Bad Hair Day 7 - Dead Roots (13 page)

Marla shrugged. “I’m wondering who holds the documents, that’s all. This place used to belong to my grandparents.”

“So I’m aware.” She glanced behind Marla, and an expression of distaste wrinkled her face. “Oh Lord, here comes that ghost-busting gang. I’ll see you later.”

Marla rushed outside before the paranormal team could intercept her. Locating Vail took some time, but she managed to track him down after he finally answered his cell phone. She caught up to him inside the gym, where he was demonstrating how to lift free weights to Rochelle and her young cousins.

“What are you doing here?” she said, raising an eyebrow. He wore tan shorts and a dark green polo shirt, an outfit that displayed his sinewy limbs to good advantage. “I thought you planned to speak to the manager and then head into town to the property appraiser’s office. It’s nearly time for the beach picnic.”

“The city center is closed for the weekend, and I just missed Butler. He was busing a bunch of those workmen back home, or so I presume. I saw him leave with a group in a van.”

“I can’t find Seto Mulch, and there’s something suspicious in his kitchen. I need you to take a look, if you can tear yourself away from your admirers.” She nodded at Rochelle, who stood in a corner giggling with her bikini-clad pals. Vail’s glance kept drifting in their direction.

“It’s not what you think,” Vail said from the corner of his mouth. “She reminds me of Brianna. No way I’d ever let my daughter out of die house looking like that.”

As though you ‘II have a choice. And if she reminds you of your daughter, why are you showing off your muscles
? “Have you accomplished anything?” she asked in a tight voice, folding her arms across her chest.

His appreciative smile at her evaporated her anger. “I saved myself a trip into town,” he said. “Apparently, a fire destroyed all the official records dating before 1970. That’s what one of those city council members told me.”

“Oh no,” Marla moaned. But then her initial dismay gave way to hope. “Wait, it’s possible Butler keeps copies of the sale agreement and deed in the hotel files. Champagne told me some of the answers to our questions might be found in his office. Harvey said his boss keeps a set of blueprints there, too.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“What are you looking for?” Rochelle’s voice squeaked from behind, giving Marla a start. Her friends likewise crowded around the detective.

“Things that could help us solve some of the mysteries about this place,” Vail said indulgently.

“Want us to help?” the girl offered. “We’re going to lay out this afternoon, but we have tonight—there’s not much to do here in the evenings.”

“You can go to the campfire,” Marla suggested.

“That’s for little kids. We don’t need to hear ghost stories when the real thing is right around the corner. My mother says you’re going to explore the penthouse suite. Can we come?”

“Definitely not,” Marla snapped.

Vail leaned toward the cluster of teens. “I’ll give you an assignment,” he said in a hushed tone. “It’s really important, okay? Watch for Mr. Butler. Let us know when he gets back to the resort.”

“He could’ve gone home for the weekend after he took those men into town,” Marla said on their way to the groundskeeper’s cottage. “I doubt Butler lives on the property. There isn’t any need, with Mulch serving as caretaker.”

“So maybe he keeps his secrets hidden elsewhere.”

“We can worry about him later. I’m more concerned about Seto. I suppose the old coot could still be around the resort. I did a quick search before meeting you, but I didn’t see him anywhere. Do you think he went with Butler?”

“No, Butler was alone in the front seat,” Vail said.

Marla glanced at him. “By the way, you handled Rochelle very well. She seems to fancy herself as an apprentice sleuth.”

“I’m just hoping she stays out of harm’s way.”

As soon as they arrived at the Bahamian-style house, Vail assumed his professional demeanor. A quick look inside brought a scowl to his face. He rejoined Marla by the exterior faucet and pointed to the rust-colored stains where the water had dried.

“Someone tried to erase the evidence, but there’s been blood spilled,” he said. “I’d like to talk to the crew by the pool area before we report Mulch as missing.”

