Annabelle Archer BoxSet, page 90
part #1 of Annabelle Archer Series
“Will you look at this place?” Mack, the Harley rider with the red goatee, leaned back to look up at the resort.
“It was almost worth all those hours of floral meetings with Debbie and Darla to get a payoff like this,” Buster said in his deep, booming voice, running a hand down his dark goatee.
Buster and Mack were the owners of Lush and our favorite floral design team. They were also members of a Christian biker gang and didn’t abide cursing. I’d often thought it was a good thing their paths didn’t cross often with Fern’s on a wedding day, since he had a habit of calling the bridesmaids all sorts of colorful names.
I grabbed my purse from the floor of the passenger’s seat. “Should we check in?”
Richard slung his black messenger bag across his chest, scooping up Hermès and dropping him inside. “Let’s go.”
“There’s a cocktail with my name on it,” Kate said as she took long strides toward the front door.
Fern hitched his Louis Vuitton duffel onto his shoulder, glass clinking from the travel-sized bottles of booze he told us he’d packed in case the bars closed early or the minibar didn’t have his brands. “I’m right behind you, sister.”
I followed Kate through the black double doors to the lobby. High ceilings gave the space an airy feel with hardwood floors and classic upholstered furniture gathered around multiple crackling fireplaces. I inhaled the scent of the burning logs mixed with the lush fresh flowers displayed on a nearby mahogany side table.
“You made it!” A tall, good-looking man with slightly receding close-cropped brown hair rushed over to us, and I recognized him right away as the Bedford Springs director of catering I’d gotten to know at a party at the Washington Omni a few months prior. We’d hit it off as friends—connecting over our shared love of fountain soda and ‘80s music—and had kept in touch over email since then. He’d even come down to DC for another weekend, and we’d met up for drinks and wedding war stories. I’d been excited to tell him that I was coming to his resort for the weekend, and he’d been equally excited to host us, and I knew he’d scheduled a few activities for us so he could show off the hotel.
“Hi, Stuart,” I said, returning his air kiss. “Kate, you remember . . .”
“Of course I do.” Kate gave him a kiss on the cheek that was more lips than air.
Why did I think Kate would ever forget an attractive man? I made introductions all around as Kate kept a firm grip on Stuart’s arm.
“I tried to put all your rooms together,” Stuart said as he walked us toward the registration desk at the far end of the lobby. “But that meant I had to put you on the second floor.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
Stuart let out a breath. “Oh, good. I’m glad you don’t mind.”
“Why would we mind?” Richard asked.
“Some people are funny about staying near the haunted section.”
Kate’s hand dropped from Stuart’s arm. “Excuse me?”
Hermès yipped, and Richard gave him a pat on the head. “Are any of the ghosts brides?”
The catering director cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”
Fern nudged him. “You know. Ghosts wandering the halls in wedding gowns? Jilted brides who killed themselves in despair? That kind of thing.”
“Not that I know of.” Stuart’s expression told me that my group was not exactly what he’d expected.
Kate linked her arm through his and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Then bring on the ghosts.”
2
“Wow,” I said, dropping my black overnight bag on the tufted ottoman at the foot of the four-poster king-size bed and letting my eyes take in the suite I’d been given. Even though there was no one in the room to hear me, I couldn’t help commenting out loud. I hadn’t been expecting such a luxurious room, and I suspected Stuart had upgraded our accommodations.
The dark wood bed covered in crisp white linen and a mountain of feather pillows dominated the room. French doors at one end of the spacious room led outside to a veranda that boasted a pair of black wicker chaise lounge chairs and two rocking chairs. French doors at the other end of the room opened to a cavernous bathroom with a free-standing soaking tub, double marble vanities, a luxurious standing shower for two, and a fluffy white robe hanging on a hook near the bathtub. I breathed in the faint scent of lemon and lavender and wondered if it came from the high-end toiletries displayed in a neat line next to the sink.
