Authors: Christy Barritt
CHAPTER 9
As
soon as I stepped inside Blackbird Hall, the fancy decorations made me feel uncomfortable. There were antiques, distinguished-looking paintings of people I didn’t recognize, and a baby grand piano, with oriental rugs, mahogany wood paneling, and the overwhelming scent of lemon. Other surfaces featured dainty teacups, collectable figurines, and expensive vases—that’s
vauzes
,
with a snooty French accent and not vases that rhymes with cases.
I felt like I’d stepped into a museum.
If there was anywhere my klutzy side would emerge, it was here, where there were so many valuables to break.
Riley knelt beside Angelina, who sprawled in a stiff-looking chair near an intricate wooden staircase beyond the entryway. She was still whining about her ankle and staring at Riley like he was her knight in shining armor.
“Gabby.” Riley stood. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded. “Someone named Steve who works here is waiting for the authorities to arrive.”
Blaine appeared from down the hallway. “I just called the sheriff’s office, and they’re going to come out. They might be a few hours because of this storm. But they’re coming.”
Angelina grabbed Riley’s arm. “Honey child, I just need something to squeeze right now. Can I use that solid arm of yours? The pain in my ankle is about to knock me over and brand me as the cutest corpse this side of the Chesapeake.”
I mentally rolled my eyes.
Based on the look Blaine gave me, it hadn’t been mental. Oops.
I decided I’d had enough of Angelina’s antics.
“Could you point me to my room?” I asked.
“Of course.” Blaine looked away from Angelina with disdain. “It’s right up this stairway and down the hallway. Suite 222. The third door on the right. Your suitcase should be in your room. However, dinner will be at five, and we ask that you arrive promptly. We have a full evening planned, and we don’t want you to miss even a minute.” She handed me the key.
“I would hate to do that,” I muttered. I glanced at Riley. “I’ll see you at five.”
He looked up, a strange emotion in his eyes. I couldn’t read it. Was he worried? Desperate to get away from Angelina?
It wasn’t my problem. That’s what I told myself, at least.
I wandered up the stairway and down the hallway, just as Blaine had instructed. There were at least three floors in the building, I noted. Everything was rather boxy, narrow, and dark. There was a serious lack of windows, and when the lemony scent faded, the building had a musty undertone.
I found Suite 222, but hesitated a moment before twisting the handle and stepping inside. I blinked in surprise at what I saw there. It was a small living area, complete with two couches, two chairs, and a table. There were no windows or TV.
An open door across the room revealed a bathroom. Two doors on either side appeared to be bedrooms. I had to share this space with someone? Wasn’t that just peachy? But it would be a great way to keep an eye on everyone, so I couldn’t complain.
I peered in the first bedroom and spotted my suitcase on one of the beds. However, based on the cosmetics and other luggage already in the room, it appeared someone else was also staying in this room. Really? At a place this nice?
I’d have to address that later. Right now, I wanted to freshen up before dinner. I had to dress to impress, after all.
I popped up my suitcase and paused.
I knew my things may have shifted some in transport. That was to be expected.
But what surprised me was the fact that my clothes actually looked neater than I’d left them. I could accept them looking messier. But neater? No way.
There was only one way that would have happened.
Someone had gone through my things.
***
I finally found the dining hall after wandering aimlessly around the building for nearly twenty minutes. Apparently, everyone else was already there because I hadn’t passed another soul. I tried to follow my nose and the scent of sizzling fat, but I encountered lots of dark, twisting hallways in the process.
Haunted mansion came to mind. I didn’t see any eerie suits of armor, however, but I did find some model ships behind big, glass display cases. There were no paintings with moving eyes, but there were a lot of elegant portraits of people from decades past. I hadn’t ruled out finding a bookcase that turned to reveal a secret passage, though. If there was ever a time in my life I might experience a building with something like that, it would be here.
Finally, I found the others. They were seated at tables for four in a richly decorated dining hall with walls of deep burgundy and floors of dark-brown wood. Linen tablecloths, atmosphere-setting candles, and clanking of silverware on porcelain completed the scene. I’d practically just stepped into a five-star restaurant. At least in here there were some windows. Finally!
Before looking for Riley, my gaze wandered to the windows. Even though it was raining outside, I could see people wearing yellow slickers in the area the skeleton had been found. A large tent had been set up. No doubt, law enforcement, with the medical examiner, were trying to figure out how long that skeleton had been there and how to best preserve it.
After a moment of perusal, I finally spotted Riley sitting a table with a couple I hadn’t seen or met yet. Thank goodness, he wasn’t sitting with the Griffiths or Bo and Angelina Daniels. I’d already had my fill of them, and I’d just arrived.
This was going to be a long weekend, at least if I based it on the first two hours.
“Gabby.” Riley stood and pulled out my chair. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
“Not yet, but it’s not too late.” I was just playing along with our character roles, I told myself. It was coming a little too easily.
“Gabby, this is Jim and Ginger Wagnor. They’re from Maryland.”
I glanced at the couple. The woman in particular caught my attention. She was exquisite. Her features were perfect and pert, with high cheekbones and a nose that was just slightly upturned. Her dark hair curled gently around her face. The man, on the other hand, was probably twenty pounds overweight. He had only a fringe of hair and sagging jowls.
They appeared severely mismatched. Had Ginger married him for his money? Or was I giving in to too many stereotypes during my brief stay here?
I nodded as I placed a napkin in my lap. “Nice to meet you both.”
“They were telling me how their time here has really strengthened their marriage,” Riley continued.
