Page 36 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow
I can’t help it. There’s something about Warren that people instantly warm to. It’s obvious by the way the others have reacted to him so far, especially Cedric, who I can tell really likes Morgan’s brother.
Cradling Wally in his arms, John strides out of the room, and with the drama over, everyone goes back to their individual conversations while Rosie takes over the rounds, offering the guests a selection of Aggie’s seemingly endless supply of cookies.
Essie and Martha join Mr Clutterbuck and Morgan’s grandfather, each of them taking a seat comfortably either side of Cedric, who doesn’t seem to mind. The three of them are thick as thieves these days, which I love. I’m so glad he’s started venturing out of his rooms again after years of refusing to leave them. He still hasn’t attempted to go outside yet, but he’s at least moving around the hotel now.
Mr Pennington is easy to spot in his garish clothes and bold patterns. He’s talking animatedly to Haruto Börjesson. Haruto’s young, only just twenty-one, I’d say barely more than five two, and not so much skinny as dainty. Everything about him is perfectly proportioned, just wrapped in a compact little package. He’s wearing ripped skinny jeans and bright purple combat boots, along with a neon pink and black hoodie. His short, shaggy hair is dyed baby pink and sitting on his head is a pair of jewelled metal cat ears.
Alongside Haruto is Amelia Spendle, who’s really tall. Even in flat shoes that look like ballet slippers, she’s over six foot, dwarfing both Mr Pennington and Haruto. She’s wearing a pretty long-sleeved dress and a pale pink cardigan, and her fine blonde hair falls loosely to her shoulders. She smiles but doesn’t contribute much to the conversation; then again, there’s no getting a word in edgeways once Mr Pennington goes off on one. He spends eighty percent of his time locked up in the study writing and the other twenty percent talking nonstop about writing.
It must be a writer’s trait.
On the other side of the room are the Schäfers and not far from them Mr and Mrs Taylor-Jones. Ms Schäfer, who up until now has been conversing with her partners, suddenly turns to one of them and gives him a very thorough kiss, then pivots to the other and kisses him just as fervently.
Mr Taylor-Jones, who witnessed the interaction between the very affectionate Germans, is so transfixed that he freezes with wide eyes, his hand raised halfway to his mouth. His cookie slips from his lax fingers and drops into his full mug with a plop.
“Francis!” his wife snaps, as she tries to wipe the cocoa stain from her blouse. “Will you be more careful? You splashed me.”
“Sorry, dear,” he mumbles, and tears his eyes reluctantly away from the throuple.
“So is this it, then?” Warren asks, looking around the room. “Are these all the guests for the ghost hunt weekend?” He does a quick head count. “Eleven, not including Pops?”
“We didn’t have much time. We only came up with the idea a week ago, and these were people looking for a last-minute getaway, with the ghost hunt as a bonus. I’m sure we could have got the numbers a bit higher if we’d had more time to plan, but it’s a start. Although there is another party of five arriving, and hopefully soon. They were supposed to be here earlier this morning, but I think the snow is slowing everyone down, especially once you get off the main roads and onto the country lanes.”
“So, who’s this party of five?” he asks curiously.
“They were actually already booked in. They arranged their trip shortly after New Year’s, with all the media hype surrounding poor Professor Plume’s death.”
He nods. “I heard about that. It was what brought Morgan to the hotel in the first place, after all. But why would they book in after that? Seems his death would have more likely put people off.”
“They’re paranormal investigators.”
He chokes back a laugh. “They’re what?”
“Paranormal investigators. The one in charge is Dr Thaddeus Dalton. He has a PhD in paranormal science and parapsychology. Apparently, he has quite a reputation.”
“For what?” Warren snorts. “Chasing shadows and urban legends? That’s not a real job.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts?” I tilt my head as I study him.
“No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “And paranormal investigators are the worst. They’re the kind to lock themselves in abandoned buildings at night and chase each other around with night-vision cameras, pretending they feel cold spots and jumping at every creaking timbre. It’s all so fake.”
Boy, is he in for a baptism of fire, then.
I briefly wonder if I should get Morgan to give him a heads-up before he gets to really experience Bertie and her merry band of sidekicks.
“And what kind of name is Thaddeus anyway?” Warren continues. “I bet he’s a skinny, nerdy, socially awkward, gullible idiot who’s allergic to sunlight.”
“I don’t think so,” I reply with a shrug. “He was very nice when I spoke to him on the phone to take his booking. He and his team seem to have done their homework. They knew all about the Legend of Lovers Hollow and wanted to investigate since Valentine’s Day is the anniversary. In fact, they were the ones who gave us the idea to make it into a ghost-hunting weekend event.”
“Mr Ellis?” A heavily accented female voice interrupts. “Guten Morgen.”
“It’s just Ellis.” I smile warmly. “Good morning, Miz Schäfer.” I look at the two attractive men flanking her; both seem to be in their late thirties, early forties maybe. One of them has blonde hair and blue eyes and the other dark hair and hazel eyes. “Mr Schäfer, Mr Schäfer,” I greet both of them.
“You call me Mina,ja?” Miz Schäfer says briskly. I nod, and she points to her partners. “SiegundAns.”
“I hope you are happy with your room?”
Mina nods enthusiastically. “Ja, is good. Good strong bed, very solid.”