I removed the blue-and-white-striped toiletry bag from my luggage and set it on the white vanity, pausing to check my reflection in the massive wall mirror framed in the same dark wood as the bed. My auburn hair looked a bit windswept from riding in the car with the windows down, and I could use a bit of bronzer to give my pale skin some color, but I didn’t look altogether bad. The stress of wedding season was always good for losing a few pounds, and I noticed the loose waistband of my jeans. I reminded myself that the upcoming holiday season should take care of that. A loud knock at the door snapped me from my contemplation.
“Can you believe these rooms?” Kate asked when I opened the door. She came inside and began inspecting my suite. “Yours is even bigger than mine. Not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouse.”
I stopped for a moment as I repeated the saying in my head. It wasn’t a good sign that Kate’s malaprops were beginning to sound correct to me.
“I think this was all Stuart. I doubt Debbie and Darla sprang for suites like this.” I pointed to an orange jack-o-lantern bucket on the desk filled with yellow dahlias, cellophane bags of candy corn, and marshmallow circus peanuts. “And I’m sure the Halloween candy wasn’t their idea.”
Kate’s eyes flicked to the candy. “I got one, too. And if Debbie and Darla had sent those pumpkins, they would have been filled with booze.”
“True,” I said, laughing.
Kate paused in front of the standing floor-length mirror tucked in the corner and gave herself the once-over, twisting so she could inspect her back view and then smiling. “This skirt makes my legs look great.”
“Are you sure it isn’t the stilettos?” I asked, my eyes dropping from her plaid miniskirt masquerading as a kilt to her black platform heels.
She shrugged. “Could be. These shoes are magic.”
“They look like torture.”
Kate flopped onto my bed and let her shoes drop to the floor. “You are changing before dinner, right?”
I glanced down at my jeans and white button-down shirt, a triple strand of pearls at my neck. “Of course I am. I packed a couple of very nice dinner dresses.”
Kate raised an eyebrow, telling me that my idea and her idea of a nice dinner dress were probably not the same.
My phone trilled inside my purse and I pulled it out, feeling a flush of pleasure as I read the name on the screen. Detective Mike Reese.
“Hey,” I said, feeling self-conscious as I heard my voice soften. I walked to the French doors at the far end of the room.
“How was the drive up with the gang?” he asked.
“Not bad.” I tried to keep my voice low. “The resort is gorgeous and they put me in an amazing suite.”
Who is it? Kate mouthed from the bed.
“Really? Too bad I couldn’t come with you,” Reese said, his voice also low as a number of voices buzzed in the background.
I felt my cheeks redden, and I turned so that Kate couldn’t see me. Even though Reese and I had been sporadically dating around both of our crazy schedules, we hadn’t reached the ‘going away together’ stage. At least not in my mind. We were taking things slow. Excruciatingly slow, as Kate liked to put it.
“Is that Reese?” Kate whispered.
I waved her question away with one hand and stepped outside on the balcony. “You’d like this place. It’s very remote. I doubt they’ve had a violent crime here in years.”
“Knock on wood. Let’s hope you and your murder-prone crew don’t ruin that.”
“Hey, what are you saying?” I tried to sound outraged through my laughter. “You make it sound like we’re responsible for the murders we’ve happened to stumble into.”
“I never said the word responsible. Magnet is probably a better term.”
“Now you’re asking for it,” I said, leaning my forearms against the wooden porch railing and gazing at the thick forest facing the resort.
“What am I asking for?” His voice went from flirty to suggestive, and I felt my pulse quicken even though he was over a hundred miles away.
I cleared my throat and turned to look back into my suite as I heard voices that were not Kate’s. Through the panes of the French doors I could see Kate giving Richard and Fern a tour of my room. Great. It would only take minutes for them to find out where I was and figure out who was on the other end of my conversation. I did not feel like getting the third degree from them about my relationship with Reese, especially since I felt that the more I talked about it, the more I would jinx it. So far taking it slow and keeping the details under wraps had been working well, and I didn’t want to ruin that.
