
“Yes, Eddie.” He handed him the keys. “Make sure you check the rear door, too, would you?”
“Sure will, Mr. G.” Eddie grinned. “How’s the float?”
“Absolutely perfect, thanks, son.”
“Who was that lady with the little girl? She looked familiar.”
“She ought to. She was one of the biggest movie stars of all time in the thirties and forties.” He chuckled. Have you seen Violet Morne? That’s her most famous movie.”
“That’s her?” Eddie’s tongue nearly fell out of his mouth. “I love that movie!”
“Delilah Devine,” Ben smiled.
“I wonder why she lives here.”
“She was born here, my boy. I knew her when she was knee-high to a footstool. Cute little thing with dark curls. She inherited the Brimstone Grand a few years ago. Her granddaddy, Henry Hank Barrow, owned the property originally. He was the chief honcho when it was a hospital, you know.”
“A doctor?”
“No, he was the administrator. He told the doctors what they could do and how much they could spend.”
“Holy crap, really? My cousin Steve is the night manager there. He didn’t tell me he works for her! I’m going to ask him about it.” Eddie paused. “But why would somebody like Delilah Devine want to come back to this podunk town?”
“Well, this is a pretty nice place to retire to, son. Quiet, friendly.”
“But there’s nothing to do here. I’m going to explore the world someday.”
“I’ll just bet you are, Eddie. But finish your education first.”
The boy grinned. “I’m going to go to UC Santo Verde in California. My uncle’s a professor there and he says he’ll pull some strings if necessary, but I don’t think he’ll have to; I get good grades. And college will keep me out of ‘Nam if that nonsense is still going on.”
Ben nodded. “You just let me know if you need more study time once school starts and I’ll reduce your hours.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mr. G. I can do both.”
Ben smiled. The boy not only had his whole life ahead of him, he had the brains and fortitude to do whatever he wanted. Right now, the kid was still interested in ghosts, UFOs, coffins banging around in Barbados, and all sorts of crazy stuff, but soon enough, he’d probably become a lawyer or something like that - though Ben secretly hoped he’d keep his crazy interests and become a novelist or a reporter. He cleared his throat. “Better get those doors locked before the mayor’s wife comes along and asks me to make her another batch of that crazy herbal mixture for her bursitis.”
“Right away.” Eddie was off like a shot.
Moments later he said goodnight, then took off on his bicycle for his home on the east side of town. Ben, who lived just a flight of stairs above the drug store, slipped on a light jacket - though Brimstone summers were hot, it tended to cool down once the sun set. In his younger days, Ben loved the cold nights, but now the chill made his bones ache. It was hell getting old, he thought, but it’s also hell being young.
He walked up the street to the Wet Whistle. Inside, he inhaled beer and tobacco smoke, but not too much of the latter. Most of the regulars were old farts who had cut back on tobacco - many had worked the mines and just didn’t have the lungs for it anymore. Ben was lucky he’d inherited the drugstore from his dad - otherwise, he might have toiled down there too.
“Ben, how they hanging?” That was Richie Shaw. He only had one good eye, but it was sharp.
“Hanging fine, Richie. Just fine.” He bellied up to the bar.
“What’ll it be?” Bartender Hedison Keller wiped the counter and put a bowl of beer nuts in front of him. “Bud on tap?”
“I’m in the mood for stronger stuff, Heddy. How about a scotch rocks?”
“You got it.” Heddy clinked ice into a glass then poured Johnnie Walker over the cubes. “Hard day?”
“No, pretty good, actually.”
“What’s with the whisky, then?”
“Drowning some old memories.” He sipped. “You know how they pop up when you least expect them?”
“Sure do.”
Ben stared up at the photos above the bar, his eyes finding the old shot of the Clementine Hospital at the top of the hill. The hospital was brand new in the photo; it might not have even held any patients yet. There were a few smaller buildings nearby, most long gone now. Ben hadn’t set foot up there since that day so long ago … A day when the hospital was still fairly new, but had occupants - patients, doctors, nurses.
They were all dead.
He shivered, got a refill, then took his drink over to Richie Shaw’s table, sitting so the photo was out of sight.
Some things were best forgotten.
19
Dining In
Holly ate dinner in the employee breakroom at Devine’s, on the first floor at the hotel’s west end. The food really was divine; employees got to eat leftovers and were even allowed to cook extras pans of food like lasagna and scalloped potatoes. She arrived during the dinner rush, so she had no company, but one of the waitresses, Sandy, brought her butternut squash bisque, slices of turkey, potatoes au gratin and a fresh baked apple tart for dessert. She also brought her a bag full of containers. “Miss Delilah said you might like having some food for your own refrigerator.”
After thanking Sandy, Holly settled at the table and began reading The Haunting of Hill House, a heavy salt shaker holding the paperback open beside her plate. She savored the words as much as the food. “Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within ...”
She wondered if the Brimstone Grand, standing alone against its own hills, was equally insane. She hoped so.
“Well, hello there, little lady.”
