Hauntings of the Heart Read online

  Edith sipped her coffee. “What if he wants to move back?”

  A situation Minnie didn’t want to contemplate. One day of memories had been more than enough. She could live the rest of her life without laying eyes on him again.

  Rachel brought their meals and placed the plates on the table in front of them. Minnie dabbed her spoon through the cheese topping of her French onion soup. Her stomach clenched; she was no longer hungry. “What did he say at the Register of Deeds?” she asked.

  “Well, I didn’t talk to him.” Edith sorted through the bowl of margarines and butters, extracting three butter containers. She opened her sandwich and smeared the interior of the bread. Then she slapped the sandwich back together and bit off a chunk. “He was running out the door when I got there, so I couldn’t even eavesdrop.”

  Minnie rolled her eyes. “And Maybelle thinks she’s guarding state secrets. We won’t get anything out of her.”

  “Why do you care?” Edith asked.

  “Oh, I don’t.” Minnie scooped a spoon of soup, then dashed it back in the bowl. “Okay, I do.”

  “Why?” Edith bit into her sandwich.

  “Family business? What do you think he’s looking for? What if he tries to dispute the sale of the Bower? That must be what he was investigating at the Register of Deeds.”

  Edith dropped her sandwich on her plate. “Do you think we can get Maybelle liquored up and get her to spill the details?”

  Minnie shook her head. “She won’t eat anything we offer after the Jell-O shot incident.”

  “I still say it was her own fault—who eats three cups of unspiked Jell-O? We’ll have to work on Gordon instead. Do you still have the recipe?”

  “I’m not getting him drunk.” Minnie knew from experience how that worked. Gordon would become more suave and appealing, and she’d be even more in danger of falling for him.

  Edith tapped the table. “But if we can find out his business, we’ll know what we need to do.”

  “That’s simple. We need to send him back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

  “He is staying at your house,” Edith insinuated.

  Minnie stifled a groan. “But that would mean talking to him. I’ve been trying to avoid it.”

  “The girls and I could help.”

  Minnie shivered. She knew how their help usually worked. She didn’t want to be their kind of project. She wanted Gordon out of town, not at the altar.

  5

  Talk to him.

  Edith’s directive echoed in her mind. Minnie had managed to avoid Gordon all yesterday afternoon and evening. His room key allowed him to enter or leave the house as he chose, so she hadn’t needed to worry that he’d been standing out in last night’s downpour, incessantly ringing the doorbell. She hadn’t needed to run to the window every time she had heard a car door close, though one jump up had been for a new guest, so the dash to the door hadn’t been entirely pointless.

  She wished he hadn’t intruded on her thoughts while she sweated through her Zumba class or while she fulfilled her shopping list at the grocery store. When she’d checked out, she didn’t like the items that found their way into her cart were some of Gordon’s favorites. She shoved the raspberry scones down to the bottom of the freezer. The oranges and pineapple, however, wouldn’t keep. She’d have to serve them.

  After dicing the pineapple, she dumped it in a bowl and placed it on the buffet next to the bagels. She set the oranges out as well, but she didn’t peel them. He could do that for himself. She added some kiwi and bananas, too. Gordon hated them. Maybe the other guests would like them. Then Gordon would believe she was catering to all her guests, not only him.

  She placed the bunch of bananas next to the oranges as Gordon appeared in the doorway of the dining room, looking fresher and more vibrant than anyone should at eight o’clock in the morning. Her heart did a little jump that probably wasn’t safe for anyone her age.

  “Good morning,” he greeted her, sidling up beside her at the buffet. He scanned the offerings, then poured himself a cup of coffee. Minnie had to keep from pointing out the sugar when he searched for it.

  “Good morning yourself.” While she wasn’t sure how friendly she wanted to be, she could at least be hospitable.

  “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” He dropped a spoon into his cup and swirled it around.

  Minnie’s mouth opened, but she wasn’t sure what to say. Sugar or vinegar? She went with neutral. “Glad the rain is done.”

