The Michigan wine was delicious, and it helped us forget the turmoil and possibly bad blood between the spa staff and Skeetch.
The dining room atmosphere was beautiful. It felt like the girls' weekend was back on track.
Dolores joined us and made up the foursome at the table.
“Enjoying the Veterra?”
“Yes, so lovely,” Georgianne said.
“Our Chef Courtney does a beautiful job,” Dolores explained. “Skeetch lured her here for us, and she really elevates our dining experience.”
As if summoned, a young woman in a chef’s coat approached our table. She wore her brown hair in a tidy bun. Her name was embroidered on her pocket, which was stuffed with meat thermometers.
“I appreciate your kind words, Ms. Van Keppler. Tonight, we’ll be serving Salmon en Croute.”
“That sounds delicious!” I was hungry after the day’s excitement. The wine helped relax me into forgetting the momentary trauma.
“It will be out in a moment.” Courtney left us.
“I don’t know if Skeetch had a chance to tell you, but we had an incident in the spa today.” Pauline’s voice was low. I felt bad, letting Dolores know about this.
“Oh, no! What?”
“An apparent electrical issue or plumbing issue heated our water to scalding temperatures, and then the manicure chairs collapsed,” Pauline explained.
“Are you girls alright?”
“We’re totally fine, it’s no big deal,” Georgianne assured Dolores. The wine had clearly made her forget about her hot little piggies.
“We are fine, but does this sort of thing happen a lot? It could be why it’s deserted in here,” Pauline observed.
“I—well, more and more lately. Skeetch is trying to keep everything in tip-top shape, but two weeks ago, there was an incident. Food poisoning, not Courtney’s fault, I assure you,” Dolores continued but under her breath. “Then, last week, I had a guest fall down the main staircase. It’s just one accident after another.”
“It might be why no one’s recommending this place. It’s hazardous to the health,” I blurted, and poor Dolores sighed. I immediately felt bad for my mouth.
“I’m sure it’s just a few flukes, but we’ll keep an eye out. These mishaps have to be impacting your bookings,” Pauline reassured Dolores.
“I’m just so very grateful to Skeetch at times like these. He handles the details so I can get my naps and gin and tonics!”
On the mention of gin and tonic, Pauline poured herself another glass of wine and started to look around. Skeetch was there, out of nowhere.
“I just want this place to be filled up, and so does Skeetch. Anything you can do to help would be appreciated. Skeetch, make sure you show the ladies around or answer any questions. They’re going to help us figure out why the guests have dried up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Speaking of dried up, I’m going to leave you now. I need my beauty rest and nightly moisturizer regimen if I’m going to look halfway presentable tomorrow!”
“Good night, Dolores,” I said, and we all watched as she took Skeetch’s arm to be led out.
“Poor thing, she really does need our help,” Georgianne said.
“Our girls’ weekend is turning into a marketing trip,” I observed.
“Well, we can still drink, shop, and take naps to our heart's desire, but also we need to figure out how to give Dolores some good advice,” Pauline said.
“No, we’re supposed to give the advice to Skeetch,” I added.
“Right. Well, pass the bottle.” And I did as Pauline asked.
I supposed it couldn’t hurt to try to help Dolores. It really was a great meal in a wonderful setting. This place should be booked solid.
I looked around. As it was, there were only two other tables of diners in a space that could have accommodated at least fifty.
After our meal, the three of us decided to take a bottle of wine up to our rooms and hang out. We left talk of marketing behind and enjoyed the luxury of each other’s company.
It was a strange thing, being an empty nester. There was a chance, after your kids flew the coop, to reconnect with your life pre-motherhood. Nap schedules, school events, and playdates didn’t dictate the length of your conversations unless it was your own nap that needed scheduling. It was a little piece of bliss no one tells you about when you pack up your baby for college.
Unlike every single movie about women hanging out together, we did not engage in a dance session around the couch.
That’s the fastest way to spill your wine.