“I’ve got to run. Call you later?”
“Sure,” he said, disappointment tingeing his voice. “Talk to you later.”
I walked back into the suite and slid my phone into my purse. Kate had resumed her sprawl across my bed while Fern stood preening in front of the mirror, tucking errant hairs back into his bun. Richard sat at the desk, rapping his fingers against the polished wood surface.
“What’s going on in here?” I asked.
“Tell them they’re crazy,” Richard gestured to Fern and Kate.
“You’re crazy,” I said.
Fern turned away from the mirror and made a face at Richard. “You’re just upset that you didn’t think of it first.”
“Think of what?” I asked.
Kate sat up. “We’re going hunting for ghosts.”
3
“You must be out of your mind,” Richard said as the hostess led us back to the hotel’s restaurant kitchen.
The ghost-hunting debate had been going strong since we’d left my room to come down for dinner. Kate and Fern were firmly in the yes camp and Richard and I fell into the ‘are you crazy?’ camp.
“What’s wrong with photographing a few spirits?” Fern asked.
“We don’t want to catch them.” Kate took small, quick steps behind me in her stilettos. Even though she’d changed into a black dinner dress, she’d kept on her absurdly high heels. “We aren’t Ghostbusters.”
Fern wrinkled his nose. “Never. Those jumpsuits would look dreadful on me.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” I exchanged a look with Richard as I adjusted the scoop neckline of my cranberry-colored sweater dress to make sure I wasn’t showing cleavage.
Richard stopped at the door to the kitchen. “How do you photograph a ghost? All you have is an iPhone camera.”
“Orbs,” Fern said. “It’s all about orbs.”
Richard rolled his eyes. “Well, now you’re just making up words.”
The petite hostess waved us into an expansive kitchen gleaming with stainless steel. Huge chrome vents extended from the tall ceiling interspersed with white hanging pendant lights. Walls were lined with metal tables, while all manner of spoons and ladles dangled from racks overhead. The sounds of meat sizzling and pots clanging filled the air, as did the sharp scent of searing fish and the yeasty aroma of baking bread. In the middle of the industrial kitchen sat a U-shaped marble table with high-backed, brown leather barstools surrounding it on one side. On the inside of the U was a prep area where a pair of cooks in white chef’s jackets and black aprons stood chopping vegetables next to the resort’s catering director, Stuart, who wore a black apron over his blue dress shirt and madras bow tie.
“Welcome to the chef’s table.” Stuart spread his arms wide then gestured for us to pick a bar stool. “Have a seat.”
I glanced behind me as Buster and Mack slipped into the kitchen behind us. They’d changed from their usual all-black-leather ensembles into more tailored black leather pants and plaid shirts. With their multiple piercings and the black motorcycle goggles that Buster always wore on the top of his bald head, the burly men gave off a ‘lumberjack from the wrong side of the tracks’ vibe.
“I can almost taste the warm rolls already.” I sat down at one of the corner stools as my stomach growled in anticipation of the meal to come.
“No rolls for me tonight.” Fern patted his flat stomach. “I have to be able to fit in my clothes tomorrow.”
I ignored Fern’s statement since he was the thinnest one of all of us with a waist a preteen girl would covet.
Kate took a stool next to me. “I’m thinking of going off gluten.”
Richard sat on the other side of me. “If you become one of those people who is vegetarian, gluten-free, dairy-free, avoids night-shade vegetables, and never touches processed sugar, I will kill you.”
As a caterer, Richard was on the front lines of every new food sensitivity, preference, trend, diet, and fad. Although he was very sympathetic to people with genuine allergies, his patience for those riding the latest eating trend for sport wore thin.
Kate’s eyes widened. “I could never give up sugar.”
“And you know booze has gluten, right?” I said.
“Really? Then forget about that.” Kate crossed her legs and her dress rode up to mid-thigh.
Fern patted her leg. “But vodka counts as a vegetable since it’s made from potatoes.”