Their hunt turned up gardeners planting pentas by the rear terrace. Speaking barely decipherable English, they didn’t provide much information. One of them spoke angrily in Spanish to the others, and then they all fell silent, concentrating on their work.

“Marla, where have you been?” Anita summoned her daughter from the pool deck, where she sunned on a lounge chair, wearing a one-piece swimsuit and oversized sunglasses. “Come here and talk to your cousins from out west.” Her gesture included Vail. “Dalton, you and Yosef can talk shop. He’s a prosecuting attorney.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less,” Dalton muttered in an undertone. Giving a resigned sigh, he marched over and shook the man’s hand after Anita made introductions..

“This is some great
shandeh
, isn’t it?” Vail said in a loudly cheerful voice.

“Shindig,” Marla corrected, nudging him. “
Shandeh
means shame. Shindig isn’t even a Yiddish word.”

“Christ, what do I know?”

Marla’s relatives dissolved into laughter.

“
Oy, az dos hartz iz ful, gai’en di oigen iber
” Anita said, wiping tears from her cheeks.
When the heart is full, the eyes overflow
. Her mother’s glance told Marla that she appreciated Vail’s efforts to fit in.

Her fiancé looked as though he’d swallowed his tongue. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a prior engagement. Please excuse me,” he said in a choked tone. “I’ll catch you at lunch.” He loped off before Marla could protest.

“Ma, you embarrassed him,” she chided her mother.

“I’m just trying to introduce him to the family. Some of your cousins have married
goyim
. It’s not as though intermarriage is so foreign to us.”

“I still say you should have stayed with Stanley,” Julia remarked. “He was the perfect husband: a rich Jewish attorney.” As usual, her cousin’s lipstick could have used more precise lining. It made her mouth look too wide.

“Stan was a jerk,” Marla shot back, feeling the sun heating her shoulders. The temperature must have warmed into the seventies. “By the way, Barry called this morning to wish me a happy Thanksgiving.”

Anita wagged a finger at her. “Now there’s a good catch. Single, never been married, an optometrist. I’ll admit, he may not be as sexy as Dalton, but he’d be a steady fellow. Lust wears off after twenty years or so.”

Marla was tired of her family debating her love life. “Have any of you seen Seto Mulch? He’s the old guy who hobbles around the resort, supervising everyone else.”

“You don’t mean the manager?” said a fresh-faced blonde Marla didn’t recognize.

“No, Butler has gone into town. I need to find Mr. Mulch.”

“What’s so urgent?” Anita asked, applying coconut-scented sunscreen to her legs, still shapely for a woman in her sixties.

“I wanted to question him about the original hotel construction. You know how the tower elevator goes from twelve to fourteen? I’m wondering what happened to the thirteenth floor.”

“People are superstitious,
bubula
. Lots of companies do the same thing in their office buildings.”

“Have you taken the elevator? It takes longer to go between twelve and fourteen than between any of the other floors.”

“That’s the creepiest ride I’ve ever been on,” whined Julia. “Alan wanted to tour the penthouse to see what it was like in Andrew’s day, but we’d only gone up a few floors in that rattling death trap when the weirdest thing happened. The lights went out, and I felt something brush against my cheek.”

She leaned forward, giving a revealing view of her cleavage in a designer swimsuit. “I think it’s haunted by Andrew’s ghost.”

“You want to see ghosts?” bellowed a voice behind Marla. She spun around to face Dr. Spector’s amused hazel eyes. His stark white hair went along with someone who encountered spooks for a living. “I’m going to take readings in Oleander Hall,” he announced. “Care to join me?”

Marla smelled the stale odor as soon as she entered Oleander Hall behind Dr. Spector. His stocky frame, laden with equipment dangling from his backpack, provided a bulwark against the wave of negative energy that seemed to emanate from the condemned wing. Marla thought she felt a presence charging the air as she followed him down the silent corridor toward the parlor where Andrew had met the two visitors. Her canvas shoes trod along the faded carpet while she imagined faint whisperings and creaking doors.