Instead, we shared techniques for surviving ill-timed hot flashes, and honestly, they were all ill-timed.
“I realize we live in the frozen tundra, but half the time these days, I’m sweating like it’s Orlando in August, and I’m waiting in line for the Dumbo ride at Disney World,” Georgianne described, portraying the sensation accurately.
“Marzie has it right, date the undead,” Pauline said.
My current dating situation revolved around a four-hundred-year-old vampire. To say I was dating, at my age, was one thing. His age? I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“You know that scene in Twilight when Jacob keeps Bella warm? Yeah, that sounds like torture,” Georgianne fanned herself.
“Well, you and Tatum sure are Team Cold Boyfriend, since menopause hit,” Pauline said. Tatum was a fellow coven member and bestie. She owned a microbrewery, The Frog Toe, and had been getting cold and heavy with her vampire bouncer, Mario.
“I can’t kiss and tell; however, I will admit that a vampire in your sheets is better than the cool side of the pillow,” I quipped.
“Cheers to that,” Georgianne said.
As we clinked our glasses, a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air. While we were enjoying our time together, clearly something was terrifying a fellow guest.
“It’s coming from one of the other guest rooms,” Pauline said urgently.
We made our way into the hall and heard it again.
“Get out of here! Get out!”
“It’s at the end of the hall,” Pauline said.
We didn’t even discuss it; Pauline, Georgianne, and I ran toward the source of the commotion.
Pauline knocked on the door.
“I can’t open it, I can’t! And they’re everywhere!!!” A woman called to us from behind the closed door.
“Walter! Get them!”
It was the woman and her husband we’d seen at dinner. Whatever was happening in the room was freaking her out.
“Let me try.” Georgianne worked the handle, but the door wouldn’t open.
“No, no!” We heard her whimpering. There were thumps as well like someone was jumping around. What on earth was happening in there?
The three of us grabbed hands. We all had witch powers on our own; mine, it was said, was the strongest. But in groups of three, my coven could manage mischief exponentially better than when we cast spells solo.
We all three thought the same word at the same time without having to say it.
“OPEN!”
The door burst open to reveal Walter jumping up and down and his wife, the source of the screaming, now cowering in the corner of her room.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you see? The spiders, there are spiders EVERYWHERE.”
The woman swatted at the air but had her hands over her eyes, which she had tightly squeezed shut.
“Coleen’s right, look!” Walter said, trying to usher his wife toward the door.
We looked around the room. Pauline turned the light on, expecting to see an army of spiders.
“Under the covers,” Walter added.
I walked over to the bed. I decided to pull back the bedsheet like I was ripping off a band-aid.
Black furry creatures skittered in all directions.
“Whoa!”
We all stepped back a few feet, except for Georgianne. She stepped forward
to get a better look.
“I’m not staying—I need out of here! They were on my legs! Walter, you grab my stuff. I’m not going back in there.” Coleen instructed Walter from the hallway.
“The good news is, I don’t think they’re dangerous,” Georgianne said.
Before I could argue that all spiders came straight from hell, so, therefore, were dangerous, another scream ripped through the second-floor hallway.
“Don’t turn on the water, it’s blood!”
“Walter, this place is awful, haunted! See?” Coleen said to poor Walter.
We left Walter and Coleen and sprinted to the other end of the hall where another woman stood, hands out, soaked in red liquid.
“I turned on the shower and put my hand in—it’s blood!”
The woman was younger and on her own. I didn’t know her story, at all, but her face was the picture of pure terror.
“Are you okay though, you’re not hurt?” I asked her.
“It’s not my blood, don’t you see?” she whimpered.
I took that to mean she was scared, but not hurt.
Georgianne, Pauline, and I walked into the room and to the bath.
The water was still running in the small shower.
“Uh, it’s water, but look, there is a red splatter here,” Georgianne pointed out, and we all took a look.