  Gordon selected an orange and a bagel and sat at the head of the dining room table, as comfortable as if he breakfasted there every morning. Minnie shifted the serving dishes, still trying to decide whether to chat with him or abandon him. It would have been an easier decision if her other guests had joined them for breakfast. With more bodies around the table, she could sneak questions about his business into the conversation. She shook her head. If it was just the two of them, there was too much to avoid talking about.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat. It isn’t necessary to say much, she told herself. “How are you?” and “What are your plans for today?” would suffice. No need to get any deeper than that. If he told her something about his plans, it’d be worth it. With a hint and her connections, she could ferret out the rest. Unless, of course, she needed to get the information out of Maybelle.

  Gordon tore at the skin of the orange and Minnie smelled the burst of citrus accompanying it. She barely restrained her gag reflex. She hated the smell of orange first thing in the morning. It reminded her of the almost-rotten fruit they’d had in The Philippines, and morning sickness. The village people were so poor, they had to eat whatever they had. They couldn’t afford to throw anything out, even if it was wormy or starting to rot.

  Minnie lifted her coffee to her mouth and inhaled its scent to block the orange. Why had she even bought them?

  “So, do you have a busy day planned?” she asked as Gordon eased a large section from the orange.

  He scratched at the white rind clinging to the fruit. “Oh, this and that. Depends on how my first meeting goes.”

  Minnie nodded as if that explained everything instead of nothing. He hadn’t even given her a clue. Dang it. She was going to have to try harder.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Minnie offered. It sounded like she was being friendly, and maybe he’d take it that way. She simply wanted to know how to get him out of her hair.

  Gordon shook his head. “No, thank you. My lawyer is developing a plan of action. Depending on what he suggests, the day might be busy or it might not.”

  Minnie scrunched her brow. A lawyer. She thought the mess created when his family had moved away would have been cleared up long ago. When she’d purchased the Bower, she’d found the section of title history surrounding the transfer from Gordon’s family sealed. Gordon would need his lawyer to get the files opened. Although, she thought, wouldn’t he already know what was hidden? She’d had the title thoroughly investigated in the event he ever showed up. Her lawyer had assured her the most he could do was rent a room and reminisce. Remembering that eased her anxiety a smidge.

  Gordon finished his orange, then smeared some blackberry jam on his bagel. “How about you? What’s it take to run this place for a day?”

  “Not much today. A little baking, I think. I’m expecting some bookings in the next week or so, but this weekend is pretty quiet.” A slight lie about more guests, unless her advertising found some people ready for their Halloween thrills. It was still early October, but some people really liked ghosts and goblins.

  “Doesn’t anybody come for the fall color tours?” Gordon asked.

  “We’re not far enough north for the big tours,” Minnie replied. “I’ve tried marketing to attract more interest, but most people would rather go up to Traverse City or all the way to the Upper Peninsula.”

  Gordon nodded. “Mom liked to go up to the Leelanau Peninsula every year. Dad would take her on a wine-tasting tour.” His express
ion sobered and he stared into the distance.

  He’s probably remembering his parents, she thought, recalling Helen Anderson moving around the dining room as a hostess to all her charity functions. Gordon’s mother had been the community champion. If you had a cause, she was there with her time and her checkbook. She’d organized the funding for the new library, created a literacy program where every student at the public schools received a book for Christmas, and encouraged the school board to start community education classes for adults to continue to learn as well.

  Helen’s determination had been an inspiration to Minnie. Minnie had wanted to change the world, too, and had joined the Peace Corps after college. Gordon had planned to join also, but he’d had a year of school to go. Gordon’s mother had promised to gather and send supplies once Minnie was situated and knew what was needed in the village. Minnie had sent the letter, but she’d never answered. Like son, like mother.

  “How is your family?” The question was more personal than she’d intended, but it might shed some light on the reason he’d come to town, and she was curious about what happened to his mother and sisters.