“What’s that?” she asked in a hushed tone, hearing the soft thud of footsteps overhead.

“We’re not alone in here,” Spector said.

His insouciant voice offered little reassurance, and as Marla passed a rattling doorknob, she hastened her steps. “Are your people on the floor above us?”

“Nope. Mr. Butler said this is where we should concentrate our efforts. We’ve caught an orb in the parlor as well as EVPs, so something is definitely here.” Halting in front of a pair of double oak doors, he pushed one open. “Come see for yourself.”

The rich scent of cigar smoke drifted into her nostrils. A quick scan of the spacious room revealed sheet-covered furniture, dusty draperies, and portraits of men in Confederate uniforms on the walls. Their eyes seemed to follow her as she stepped inside the parlor, illuminated by sunlight streaming through the drapes. Windows made up two of the walls, the room occupying a corner space at the far end of the wing. She noticed a seating arrangement in front of a fireplace, and a lacquered cart that must have held cordials beside one of the armchairs. Not during Prohibition, she reminded herself.

“Someone should write the history of this hotel,” Dr. Spector said, displaying a digital thermometer. “I heard that Andrew Marks sat in a thronelike chair in the lobby and examined each guest who registered. If he didn’t like their looks, he would demand their departure. This room is where he entertained his private visitors.”

Marla glanced at a flotilla of dust motes suspended in the air. “I would have liked to meet him.” A sudden chill raised goose bumps on her arms.

“I’m reading a temperature drop,” the ghost hunter said, panning the room with his handheld device.

“What does that mean?”

“An entity may be present. Inhuman spirits will siphon energy from any living source in a room.”

“So it could be those two strangers who met with Andrew just before he died. Why would their ghosts linger at the resort?” she said without admitting her skepticism. “Did you ever learn what happened that night?”

“They met Andrew, but no one saw them leave. Something is keeping them from moving on. I’ve told them they didn’t belong here, but they’re being stubborn.” He cocked his head. “Why don’t
you
tell them? They might listen to a member of Andrew’s family. Just be respectful, and don’t be frightened. Spirits feed off your negative emotions.”

Marla detected a movement from the corner of her eye. When she turned to focus on it, nothing was there. Swinging her gaze past the mantelpiece, she stopped to stare at a pewter candlestick. Had she seen it slide sideways, or were her eyes deceiving her?

“Hello,” she said hesitandy. “Is there a reason you’re still around? We want to fix up this place, but repairs can’t be done while you’re bothering people. You need to go to your final rest.” As though in response, strains of piano music reached her ears. “Where is that coming from?” she whispered, her lips dry.

“Perhaps the music studio near the ballroom. I believe they held concerts there in the early days.” The portly fellow reached for his digital electromagnetic field meter.

“What’s directly above us?” The music swelled, then faded until silence surrounded them.

“The upper floors have guest suites.”

“So how is it that we can hear someone playing the piano all the way over here?”

Dr. Spector shrugged. “I’m not permitted to explore as fully as I’d like. Sometimes I think Mr. Butler…”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure he takes us seriously.”

“How so?”

“Well, these types of effects…they can be reproduced. Entities are not always so…obvious.”

Hmm
. The only way they could hear sounds from the other end of the hotel would be if there was a conduit of some sort—unless it was piped in to scare away unwanted curiosity-seekers. Even that would require wiring, most likely behind the walls. Was that why Butler didn’t want to see this wing torn down, because of what it might reveal? Why would he want to keep people away when he’d ostensibly hired Spector’s team to get rid of ghosts so restoration could proceed?

“Have you been through this entire ground-floor level?” she asked Spector, who now busied himself taking instrument readings.

“We’ve done some scans, but not much else is going on except in here,” he replied curtly, focusing his attention on his work. “I think something occurred in this room, besides Andrew’s encounter with his visitors. That would have been upsetting enough, from what I’ve heard, and the residue from his emotions may be playing a part in what’s keeping the anomalies close by, but I’m guessing there’s more to the story than we’ve been told.”