“What’s on tonight’s menu?” Buster asked, one of the bar stools creaking under his weight as he and Mack took seats at the other corner of the table.
“Crab cakes, mini lamb chops, autumn squash,” Stuart said. “All prepared by you.”
Richard’s face fell. “I thought this was a vacation.”
“How fun.” Fern clapped his hands. “We’re going to learn how to cook.”
“I already know how to cook,” Richard mumbled.
I elbowed him in the side. “Be nice. The chef’s table is a big deal, and I’m sure Stuart pulled some strings to get us back here.”
Stuart came around to our side of the table and began handing out black aprons that matched his own. “Tie these on, so you don’t mess up your clothes.”
I tilted my head as I listened to the music being piped into the kitchen. “Is that ‘Walking on Sunshine’?”
Stuart beamed at me as he handed Richard an apron. “I was hoping you’d notice. I made a mix of one-hit wonders from the ’80s for tonight’s dinner.”
I gave Stuart a thumbs-up. He got major points for not trying to impress us with classical music. We got plenty of that at our weddings each weekend.
Buster and Mack put on their aprons, but only a sliver of their chests were covered and the strings barely tied in the back.
“That’s okay,” Mack said as Buster strained to tie his apron behind him. “These shirts are washable.”
A waiter appeared with a tray of martini glasses filled with an amber liquid with a cinnamon stick as a stirrer.
“Pumpkin pie martinis,” Stuart announced. “To kick off the evening and celebrate the season.”
We all took a glass and raised them in the air.
“Cheers to new friends,” Stuart said, clinking glasses with us.
“To new friends.” I took a drink of my martini, enjoying the sweetness of the drink. Although I was not one of the many people addicted to pumpkin spice lattes, I did enjoy the flavor of pumpkin when it wasn’t mixed with coffee.
“And cheers to a weekend without a wedding,” Kate added before taking a sip.
“I’ll drink to that,” Buster said, his deep voice reverberating off all the metal in the room.
“And to finding ghosts.” Fern winked at Kate.
“Heaven help us.” Richard downed his drink in one gulp.
“If you want to meet the ghosts, I can tell you where to look,” Stuart said, placing his martini glass on the table. “As long as you promise not to post about it.”
Fern’s face lit up. “Can you really tell us?”
“You won’t blog or post anything?” Stuart asked again.
“I have no problem not posting,” Kate said. “Orbs aren’t exactly Instagram friendly anyway. The wedding world would rather see a close-up of this martini. Speaking of which, will you hold this?” She handed me her drink and took out her phone.
“Why don’t you want people posting about ghosts?” I asked. “I’d think that would be a point of curiosity about the resort.”
Stuart sighed. “Normally, yes, but lately some of the guests have been scared off from hearing about heightened paranormal activity.”
I held Kate’s martini in the air as she adjusted my hand and zoomed in on the drink with her camera phone. “What kind of heightened activity?”
Kate snapped a few photos then took the drink from me and resumed drinking it.
“Doors rattling when guests are sleeping, moaning sounds in the hallways and on the balcony, faucets running that were left off, guests’ belongings being moved around the rooms,” Stuart said. “At first the guests thought that housekeeping was responsible, but most things happened at night after the housekeepers were long gone.”
“And people got spooked?” I asked. “Literally?”
“It didn’t help that we got a write-up on a popular style blog calling the ghosts poltergeists. After that, people started canceling reservations.” Stuart frowned. “Our spirits have always been friendly. I don’t know why they’ve been so agitated lately.”
“Agitated ghosts,” Richard said to me under his breath. “Just what we need.”
“Better than an agitated bride,” I said.
He tapped his finger on his chin for a moment. “Fair enough. I’d take a poltergeist over an angry bride any day.”
“At this point, we don’t have any brides,” Stuart said, his gaze falling to the floor. “No one wants to book a wedding at a haunted resort. And if we don’t start booking events soon, I’m out of a job.”