Crap. Meeks the bellhop sat down directly across from her. She gave him the barest of glances, glad to see his eye was still bloodshot.
“It’s nice to have some company at dinner tonight.” The man picked up his fork.
He had to know she was the one who sprayed his eye, so the fact he talked to her like nothing had happened gave her a major case of the creeps. She forked the last bite of turkey into her mouth and swallowed. “I’m done.”
“Too full for your dessert?” Meeks eyed the apple tart. “Or are you watching your figure?”
She wrapped the treat in a napkin and placed it in the bag Sandy gave her to take upstairs. “I’m saving it for later.”
“Miss Devine, you’re as standoffish as your grandmother, did you know that?” He gave her a smile that made her skin crawl. Instead of his bellboy uniform, he wore a rust-red button-down shirt that looked freshly pressed, but it didn’t help - he was still ugly. Without his uniform cap, light reflected off his colorless hair. His lips were too red for a man, livery and thick under that giant nose, and his eyes were the color of dishwater. He was repulsive.
“Miss Tremayne.” Rising, she scooped up her book.
His tray held a slice of turkey and a small scoop of potatoes in addition to a huge bowl of vanilla pudding. He began spooning white glop into his mouth. “What are you reading, Miss Devine?”
She could see the pudding behind his liver-lips, oozing over his stumpy little teeth like a bunch of popped pimples. She looked away. “A book.”
“I like books. What are you reading?”
She held the book up so he could see the title, then placed it in her bag of leftovers, preparing to leave.
“That’s a scary book for a little girl to read.”
She didn’t reply.
“Did you know the hotel is haunted?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a ghost on the fourth floor that rattles door knobs. Does that scare you?”
“Nope.”
He pointed at his bloodshot eye. “What if I told you a ghost did this to me?”
“I wouldn’t believe you.” Why would he even say that?
“Why not?” His smile was so wide it looked like he was about to unhinge his jaw.
He was messing with her, but she couldn’t figure out why, so she didn’t answer him, just gathered up her bag and turned toward the door.
“Do you know what kind of movies your mother makes?”
It stopped her cold and made her stomach clench.
“Miss Devine?” he asked. “Have you seen your mother’s movies?”
She turned and looked him in the eye. “No. I like books.”
“You should watch one of her movies. You’d learn a lot.” He looked her up and down. “It’s a shame. You have just what it takes to follow in your mother’s footsteps.” His eyes did another slow crawl over her body.
“You better leave me alone.” As she spoke, she thought it, hard. Leave me alone!
He hesitated, looked flustered, but only for an instant. “You have some crazy eyes, little girl. Did you know that?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Why? Don’t you want to be friendly?”
“No.” She turned and crossed the threshold, then without looking back, said, “You leave me alone or I’ll put out your other eye.” Her posture straight and tall, she left, his soft laughter trailing behind her.
20
The Page of Wands
The setting sun cast reddish-gold light through the penthouse windows as Delilah spread tarot cards in a Celtic cross. She’d represented Holly with the Page of Wands, but as she dealt the hand, she grew alarmed. At the heart of the matter was the Devil - bad influences. That had to be Charlotte. The Page was crossed by the Fool - innocence and new beginnings. Delilah wasn’t sure she liked where this was headed. The cards were encouraging her to allow the girl to stay here, escape those bad influences and start a new life. To stay for a little while was one thing, but...
No. I can’t allow her to stay indefinitely. I don’t need such problems.
Then her subconscious betrayed her.
You were given a new life.
Ignoring the thought, she continued the reading. The basis of the matter of her granddaughter was represented by Temperance reversed. And no wonder; Charlotte had always been excessive and unbalanced. The girl had grown up in her shadow. Had she inherited her ways? At the very least, she must have been influenced by them.
The recent past was the Hermit reversed. Holly had been lonely and isolated. No surprise there. She started to move to the next card, then paused, staring at the Hermit, who shone a light into a dark cave. A flash of memory - sifting dirt - startled her, but it was gone in an instant and she turned the near future card: Death. The image always alarmed Delilah even though she knew it wasn’t literal; it spoke of change, of metamorphosis, and surely, that was what Holly was experiencing here in Brimstone. Given her circumstances, it could only be a good thing. Aunt Beatrice Lane, who had given Delilah a second chance, loomed large in her thoughts. But I will not … I cannot make that girl my responsibility. It’s not the same thing.
But it was.
Again, Delilah shrugged off the thought, and turned the crowning card. It represented Holly’s conscious influences and goals. The Sun. There was no better card. The girl desired happiness and success. A very good omen, indeed.
The following card was the Moon, which suggested that Holly’s intuition was important, but that she was full of imagination. The next represented how others responded to her and when Delilah turned it, what she saw vexed her: The Hierophant, reversed. Rebelliousness. Perhaps even subterfuge.
Holly’s hopes and fears were represented by Justice - clarity and truth. That backed up the spread’s other cards - thus far, Holly was basically a good, honest, child despite her upbringing and rebellious nature.