“Andrew died that night.”

“Yes, but he died in his penthouse suite.”

“I’ve felt a presence in the tower elevator.”

“Precisely. He’s guarding his domain. Or else he’s just so fond of the place that he doesn’t wish to leave.”

Assuming ghosts existed, and Marla was willing to accept the likelihood in view of her recent experiences, what would be keeping the two foreigners from seeking their rest? Were they, like Alyssa’s ghost, seeking to relate what had happened to them?

“I’m going to take a look down the hall.

“Wandering into the corridor, she padded along while her heart thumped rapidly. She pried open a couple of unlocked doors and peeked inside rooms eerily decorated with covered furnishings. Their shapes rose like apparitions in the dim natural light. So far she hadn’t seen anything that would indicate termites or other hazards, but, then, she didn’t qualify as a building inspector, either.

Her foot scraped against something slimy. Crying out in alarm, she leapt backward.
Get a grip, girl. It’s only a bug
.

Gathering her wits, she took a closer look. That blob wasn’t an insect. It looked more like a mangled chicken wing. Something had been gnawing at it, true, but how did it get there? Was Spector’s crew this careless about their meals? A metallic glint drew her gaze to a candy wrapper in a corner.

Angry at these signs of flagrant disrespect to the place, she marched back to the open parlor, where Spector was concentrating his efforts. As she entered, her glance flickered to the mantelpiece—and her eyes bulged. Unless she was hallucinating, now both candlesticks had moved. Stepping nearer, she squinted at the layer of dust that remained undisturbed. Instead of gracing the ends of die fireplace shelf where she had seen them originally, the candle holders now stood at the center.

“Did you move these things?” she demanded.

Dr. Spector, passing his measuring device slowly over the small round table set between two armchairs, peered at her. “Excuse me? I haven’t touched anything over there.”

Crouching, she pushed aside the screen protecting the fireplace interior. Not even a speck of soot darkened its yawning cavity. Could this be similar to the fireplace in Polly’s room? Her pulse quickening, she slid her fingers around the stone archway rimming the hearth without applying any pressure. If this was an entrance to the secret passage, she didn’t want Spector to learn about it.

This could be the means by which Andrew’s visitors had left, she realized, if indeed they had vanished after their meeting. Or if something more ominous had occurred to them, they could have been disposed of through this hidden exit. Seto Mulch would have known about it. He’d lived during those times and served Andrew loyally.

Had the young busboy, by then promoted to steward, been so loyal that he’d eliminate a threat to his employer by any means possible? Had he kept the secret all these years because he admired Polly and didn’t want her to discover what a vile deed he’d committed? If Andrew had known, that could account for his stroke. He might’ve even helped Mulch get rid of the men. But Marla had no proof of her theories. Andrew could have just paid them off and shown them out through the discreet exit.

Besides, what difference would it make to current events? Mulch must have been privy to something more relevant. Remember that phone call? He’d known the identity of the other speaker and had said he wouldn’t allow that individual to cause trouble. Brownie was spying for this person. Marla had assumed the groundskeeper spoke to Butler, but hadn’t she caught Brownie with Jeff Levine, her cousin’s husband? What if Mulch had been speaking to Jeffrey? Then again, why assume a man was on the other end of the line?

Obviously someone who knew the resort layout was using the passages. Butler was the most likely suspect. Marla had seen someone in Polly’s room after her aunt’s death. What if that person had escaped into the fireplace outlet? With a shiver she remembered how her evening bag had been moved. Maybe there was another entrance into her room that she and Vail hadn’t yet discovered.

When Spector left briefly to pick up another piece of equipment from his hotel room, Marla set about examining the fireplace arch more thoroughly. Not a single stone could be moved, nor did any of the indentations produce the unlatching sound she’d heard in Polly’s room. Defeat left her breathless. Either she had been mistaken, or this entrance was somehow jammed or deactivated. She remembered the downward branch at the intersection she and Vail had taken. It possibly led to Oleander Hall. The only way to find out for sure would be to follow it through its entirety. Short of getting the blueprints from Butler’s office, she saw no alternative.