  Gordon sipped his coffee. “My two boys are doing well. Four grandkids between them.”

  Ah, no wonder he’d connected so well with Wendy. He had four grandchildren of his own. Which meant that he’d married. She hadn’t been his one and only, as he’d been hers. Married? It sliced through her with the ferocity of a knife through cold butter. It stuck and jabbed and jerked. So much for imagining him pining away for her. Probably explained why he hadn’t written even after she returned from overseas; wives generally didn’t like their husbands keeping in touch with old girlfriends. How long had it taken him to forget about her? A week? A month? She knew it hadn’t been a whole year.

  But where was his wife? Surely he wouldn’t be on an extended stay if she were around. Could he have divorced? Dare she ask? She chickened out. “Boys or girls?”

  “Three boys and a girl. Two are in college now. I can’t believe they’re that old already. I can barely remember being in college anymore.”

  Well, if that wasn’t another kick in the teeth. He didn’t even remember how close they’d been.

  “How about you? Any more grandchildren?”

  Minnie sipped her coffee. Should she let him know Wendy was her grandniece and not her granddaughter? No, she’d let him believe what he wanted. He wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter. “No.”

  Gordon smiled. “She’s a sweetheart, though. Like I said before, she reminds me of you. Remember how you used to convince the ice cream man at Willow Park he should give you two cones for the price of one?”

  Minnie chuckled to herself. The man would push his cart around the park, calling out the flavor of the day to the kids. They’d all flock to the cart and he’d dole out the ice cream like an animal trainer tossing fish to dolphins. The ice cream was a cheap variety, more ice than cream. “He didn’t use real milk,” she recalled. “He shouldn’t have charged so much. You seemed to like it, though. You always convinced Edith and Maybelle to give you the bottoms of their cones. I haven’t been out to that park in ages. They had the best places for hide and seek.”

  “I don’t think these old bones could shimmy up the trees like we used to. All those competitions to see who could reach a higher branch…I can’t remember who won more.”

  “You can’t remember because you lost every time.” Minnie thunked her cup on the table. Liquid sloshed over the side and splattered on the table. She swiped it up with her napkin.

  “Not every time. I’m sure I climbed higher than you once or twice.” Gordon leaned forward, challenging her recollection.

  Minnie shook her head. “Nope. You were too scared to go over the branch with the beehive on it.”

  Gordon laughed and slapped his knee. “That’s right. I tried once and the bees came swarming. How’d you get around them?”

  Minnie placed her spoon in her empty cup. “I was light enough I didn’t disturb the branch.”

  Gordon drained his cup. “This is great coffee.”

  “Would you like more? There’s a whole pot.” Minnie stood and held her hand out for his cup.

  Gordon handed it to her. She refilled it and found herself back at the table, reminiscing about their younger days, tiptoeing around the months before she’d joined the Peace Corps and anything that had happened after. She didn’t accomplish any of her goals—her baking, or finding out why Gordon was visiting a real estate agent. But she had an enjoyable morning.

  * * *

  Minnie studied the spreadsheet printout. It compared her monthly revenues since she’d taken over the Bower. Every year it showed the same big dip in October. This year, she was tackling it. Her haunted house advertising had to work. Her bank account hovered near rubber. If things didn’t pick up soon, her checks would be bouncing across town.

  She pulled up the program that allowed her to check the visits to her webpage. The hits were higher than she expected. Was the haunted house advertising working? So far it hadn’t translated into any bookings, but it was certainly drawing attention. The page she’d added with stories of footsteps in the attic, and doors opening and closing by themselves, was certainly the most popular.

  She crossed her fingers and tapped them against the mouse pad. Hopefully the reservations would start rolling in soon. Maybe she should order the dry ice for this weekend. Then she’d be ready if anyone showed up. More Halloween decorations, too. She debated for a moment, then figured she and Wendy would have fun with them even if no one reserved rooms.

