The Ghost Wore Gray Page 4

  I remembered the music we had sometimes heard when the Woman in White was around. “I wonder if it means anything?” I whispered.

  “Let’s go look!” said Chris.

  The dining room was deserted. Even Martha and Isabella were gone, the table already whisked clean of any evidence that people had been eating there just a short time before. Worse, the lights were out. We picked our way through the darkened room, wondering what we would find when we caught up with the music, which was definitely more distinct now that we were inside.

  One of the problems with getting involved with ghosts is that after a while you tend to jump at supernatural explanations for things you don’t understand, when there may be a perfectly logical reason for what’s happening. That was the case now, when the music turned out to be nothing more mysterious than a very solid Porter Markson playing the piano in the parlor.

  I guess you’d call it the parlor. It was a room we hadn’t seen yet, located on the far side of the lobby. I assume Baltimore would have showed it to us that afternoon, if Gloria hadn’t interrupted our tour.

  Most of the people who had been at supper were there now, some sitting, some standing at the piano. The only one missing was Meg Coleman. But she came bustling in a few minutes after we did, to take her place next to her towering husband.

  My father was sitting on an old sofa. When he saw us he waved his hand to indicate we should come and join him. We did, despite the fact that I was less than thrilled to see Mona perched on the arm of the sofa with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

  Porter Markson started another song. He was good; I could hardly believe the way his hands flew over the keyboard. He ran through the tune once, then yelled, “Now everybody sing!” I suppose it must have been some old favorite, because everybody but Chris and I knew the words.

  “Excuse me a minute,” whispered Mona, squeezing my father’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  I curled my lip as I watched her wiggle her way out of the room.

  “Nice woman,” said Dad appreciatively.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “And a tiger is just a nice kitty.”

  I heard Chris stifle a snort. Dad looked at me and raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment. Porter started another song. Suddenly Baltimore was in front of us. “Come on,” he said, reaching down and pulling on my arm. “Let’s all get over by the piano where we belong.” He pulled Chris and me to a standing position and then started working on my father.

  I suppose it’s a host’s duty to move a party along. Baltimore did it well. Before long he had everyone standing at the piano and singing. Smiling, he put his arm around Gloria’s slender waist. She bent down and planted a kiss on his shiny bald head. How could she be so sweet at night and so ferocious during the day?

  We had gone through two more songs before Mona slithered her way back into the room and took her place next to my father. I sighed. She had been gone so long I was beginning to hope maybe she’d poked herself in the eye with her mascara and had to go to bed.

  After a while Porter stopped playing and turned around to tell a joke. It was very funny. But I could feel the tips of my ears starting to turn red. My father cleared his throat, and Porter rolled his eyes and made a face that said, “Oops, my mistake!”

  I had a feeling the party was nearly over for Chris and me.

  “Just when things were starting to get interesting,” complained Chris as we began trudging up the stairs. Porter played “Good Night, Ladies,” as we were leaving. It was kind of sweet, but a little embarrassing, too. Especially since I had a feeling things were going to get really rowdy once we were gone.

  “I wouldn’t mind that much, if it wasn’t for Mona,” I said. “I don’t know what she’ll try without me there to keep an eye on things.”

  “Hey, you think your father’s going to stay a bachelor forever?” asked Chris.

  The question stopped me right in my tracks—mostly because I hadn’t really thought about it before. I mean, basically it had been just the two of us ever since my mother left. To tell the truth I kind of liked it that way. I guess I assumed Dad did, too, though now that I stopped to consider it, that seemed kind of stupid. I needed time to think about this one.

  “Well, what’s that got to do with Mona?” I asked, trying to sidestep Chris’s question.

  She stopped on the landing and waited for me. “Probably nothing,” she said with a shrug. “But you act like he’s never been interested in a woman before.”

  “He’s not interested in Mona,” I said defensively.

  “What planet did you just come in from?” Chris asked. “No wonder your father wanted us to leave when Porter started telling jokes. He was probably afraid he’d have to explain them all to you.”

  “No, he was just afraid you’d repeat one to your parents and get him in trouble,” I said, feeling cranky.

  We had reached the top of the stairs, and I realized we were both hesitating to go forward. It was that picture in the hallway. Neither one of us wanted to walk past it.

  “Well,” I said, after a moment, “should we get tough? Or should we just lie down here and sleep on the floor until my father comes up?”

  “Come on,” said Chris, grabbing my arm. “You wouldn’t want Mona to find us here. We’ll have to tough it out.” She pulled me into the hallway.

  If you pay attention, you’ll notice that Chris always grabs my arm when she’s about to act brave.

  We started out at a pretty good pace, but slowed down as soon as we got near that group of pictures. Stupid, now that I stop to think about it. The smart thing would have been to put our heads down and run like crazy. All we accomplished by inching along that way was to torture ourselves. We probably looked like total idiots, moving in slow motion, holding each other’s hands, and watching those pictures as though one of them was going to jump off the wall and attack us.

  When neither of us saw or felt a thing, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  Later that night, when I woke up and saw the ghost standing at the foot of my bed, I realized I had been both relieved and disappointed. Now, however, I was just plain terrified.