Making a quick stop in her bedroom to freshen up and grab Vail’s flashlight, she headed for the tower elevator. She could always enter the passages from the twelfth floor. Gritting her teeth, she slid open the grating to the ancient lift and stepped inside.

The elevator rattled through its slow ascent while Marla mentally ticked off the seconds. She jumped back when a chill breath blew across her neck. In the next instant, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Stop it, Andrew,” she ordered brusquely. “I’m not in the mood for being teased.”

A low chuckle sounded, while something scraped her arm. Marla screeched, leaping into the wall. That elicited a knocking noise. It came from outside, as though someone wanted to get in from the shaft.
You idiot. You’re supposed to wait for Dalton and go together after lunch. He’s probably waiting for you by the cabana stand and will worry when you’re late.
Tremors raced up her spine. The knocking seemed to correspond with her heartbeat, a paced rhythm that grew insistently louder until the entire elevator shook. Sweat beaded her brow.
If only this damn thing would move faster.

The noise abated suddenly as she topped the tenth floor. This isn’t the Tower of Terror, she reminded herself. Despite the groans and rattles, we’re not going to plunge into the depths. Pressing a hand to the wall, she felt its vibration between her fingers. Shallow, gasping breaths made her lightheaded.

When at last the door opened, her knees were so wobbly that she staggered across the threshold. A long corridor stretched before her. Resisting the urge to turn and run, she experienced a moment of panic when the elevator descended, leaving her alone. She had enough presence of mind to switch on the flashlight.

Should she search for Andrew’s gemstones or Polly’s letters? Did either really exist? She wasn’t sure what to look for, only that she’d felt a compelling urge to come here by herself.

The soft thud of a door shutting gave her pause. Real or imaginary? She’d gotten to the point where she couldn’t believe her own ears. When a figure emerged out of the gloom, her heart lurched. She shone her flashlight ahead, lighting up the flushed face of Jeffrey Levine.

“Marla, I should have known I’d find you here.” He spread his hands in a welcoming gesture, but she’d heard the annoyance in his tone.

“Are you looking for Andrew’s treasure?” she retorted. “Cynthia told me we’d divided up the resort. This is my territory.”

“I wanted to get the lay of the land. This level is just like it was in Andrew’s day. Why do you suppose it’s been so well-preserved?”

“Good question. People would pay a lot of money to stay up here, especially with the rooms restored to their original condition. It could be there are structural faults that aren’t immediately visible. You know, roof leaks and such.”
Or it could be that the hotel doesn’t own the top levels, and whoever does halted progress for their own reasons.

“If that’s true, you shouldn’t be here alone,” he said. “Strange things happen to folks at this resort.”

“You don’t seem to be scared off by ghost stories.”

“Who said anything about ghosts? That guy who fell off the ladder, Polly dying this weekend, and that weird group of ghost hunters are too much for coincidence. You’d think someone is trying to chase people away.”

Not to mention the missing groundskeeper
. “Why would that be?” she asked. As Jeff neared, she realized how his muscles bulged under his black shirt. She hadn’t been aware of his strength before, but now it made her take a step backward.

His onyx eyes gleamed in the reflected light from her torch. “You tell me. Have you made any discoveries?”

She met his gaze levelly. “Nothing significant.”

He grinned with an expression she’d almost call relief. “Maybe you’ll find something decent that Aunt Polly can wear for burial. You wouldn’t want to put her away in those
shmattes
she favored.”

“Being so religious, she’ll probably get buried in a shroud. That’ll be my mother’s decision.”

“You won’t find much here.”

“You’ve been to her rooms?”

He waved a hand. “I’ve breezed through all of them. The history fascinates me. You’ll let me know if you learn anything relevant, won’t you?”