  And food. She needed apples for caramel apples and cider, and more oil for frying donuts. If people came, she’d be baking up a storm. She was about to head to the store when the doorbell rang.

  She answered the door and found a man in a navy three-piece suit centered on her welcome mat. The fabric of his suit had an expensive sheen. The man who filled it out wasn’t anything to turn your nose up at, either. Tall, silver hair neatly trimmed, and near her own age. Hmm. She’d take Leslie’s advice and give this one a second look.

  “Welcome to the Lilac Bower. Please come in. How may I help you?” Perhaps this man was one of Leslie’s colleagues. Was Leslie trying to set her up again? If so, her attempts were getting better. He was certainly an improvement over Mr. Thomas and his jar of teeth.

  The man smoothed his hair and stepped inside. He flashed a whitened smile. “I’m looking for Wilhemenia Schultz.”

  At the sound of her given name rolling off his lips, Minnie blushed a little. Not many people could make it sound like melted chocolate. Usually it sounded like they were hemming and hawing. She closed the door behind him. “You’ve found her. Are you looking for a place to stay?” She had the perfect room for him—he would surely enjoy the Executive Suite. Though she hadn’t created any rumors of paranormal activity for that room, he probably wouldn’t be interested in ghost stories anyway. He’d be looking for quality service, and she could easily provide an enjoyable stay.

  “No,” the man replied. “This is a beautiful house. I didn’t quite believe everything my friend said, but it’s all true.”

  “Has your friend stayed here before?” Minnie asked, wondering who that friend might be. If he referred to Leslie, wouldn’t he know Leslie was practically her daughter-in-law?

  He didn’t answer her question. “My name is Derek Michaels. I’m an attorney. I have some business to discuss with you, Ms. Schultz. Is there a private place we could talk?”

  The common area sitting room right off the foyer served well for various meetings, but was definitely not private. Guests passed by on their way up to their rooms. If Mr. Michaels wanted a private place, they should use her office or her apartment.

  “This way.” She led him down the hallway, hesitating in front of her office door. The phone could ring anytime. Her apartment would be better. Whatever he had to discuss, they would be more at ease in a room overlooking the pumpkin patch.

  Her
apartment was larger than any of the suites. A sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom with her own washer and dryer. She cooked her meals in the main kitchen. Use of the kitchen had to be specially requested by the guests, so she didn’t interfere with their stays or they with her privacy.

  She invited Mr. Michaels to sit on an overstuffed loveseat, facing the bank of windows to the backyard. Leaves tumbled from the trees and littered the grass; she was going to have to rake this weekend. In front of the loveseat stood a square, burnished steel coffee table decorated with a sculpture constructed from bottle openers. Two low-backed armchairs flanked the coffee table. Her recliner, television, and another sofa were situated in an alcove off the main room.

  He stood by the loveseat and laid his briefcase on the coffee table. The leather case was reddish-brown and buffed to a high polish. It must have been brand new—she couldn’t see a scuff or a scratch on it. The man hovered at the table for a moment, and Minnie realized he was waiting for her to sit first.

  “Would you like some coffee or tea?” she asked, needing a little fortification before diving into business.

  “Coffee,” he replied. “Thank you.”

  “I have some brewing. I’ll be right back. Please, have a seat.”

  Minnie hurried to the kitchen and arranged a tray with a coffee carafe and bowls of cream and sugar. She added a small plate with cookies and a couple of orange napkins, then returned to her apartment. She heard the front door open and glanced over her shoulder before going through the doorway. Gordon waved. She balanced the tray carefully in one hand and waved back, hoping he’d see the two coffee cups and draw his own conclusions. He nodded in greeting, then climbed the stairs.

  Minnie closed the door to her apartment. Mr. Michaels was studying the painting behind the loveseat. It was by a local artist, but reminded Minnie of the work of Jackson Pollack.

  “Here we are.” Minnie placed the tray on the coffee table and poured the coffee. “What would you like in your coffee, Mr. Michaels?”