But as Delilah turned the final card to reveal the likely outcome, her fingers trembled. The Magician, reversed. Trickery and illusion. The card, as always, touched a deep fear in Delilah, one she understood no more now than she had as a child. Danger.
The combination of cards spoke of danger as well, and with a shiver, she swept her hand over them, swirling and scattering their message.
When she’d turned twelve, Aunt Beatrice taught her to read the tarot. As a girl, it had felt like a game to her, especially since Aunt Beatrice’s Spiritualist bent had seemed over-the-top. Delilah had never believed that spirits spoke through the cards, but she had come to understand that they were keys that unlocked her own unconscious thoughts. There definitely was something to the cards.
Beatrice had become her legal guardian when she was barely seven and from her first day in the grand townhouse in Boston, she’d felt like she was Alice down the rabbit hole. Even as she’d grieved for Carrie, she took joy in her new life. Aunt Beatrice might have been a little wacky with her séances and Spiritualist circles, her tarot cards and tea leaves, but she was kind to Delilah and saw to it that she received the best of everything - clothes, music lessons, and schooling. They summered in Europe.
Delilah gathered up the tarot deck, wrapped it in purple silk, and slipped it into a narrow drawer in the writing table. She’d taken to Boston as if she’d been born there and she had loved Beatrice - she’d been a far more loving guardian than Bill Delacorte.
Delilah never missed her father but she missed the town itself; she had few memories of either. She rose and opened the glass balcony doors. Stepping out, she peered down at the twilit town. It had been little more than a mining camp when she’d left, dusty, dirty, and smelling of sulfur. It was still a dusty place, but the acrid yellow fog had disappeared when the last mine closed in the late thirties.
Enjoying the cool evening breeze, Delilah saw golden light already twinkling in the windows of houses and businesses, and headlights moving along Main Street. She heard the call of an owl, the howl of a coyote. What would I have been if I hadn’t gone to live with Aunt Beatrice? Certainly not an actress, certainly not a lot of things. If she’d stayed, she probably would have become a simple housewife like her cousin Adeline. Perish the thought! It would have killed me!
What might Holly become if she goes back to Los Angeles with her mother? A porn star? The girl showed no sign of that now - nor did the cards indicate such a fate - but soon enough her hormones would kick in, and then there was no telling. She might take after her mother. Or after Carrie. Or even after Adeline.
She dwelled on Adeline now. The very name angered her. Delilah was only six when Carrie died, but she remembered Adeline, just standing there - standing where? - doing nothing. What was she supposed to be doing? As always, confusion fogged her memory.
She recalled her sister and Adeline before that, laughing, talking, best friends, thick as thieves. How could she just stand there while Carrie died? Though Delilah’s few memories of that day were blurred and jumbled, she knew Adeline had somehow failed Carrie. And me.
But whatever happened that day was lost to her. All she knew was that somehow, Adeline was the reason Carrie was dead. And why am I thinking about this
now?
Delilah sighed. Why, indeed? Holly was the obvious reason. The girl reminded her so much of Carrie - younger, of course, but it was all there. Since her first audience with the child, she’d been fascinated, even drawn to her, because of it.
She didn’t want to be; what she wanted was to have Charlotte and her child out of her hair as quickly as possible. But Holly … Delilah glanced at the writing desk, thinking of the tarot reading. It hadn’t told her much except that it was dangerous to have the girl here - dangerous for Holly - and for Delilah. The cards did not explain. But Delilah, especially after spending the hours in Sedona with her, almost felt as if Holly were Carrie incarnate. That feeling, in itself, was dangerous. And delusional.
Carrie Delacorte had died too young. At sixteen, she’d still been a tomboy, given to dressing in men’s trousers and hiking and exploring, more interested in collecting rocks than beaus. Their mother, Myrtle, had died when Delilah was only three; she barely remembered her at all, except for the stories Carrie told about how she saw to it both her daughters wore nice dresses and shoes, and always had their hair combed. After Myrtle died, their father, Bill Delacorte, tried to make Carrie dress like a lady and take care of Delilah and the house - even though they could easily have afforded servants. She had to do the cooking, the cleaning, all of it. And even at age six, Delilah knew Carrie didn’t like their father much.
And she didn’t like Henry Hank Barrow, their grandfather, at all.
“He’s a bad man, Delilah. A very bad man. You stay away from him, you hear?”
Delilah gasped. She’d heard Carrie’s voice as clearly as if her sister had been standing behind her. Gripping the wrought iron railing, she realized that what she thought she heard was actually a real memory, a true memory, undoubtedly sparked by Holly’s presence. Details followed - joy at seeing Carrie come through a door; running into her big sister’s arms. There were tears on Carrie’s cheeks as she hugged Delilah close. What’s wrong, Carrie? she’d asked. Her sister, in a long pink dress that was freshly ripped at the bodice, hadn’t answered, but knelt down and took her hands, staring fiercely into her eyes with her own brilliant blue ones. Delilah’s gaze fixed on the golden fleck. It was pulsing. “He’s a bad man, Delilah. A very bad man.”
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