“Do you feel a spirit or curse?” Pauline asked me. I closed my eyes. I felt the obvious distress of the guests. But that was it.
“I don’t feel anything,” I said.
“Well, Ms. Dolores is going to feel something! My insistence on a refund! I am leaving right now.” The younger guest grabbed a towel and wiped her hands.
That meant the three other guests we’d encountered were all, at this moment, packing their things to leave.
“Marketing this as a quiet getaway destination is getting more challenging by the spider,” Pauline muttered.
The commotion died down, and the guests who’d been affected disappeared into the night. Skeetch would have his hands full for a while with this.
We checked our own rooms for spells and spiders. But all appeared to be quiet, for now.
We three witches decided to get some shut-eye.
Once word of the creepy events of the night traveled with the guests who’d bugged out, helping Dolores Van Keppler save her business would get a lot harder.
5
At breakfast, we had the dining room to ourselves.
“Are we it?” I asked Pauline.
“Looks like it,” she replied.
Neither Chef Courtney nor Skeetch was anywhere to be found. However, a nice breakfast buffet had been laid out for us.
“Ooh, waffles.” Waffles always made the bad patches in life much better, in my experience.
Georgianne and I loaded up. Pauline looked around for Ms. Dolores. Food was an afterthought for her. Georgianne and I enjoyed the spread, though it was a lot of food for only two guests. Chef Courtney really was talented. It was a shame no one but Georgianne, and I appreciated it.
Pauline walked back to the dining room with a furrow on her brow and her hands on her hips. Skeetch made his first appearance of the day.
“I can’t find Ms. Dolores,” Pauline announced. “I checked every room of her wing, and she’s nowhere.”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’s around. She often takes time away from guests. As I told you. Let’s focus on you three!” Skeetch assured us.
“Does she drive?” I asked.
“She does…and she often takes excursions. I assure you, there’s nothing wrong. In fact, she mentioned running some errands today.”
I looked out the window. Errands? The sun of the day before was gone, and the heavy gray clouds that had been on the horizon had made landfall thanks to a cold wind.
“So, Walter, Coleen, uh…Taylor, that was her name, Taylor, they’ve all checked out?” That I could recite the names of the entire list of guests was a bad sign, to begin with.
“Ah, yes, it was unfortunate. I realize it was a difficult night,” Skeetch smiled weakly. “But they’re all on their way, full refund. All is well.” It sure didn’t feel like things were all well. “We’ve got a little art activity for you three. Madame Violet leads it. She is a wonderful local artist who comes in for the program. Enjoy that, and I assure you, Chef Courtney has prepared snacks for your lunch as well. Now, if you’ll make your way to the solarium for your painting activity!” Skeetch put a hand toward the solarium, and we all complied with his request.
“If this guy pushes us toward basket weaving, I say we make a break for it,” Georgianne whispered to me.
“Agree.”
Pauline led the way, and we filed into the solarium. Madame Violet wore purple scarves and an airy attitude, in line with what you’d expect from a visiting artist. I’d guess the woman was a smidge older than we were, maybe in her sixties?
“Welcome! Welcome! I’m Violet Cross. I have a station set up for each of you. Only three? Well, I thought there were going to be six?”
There were six large canvases on easels, twice as many as needed for our tiny bunch.
“Ah, a few last-minute checkouts,” Pauline said.
We did as Madame Violet instructed and settled in at our stations.
“Alas, that’s a shame, such a shame. Well, let’s get you all painting your masterpieces! Today we’re going to paint the lovely view of the waters behind me!”
The lovely view looked scary as heck. Lake Superior waves crashed and foamed on the banks of the nearby lighthouse. And the solarium windows rattled.
“I’m feeling relaxed, how about you?” I said to Georgianne, and she laughed.
We followed Madame Violet’s instructions, and my white canvas was soon filled with gray and brown blobs.
I was no artist.
Plus, Pauline was on a mission that had nothing to do with wine or canvas.
