Kate had come to Wharton to stay with her cousin when her own life had fallen apart—a nasty divorce and the loss of her job in the process—and had found love and a new life here. I didn’t know if I was ready for all of that, but the fact that she had found her feet again here in Wharton gave me hope that I might, too.
“I was planning to let you settle in and then come over for happy hour,” Kate said. “But I’ve got a meeting with a bride—and her mother, God help me. The wedding is in our ballroom in the fall, and they’re here to pick out the menu, sample some cakes, and go over the details.”
She dragged the word details out so it had several extra syllables. I could hear the groan in her voice, and it made me chuckle.
“I can already tell meeting with brides is your favorite part of the job,” I said.
She laughed. “You have no idea. We had one mother of the bride who asked if we could take the paneling out of the ballroom and paint the walls green to match their color scheme.”
“No!”
“True! Simon and Jonathan have helpfully put me in charge of all things wedding because, after a few bridezillas—and momzillas—they ‘couldn’t even.’” She chuckled. “Anyway,” she went on, “I probably won’t be able to get there today unless—”
I cut her off. “Don’t rush over here just for me,” I said. “It’s okay. Like you said, I’m settling in, and I’m pretty beat after the drive and . . . everything.”
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do lunch tomorrow or the next day to catch up.”
“Sounds good to me.” I could use the time alone tonight, I thought to myself.
After we hung up, I glanced at the clock to see I had plenty of time until the much-ballyhooed happy hour. Time enough to freshen up and rinse the travel out of my hair.
My stomach knotted a bit. I had made these arrangements in a hurry and didn’t realize I’d be sharing a shower with strangers. I hadn’t done that since my college dorm days, but when I thought about it for a bit, I remembered the drill. I had picked up a fluffy chenille robe, a couple of towels, and flip-flop sandals at a shop a few doors down. I got undressed, pulled my robe tightly around me, grabbed a big thirsty towel, and hurried down the hall, hoping nobody would be there.
I saw one shower room was occupied, but the other was free, so I quickly slipped into it and locked the door behind me. The white subway tile was pristine. There were the products, as LuAnn promised. Shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash in containers affixed to the wall. I hung my robe and towel on one of the hooks on the back of the door and turned on the taps, waiting a few moments until the water came up to temperature.
I stepped into the stream and turned my face to the water, letting it wash over me. I closed my eyes, and then the tears came, as they always did. The shower had been the place for me to cry for some time now. I tried not to utter a sound, not knowing how thick or thin the walls were. I imagined the water was washing away all the sadness that bubbled to the surface when I was vulnerable and unguarded, and I wondered how long it would take for all of it to be gone, when I could take a shower again without crying.
And then came a loud knock. My eyes shot open. I pulled my face from the stream and listened. Was somebody at the door? No, that was silly. It couldn’t have been a knock. Maybe a hot-water pipe acting up? I shampooed my hair, rinsed, and then conditioned. And there it was again. Knocking. Bang, bang, bang. But it wasn’t coming from the door. It was coming from the wall that the shower shared with another guest room.
A shiver ran through me. The banging continued as I hurried to rinse my hair, shut down the water, dry off, and pull my robe around me. I turbaned my hair with a towel, and only then did the banging stop. Now I was getting annoyed. The only explanation was another guest, deliberately banging on the shower wall. Why would they do that? How rude. I would have a talk with LuAnn about this.
I pulled open the door just as the occupant of the other shower room opened his door. My throat nearly seized up at the sight of him.
He was about six feet tall, a dark robe pulled around his massive chest, slippers on his feet. I could see tattoos peeking through the front slit of his robe, and on his wrists and legs. Strange religious symbols, animals, mystical shapes. I didn’t look too long. I couldn’t.
“Did you hear that?” he asked me, a slight southern accent making music of his words. His voice was the lowest and deepest and smoothest I had ever heard. “That banging?”
I just stared at him, my mouth open. What was I, thirteen years old? I managed to nod.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said to me, breaking into a wide movie-star grin. His mouth was perfect—the full lips, those startlingly white teeth. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face. I couldn’t respond. I was mesmerized, as though I were in the thrall of a cobra.
“Don’t worry,” he said with that voice again, humor buoying it. “It’s just somebody messing with us, considering what they say about this place.”
“What do they say?” I managed to squeak out, wishing he would just keep talking.
He laughed. “Don’t you know? It’s haunted.”
I truly don’t remember how I left him, or how I got back to my room. I only know that I somehow managed to pull myself together, get dressed, and dry my hair. I made my way downstairs to happy hour, determined to find out who this man was and if what he was saying was true.
CHAPTER THREE
The bar was packed with people. Laughter and conversation filled the air, and more than one head turned when I walked into the room. I was the new girl in town, and everyone already knew it. I spotted Jason and Gil, who both put up a hand in greeting. I smiled into a sea of curious, if friendly, faces on my way over to join them.
Jason took a glass of white wine from the bartender and handed it to me. “This is Gary,” he said to me, nodding his head toward the man. “He’s ground zero for everything around here. Gare, meet Brynn. She’s in Wharton for the summer.”
Bartender Gary was a grizzled sixty or so, his heavily lined face witness to a life hard lived.
“Welcome,” he said to me, his smile warm. “Anything you need, you just come to me. I’m here all the time—too much!” He let out a throaty, whiskey-soaked laugh. “Seriously, though, whatever you need, I’ll be here.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at him.
He held my gaze longer than I was comfortable with. Was he trying to say something to me?
I sipped my wine and turned to Jason and Gil, who led me a few steps away.
“So! Are you getting settled in?” Gil asked.
“I’m all unpacked, and I had the most interesting—”
I was going to tell them about my encounter with the other summer lodger, but just then, LuAnn circled by carrying a tray of meats and cheeses.
“Hi, honey,” she chirped at me. “I see you’ve met these two ne’er-do-wells.” She nodded her head at Jason and Gil and gave them a wink. “Everybody that’s here right now I call the usual suspects. People who own or work at the inns in town, restaurant owners, people with summer places here.”
I looked around at the crowd of about twenty people.