  CHAPTER NINE

  A Southern Gentleman

  If ghosts could talk it would be a lot easier to figure out what they want. Actually, maybe they can. But you’d never know it from the two I’ve met so far.

  Anyway, it would have simplified things if I could have just said, “What are you doing here?” and gotten some kind of answer. Probably I should have tried. But the truth is, I don’t think I could have managed it. The way he stood there, just looking beautiful and staring at us with those terrible dark eyes, made it hard to think about talking.

  I lay there for a while, trembling under my blankets and listening to Chris snore, which was something I hadn’t known about her before. I was trying to figure out what to do. Should I say something to the ghost? Should I try to wake Chris? Or should I just scream, and hope that he would do a quick fade?

  I wasn’t sure whether or not the ghost knew I was awake. That was mostly because I had woken up slowly. If I hadn’t, I probably would have let out a scream that would have roused everyone in the inn. I may have gotten used to spotting spooks by this time, but I still wasn’t used to waking up and finding one in my bedroom.

  The ghost had a puzzled look on his face. I wondered if he was trying to figure out why I had been able to see him. It had obviously been a big surprise.

  I don’t have a real answer to that question, by the way. My theory is that after our experience with the Woman in White Chris and I had become sensitized to ghosts, and could see them more easily than most people.

  I finally decided to try to wake Snoring Beauty—mostly because I figured she would kill me if she found out I had let her sleep through a ghostly appearance. And she’d have to find out, because I was going to need someone to talk this over with in the morning.

  The problem was, how to wake her up without scaring
off the ghost. I didn’t want to spook the spook, if you know what I mean.

  That sounds a little backward, doesn’t it? After all, people are supposed to be frightened of ghosts, not the other way around. But I was starting to feel a little more comfortable with this one. I still wasn’t convinced that he was harmless. But at the moment I had the feeling he had come visiting mostly out of curiosity. And if he was dangerous, I figured I would just as soon have Chris awake to help me out.

  I considered doing a little snoring myself. If it was loud enough, it might wake her. But I decided the ghost would know I was faking, and might not be amused. Finally I gave up trying to be fancy and just called her name. Either it would work or it wouldn’t. Keeping my eyes on the ghost, I whispered “Chris. Oh, Chris! I’ve got a little surprise for you!”

  Snorts and sputters from the other bed. (She’s going to kill me when she reads this. But it’s true.)

  “Oh, Chris. We’ve got company.”

  Snort, snort. Sputter, sputter.

  “He’s beautiful, and you can see right through him.”

  I swear, if you’re talking about men Chris will hear you even in her sleep. Her eyes popped open. Then she let out the kind of yelp I’d managed to avoid so far.

  The ghost shimmered and almost disappeared. His shape got all wobbly for a minute. I held my breath, hoping Chris would have the good sense to be quiet.

  She did, and the two of us lay there as if we had been frozen. Finally the ghost came back into focus.

  Unfortunately, my father chose that moment to pound on the door.

  The ghost looked startled. An instant later he was gone. But before he faded out of sight, he took a moment to do something wonderful. Sweeping off his hat, he made a deep bow. Then he put his fingers to his lips—and blew us a kiss.

  Chris clapped her hands over her heart. “I think I’m in love,” she whispered.

  My father rapped on the door again. “Nine. Chris. Are you in there?” He sounded worried.

  I got out of bed and slipped on my bathrobe. “What’s up?” I asked, opening the door.

  He didn’t just sound worried. He looked worried. And a little confused.

  “Well, I’m glad you two are safe and sound,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t we be?” I asked, ignoring the fact that we had just been visited by a ghost.

  “Of course you should,” he said. “But there’s something strange going on. Were you two in my room tonight?”

  “Not since before supper,” I said.

  “Well, there goes one theory,” he muttered.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Come here,” he said, making a gesture with his head. “You, too, Chris.”

  Chris scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe. The two of us followed him out of our room and into the hallway. Mona was standing near the door of his room, looking puzzled. I was not amused. Dad gestured toward the door of his room, and I peeked inside.

  It was a mess. The dresser drawers were half-open. Clothes were scattered all over the floor. The mattress had been pushed sideways so it was almost falling off the bed.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Mona and I got into a discussion about the inn, and I was going to show her some of the preliminary sketches I had made today. When we got up here, I found this.”

  “Was anything stolen?” asked Chris.

  “Only one thing,” said my father, looking puzzled. “The original floor plans Baltimore gave me this afternoon.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mona Makes Her Move

  “Well, I’d say the butler did it,” said Chris, spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “Except the place doesn’t have one.”

  We were standing in the bathroom—the one we shared with six other rooms—getting ready for breakfast. It was fairly late in the morning, since we hadn’t had the kind of night that leaves one feeling rested. After the episode with the ghost, we had spent another half hour with my father, who grilled us on whether or not we had heard anything suspicious. Since the ghost hadn’t made a sound, we could honestly tell him that we hadn’t. When the questioning didn’t get him anywhere, he just sat down in the hallway and stared at the opposite wall. “I don’t get it,” he said. “I just don’t get it.”