“We need to ditch this class. I have a bad feeling about Ms. Dolores,” Pauline whispered.
“Got it, a little witch magic’s in order,” Georgianne offered. “With a small spell, we can make her think we’re in this class, for at least the next hour.”
“That would give us cover to poke around here,” I added. “On my signal.”
I shot a phrase into their minds. If we all focused our will on the words, then the magic would work on our art teacher.
“Illusio Optica.”
I envisioned my paintbrush continuing to add color to the canvas. Georgianne and Pauline did the same. We backed out of the solarium. I took a glance at the class. Madame Violet continued to explain about shading and color.
“She’s going to see our heads, and maybe brushes moving. She’s also in a little trance, for good measure,” I explained.
“Perfect,” Pauline said.
“This place is huge, Dolores could be anywhere,” Georgianne pointed out.
“I think we need to split up. Each of us takes a floor,” I said.
“Perfect. I’ll take the main floor,” Pauline suggested. “Georgie look at the upper floors. And Marzie, what about the grounds?”
“Yep, we need to get back here in an hour, the illusion will wear off by then,” I said.
“Okay, let’s hurry,” Pauline replied.
I slipped out a back door, taking care not to be caught by Skeetch. Granted, he was trying his best to keep our girl’s weekend on track. But I wanted to roam around without him looking over my shoulder. Maybe if we found out why this place seemed to be plagued by bad luck or bad mojo, we could resume resting and relaxing. And Skeetch could calm down.
The rain had stopped, luckily, but I wished I’d grabbed a jacket before my little unsanctioned walkabout.
I didn’t know what I was looking for but hoped that a clue would present itself like magic. Perhaps that was what we’d really need tonight if the place was haunted. I didn’t know the spell to stop poltergeists, but I made a note to ask Georgianne about it. If she didn’t know the spell, she’d fi
nd it. We didn’t have our cauldron, but in a pinch, maybe an Instant Pot could do the trick?
I didn’t see a sign of Dolores, but maybe that was a good thing. Walking around in this chill couldn’t be good for someone her age.
After close to an hour of sneaking around the grounds, a motion in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Something was happening in the boathouse.
The door was ajar. It creaking open must have been what caught my eye. I slipped into the darkened building and did my best to stay hidden in the shadows.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust. Then my eyes found two people at the far end of the boathouse. I strained to see but stayed carefully hidden.
It was a man and a woman, and they were hot and heavy! Well, cold and heavy. The two embraced. As they separated, I realized it was Skeetch and Chef Courtney.
I felt like a real creeper, spying on their romantic mid-day snog sesh.
I was about to creep out, not wanting to ruin their romance, when the wind carried a bit of their conversation to me, instead of out to the lake.
“It’s okay. We’re so close. Just trust me,” Skeetch said to Courtney. She nodded, and the embrace continued. They kissed. This was not for my eyes. I turned and walked as fast as I could back to the big house. Their love life was none of my business.
Pauline, Georgianne, and I all snuck back to our canvases as Madame Violet advised us on how to add finishing touches to our paintings.
I grabbed the brush and waved it over my blob filled canvas. I felt sorry for the canvas.
Madame Violet walked around to view our work.
“Let’s see your artwork!”
Pauline, Georgianne, and I collectively hoped the glamour would last a few more minutes. As Madame Violet gazed at our work, she ooo-ed and ah-ed. Yep, she was still under our spell. The paintings were bad, incomplete, and oh yeah, bad. Did I say bad?
“See! Three masterpieces,” announced the addled art teacher. “All unique.” I felt slightly guilty about that.
“More like disaster pieces.” I murmured to Georgianne, who nodded in agreement.
“I’ll be sure they’re all packed up and ready when you check out,” Madame Violet said. The spell was wearing off, and in a moment or two, she’d be ready to operate heavy machinery. She’d also realize the only place these paintings should go was to the bottom of the lake.
Cold Cases and Haunted Places Page 48