Page 37 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow
“I’m glad to hear it. Is there anything I can help with?”
“We are wondering when we see some ghosts?” she says. Warren snorts, but she ignores him. “Ans,” she continues, smiling at the blonde man, “is interested in the paranormal. We hear good things about this place. Lots of… activity.”
“I couldn’t tell you when the ghosts will make themselves known,” I reply diplomatically. Sooner or later, Bertie and the others are bound to do something over the top that will get them in even more hot water with Stanley the Bureau Guy, but they seem to have their own timetable for that. “However, I can a hundred percent assure you that by the end of your stay here, I have no doubt you will be very satisfied.”
“Lots of deaths here?” Ans speaks up eagerly. “Lots of history?”
“There certainly is,” I agree. “If you’re interested, Rosie will be giving a tour of the house tomorrow, which will include the stories of all the ghosts currently haunting the Ashton-Drake. You’ll also have a chance to see some of their portraits hanging in the main gallery.”
“Ja, I would like.Danke.”
“Perfect. Everyone taking the tour tomorrow will be meeting in the dining room at ten a.m., after breakfast. We’ll be covering the whole weekend’s itinerary after lunch today during the Legend of Lovers Hollow welcome talk. Hopefully by then, the last of the guests will have arrived.”
Suddenly, the door opens a crack behind me, and as I turn, I see Morgan sticking his head through the gap.
“Ellis, could I speak with you, please? Out in the lobby…” His eyes look a little wild, and I hear a loud crash from somewhere behind him. “Right now.”
Oh, no.
“Um. Please excuse me,” I say to Warren and the Schäfers, then hurry out of the door. “What’s going on?”
As Morgan and I step into the lobby, I come to an abrupt stop. The ghosts are obviously just getting warmed up. Pictures and portraits are beginning to spin on the walls. The light fixtures on the high ceilings are revolving. Objects are levitating from the tables dotted about the area.
“Oh, great,” I mutter as I stare at the smashed vase on the floor by the main desk, which was obviously the sound I heard. “Bertie.”
Suddenly, a high-pitched wailing starts up, followed by rattling chains, and it’s so loud I almost cover my ears. The lights start flashing on and off, and the door to the bar bangs open behind us.
I don’t need to look to know that the guests are piling into the lobby; I can hear their collective gasps and exclamations.
“Bertie is going to be in so much trouble with Stanley the Bureau Guy,” I whisper to Morgan.
“Where are they?” Morgan scowls. “I don’t see them.”
“Probably because they were specifically told not to show themselves to the living,” I explain.
“Boo,” a voice whispers in my ear and I jump, pressing my hand to my chest as my heartbeat kicks up. “Bertie! You scared me!”
“That’s the whole point, lad,” she sniggers, appearing in my eye line.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Ah, well, Artie was feeling a little down, so we thought this might cheer him up a bit.” She points to the ceiling where Artie is happily sitting on the huge medieval-looking chandelier, his scrawny legs dangling as he clutches onto the ceiling light’s chains and uses it like a swing set.
“Artie! Get down from there!” Morgan whisper-hisses.
“No,” he says belligerently.
“Bertie, do you want to get in trouble with Stanley the Bureau Guy?” I say under my breath, hoping none of the guests can hear me.
“No, it’s all right. We have a list of things we’re allowed to do—moping, weeping, wailing, moving things about, that sort of thing.”
I eye Leona as she appears in the middle of the floor. She’s twirling and waltzing around the room, holding up a small bronze art deco statuette. Meanwhile, Rear Admiral Hilary spins the portraits on the walls like he’s a street performer and they’re plates on sticks.
Lady Violet stands at the top of the first small flight of stairs before it splits and curves to each side. She’s holding her ear trumpet in her fist and giving her best impression of an opera singer.
At least now I know where the wailing is coming from.
Skid is now shoving the sofa across the room, the feet of it scraping loudly against the flagstone floor and dragging one of the rugs along for the ride. Edwina seems to have found a large bag of sugar from somewhere and is scooping it out with one hand and flinging it about like confetti.