I smiled, momentarily distracted by a server who placed some artfully arranged chicken, zucchini, and brown rice in front of me. The rice was in a perfect molded circle, the chicken drizzled with some kind of glaze, and a confetti of parsley surrounded all of it.
“That’s great to hear. I hope we’re able to say the same thing . . . at least, I hope that most of the time.”
Ginger laughed nervously. “You’re so fortunate that you were able to get in, especially since the session had already started. You do realize there’s a waiting list.”
I shook my head. “No, I had no idea. I guess we are fortunate, even when it doesn’t feel like it.”
Riley gave me a strange look. Maybe I was playing up our problems too much.
“I was surprised a spot opened up as well,” Riley said, wiping his mouth with a silky napkin.
“Dr. Turner is the best,” Jim said. “He’s truly revitalized so many marriages. He’s a miracle worker.”
Jim and Ginger exchanged a look. They certainly seemed happier than either of the other two couples I’d met. Just like Brad had said.
I placed my napkin in my lap and raised my fork. “What do the two of you do for a living?”
“I’m very fortunate to be able to stay at home,” Ginger said.
“With your children?”
“We don’t have any kids. I keep the house straight and cook. You know, more of a traditional housewife’s role. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She glowed up at her husband.
I figured these people would be rich enough to hire help, but maybe not. “I see.”
“Jim here is into real estate. Most people call him a tycoon, for that matter,” she continued. “He works long hours and has to travel a lot. I just want to offer him a safe place to relax. He needs that after all the stress he encounters at work. It’s the least I can do to make sure his clothes are pressed and he’s well fed.”
Wow. I was so out of my league here. I couldn’t see myself being happy doing what she did. Did that make me a bad person? I’d never really encountered these questions before because I’d always been single and, as a result, I’d had to work in order to make ends meet. The idea of simply staying home had never crossed my mind nor been an option.
“That’s . . . that’s great.” I didn’t sound convincing.
“How about you?” Ginger asked, taking a dainty bite of her chicken.
I remembered my cover story. “I . . . uh . . . I also stay at home.”
Her eyes lit. “So you understand where I’m coming from? It’s always so refreshing to meet like-minded people. There’s just nothing like a clean house and an organized home to give a person peace of mind.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I remembered the laundry piled up on my bed, the dishes I’d intended on washing, and my cluttered cabinets. I may clean other people’s houses for a living, but when it came to keeping my own place straight, I was a failure of epic proportions. “We’re practically living the same life here. You and me, we’re cut from the same cloth. Birds of a feather. Two peas in a pod.”
Again, I was going a little overboard here. Riley nudged me under the table, and I forced a smile.
Ginger leaned closer. “Mrs. Griffith over there stays at home, but not like I do. She is a socialite, through and through. She goes to the spa a few times per week, shops, and has lunch with her friends. Her kids are being raised by nannies.”
“Sounds very Park Ave.” Like I had any idea. I could relate more to Skid Row.
“And then there’s Mrs. Daniels,” Ginger continued, obviously prone to gossip.
I kept in mind that those who gossiped about others would also gossip about me. However, this could only help my investigation at this point, so I didn’t discourage it.
“Rumor has it she works at a gas station,” Ginger continued.
“I see.” I tried not to say too much. I figured it was safer that way. Safe was good, right? I had no problem with Angelina working a blue-collar job. I was simply curious about how the couple had gotten in.
“Anyway, what do you do, Riley?” Ginger took a sip from her water goblet and waited.
Jim glanced at Riley, his attention on the conversation. But only for a moment. Then his gaze scanned the room. Was he nervous? Was he looking for something or someone?
I couldn’t be sure.
“I’m a lawyer,” Riley said.
Ginger continued talking while we ate. She told us about redecorating their home, a vacation to the Grand Cayman she hoped to go on this summer, and what it would be like to own a private island. I just ate, listened, and nodded.
It was safer that way.
Halfway through dinner, my attention was drawn to a man who stormed through the room. Steve.
He stopped in front of Blaine, who stood in the doorway staring at her clipboard.
The woman gasped as she looked up at him. His sudden appearance had obviously startled her. “Steve, what are you doing?”
“We’re out of propane again. How am I supposed to cook breakfast in the morning without any gas to light my stove? You want this to seem like a first-class joint? Then we gotta start making some changes.”
Blaine looked around before offering what appeared to be a forced smile. “Is it really necessary to address this here and now?”
“It takes time to have the propane tank refilled, so, yes, it is. I can’t do my job under these circumstances. My brown rice wasn’t quite right tonight. Why? Because I was guarding a skeleton. Not in my job description.”
“You’re causing a scene, Steve.” Blaine looked around, seemed to notice her audience, and nervously pulled a hair behind her ear.
“I take pride in my food, and I feel like I’m being hindered. You can understand my frustration.”
“I’ll take this up with you in the office. Understand?” Her voice took on a hard edge.
He stared at her another moment before nodding. “Whatever.”
Ginger leaned toward me. “He’s the chef here. He takes his job very seriously.”
“I met him earlier. He prefers ‘food artist’ to ‘someone who does kitcheny things.’”
“He also has some anger-management issues. We all try to stay away from him. Apparently, he used to be one of Dr. Turner’s patients.”
Just as I ate the last bite of my tiramisu, someone clanged his fork against a glass. I had to look twice because, for a moment, I was certain Mr. Rogers had made a guest appearance. The man had a slight build, a meek appearance, and he wore a cardigan. He and Fred Rogers could be twins.