  Mona slid down beside him and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll turn up, Henry,” she said gently.

  I had thought about telling her his name was Mr. Tanleven, but decided it wasn’t a good idea.

  I took my toothbrush out of my mouth. “Well, I wouldn’t guess the butler, anyway,” I said. “I think it was Mona.”

  Chris wiped a smear of toothpaste off her face. “You sound like you’re jealous,” she said.

  “Could be,” I replied. “But if you’ll remember, it was Mona who left the parlor for about fifteen minutes last night.”

  “So she had to freshen her makeup,” said Chris. “Women do that. Meg Coleman was out of the room when we got there. Why don’t you suspect her?”

  “That sweet little old lady? She’s not the type.”

  Chris laughed out loud. “Now I know you’re not thinking like a detective. The ones who aren’t the type are usually the ones who did it. Besides, if Mona already had the plans, why would she have come up with your father to look at them?”

  “To throw suspicion somewhere else,” I said. “She probably figured if she was there when the crime was discovered, people wouldn’t even begin to suspect her.”

  “And what’s her motive?” asked Chris.

  “I don’t know. What’s anyone’s motive? That’s the biggest mystery of all right now. What does someone have to gain by stealing those plans?”

  “Well, I still think you’re jumping to conclusions about Mona,” said Chris. “I bet everyone at that party left the room long enough to have stolen the plans at some point or another. And that’s not counting Dieter, or Martha and Isabella, or even Peter.”

  “Peter doesn’t live here,” I pointed out.

  “No, but I’ll bet he has a key. He’s probably in and out all the time. No one would even think twice if they saw him.”

  “You think Peter did it?” I asked, stepping back out into the hallway.

  “Don’t be dense. I’m just saying it’s too early to start narrowing down the list of suspects. I’d say the only people we can count out right now are you, me, and your father. And if we didn’t know him so well, we’d have to leave him in, too.”

  I looked at her.

  “Well, it could be one of those crazy self-destructive plots,” she said. “They have them on TV all the time.”

  “That’s why TV rots your brain,” I replied. “What about Baltimore? Can’t we cross him off the list? After all, he does own the place.”

  Chris shook her head. “He’s definitely still a suspect. For the same reason.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Who knows what kind of plot might be going on here? Until we can figure out a logical reason why someone would want those plans, we have to keep all the possibilities open.”

  We had been walking down the hall as we talked and had reached the set of old pictures. “Do you think he has anything to do with it?” I asked, indicating the photograph of the long dead Confederate soldier who had stood in our room the night before.

  Chris shrugged. “Doesn’t seem likely,” she said. “For one thing, ghosts don’t seem to move things around much.”

  I nodded.

  “Besides, he’s just too gorgeous.”

  I laughed. “Now who’s not thinking like a detective?” I asked. But as I stared at the picture, I knew what Chris meant.

  “Ah,” said a voice behind us. “I see you’re admiring the ghost of the Quackadoodle Inn!”

  I turned and saw Porter Markson standing behind us. His hands were tucked behind his back, and he smiled as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  “Didn’t you
know the inn is supposed to be haunted?” he asked, misinterpreting the surprised look on my face. “Well, don’t let it scare you. Captain Gray has never been known to harm anyone.”

  “Captain Gray?” I asked.

  Porter nodded. “Captain Johnny Gray. Legend has it he was the most handsome man in Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “Well, what’s he doing haunting an inn here in New York State?” asked Chris.

  Porter shrugged. “Who knows? To tell you the truth, I’ve never actually seen him. Sometimes I think the whole legend was cooked up by one of the previous owners just to get people interested in the inn.”

  I decided not to tell him how wrong he was about that!

  “Are you ladies heading down to breakfast?” he asked.

  “Yes!” said Chris emphatically. “I’m starving!”

  That was no surprise. Hunger is sort of a permanent condition with Chris.

  “Well, if you don’t mind some company, I’ll come with you.”

  That was fine with us. I figured we could pump him for more information about the ghost while we ate.

  Breakfast turned out to be coffee and pastries, set out in the dining room for anyone who wanted them. They called this a Continental Breakfast. That means it’s European. For some reason sophisticated people call Europe The Continent—as if the other six didn’t exist! It sounds stuck-up to me, but that’s the way it is. Chris happily poured herself a cup of coffee from the big silver urn. I made a face and went looking for some milk. I don’t know how she can drink that stuff!

  When the three of us finally settled down to start stuffing Dieter’s glorious pastries into our mouths, it struck me that we were the only ones in the dining room.

  “Where’s everyone else?” I asked.

  Porter blew across the top of his coffee. “Well, probably people have either eaten or decided to sleep late. Dieter leaves breakfast out until eleven o’clock.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Of course, there are only seven guests anyway.”

  “I wonder why?” asked Chris.

  Porter shrugged. “The inn’s not doing very well. Things will pick up a little this weekend. It’s Thursday, so probably a few people will show up today. There might be a fairly good crowd come Friday. And, of course, there’s the dance on Saturday. That should draw some extra guests.”