Adelaide Confused Page 5

  I could imagine her knocking as a formality to show I wasn’t yet forgiven. Though why she’d come was a mystery, we didn’t have plans. “Come in!” I called. I heard the front door open and close. Eating another spoonful, I waited for her to walk back.

  I wasn’t looking forward to having company. I was exhausted of feeling. My angry outburst at Nancy kept resurfacing to the forefront of my mind. It wasn’t often I lost my temper these days, and I winced to remember. Keeping a calm face under a flood of emotion was something I strove to master. One too many fits of hysteria and I’d find myself committed to the funny farm. It hadn’t really been anger that had pushed me over though, it had been fear. I’d known the world was unraveling beneath me, and I’d been terrified.

  I glanced up at the sound of Francesca’s arrival only to find an unwelcome visitor. I stood abruptly, my chair sliding back with a screech. “What the hell are you doing in my house!” I barked.

  Reed Wallace smiled. “You invited me in.”

  I idly wondered if he had always had that dimple. A sense of amused triumph began to bubble up, growing every moment I stood in mute fascination. I shook my head, trying to dislodge whatever spell he seemed to be working. I reminded myself of the shit-list he was topping and said, “Get out.”

  “Certainly, if you’ll just give me a more convenient time for us to meet, I’d really app—”

  “Never would be nice,” I cut in. “And if you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”

  He smiled. I didn’t have to be an empath to know when I was being patronized. “Go ahead,” he challenged.

  He knew I was bluffing, knew I didn’t own a phone. Well that was what neighbors were for. “Wait right there,” I held up both hands, gesturing for him to stay. “I’d prefer if you were standing in my kitchen when the police arrive.” I moved to the back door, completely prepared to have him arrested.

  I cracked his composure; I could feel his irritation. I was halfway out the door when he said, “I know all about you.” I stilled, going rigid. “I know about the accident. It had been covered over, but not filled in, and just like a child’s tale, you fell. Trapped in an abandoned well for days, you were half dead when they found you. I’ve read the police reports, the news clippings. And I’ve even paid a pretty penny to see your medical records.”

  I was teetering over the threshold, held in place by his smooth, soothing voice. I could do nothing but listen as he put together the puzzle of my life, seeing the picture everyone else had missed.

  “You disappeared at eighteen and resurfaced on the island where you’ve been in the hospitality business ever since. Your reaction when we met left me feeling certain that there was something different about you. I’ve poured my resources into searching for an answer.”

  “And what did you find?” I asked softly.

  “It was the emotionally overwhelming accident that resulted in your susceptibility to the emotions around you. How else could you see through what I am?”

  “What are you?”

  He laughed, it was the perfect sound, but I could feel his weariness. “Haven’t you figured it out? I’m charming.”

  I turned slowly to face him. “What do you want?”

  “I want to offer you a job, something that would utilize your gift.”

  “No.”

  “I would pay you well. You wouldn’t have to live like this.” He gestured to the room around him. “You’re wasting yourself.”

  “I’d tell you that it’s none of your business, but you obviously don’t understand the concept of privacy.”

  “You don’t understand your own potential. You could use your gift for so much more. Don’t throw it away.”

  I was angry then, but I buried it down and spoke calmly. “Should I use my gift like you use yours? Should I influence and manipulate until I’ve built myself an empire? Is that my potential?”

  “I have an unfair advantage,” he admitted. “But the glamour is harmless. It’s not a crime to have a charming disposition.”

  “I don’t think your secretary would agree, or my friend Francesca, if either was in their right mind.”

  He raised both his eyebrows. It was the perfect expression for the confusion he was feeling at my accusation. “What does my personal aide have to do with this? And who is Francesca?”

  I slammed the kitchen door shut and stalked toward him. With a shove, I sent him stumbling down the hall. “She says she loves you, and you don’t even remember her.” I continued to push him through the front room, he only resisted a little.

  Astonished, he muttered, “The first woman who can see past the charm and she hates me.”

  “I have a feeling your ego will survive. I imagine it’s rather resilient.” I opened the door and tried to push him through.

  He became immovable, resisting my effort with ease. He’d been humoring me before, allowing me to herd him along, but he wasn’t leaving until he had his say. The realization tasted sour.

  He sobered, looking down at me with chilling blue eyes. “Your life is your own, waste it if you will. I can’t force you onto my payroll, but you will do a job for me, freelance, and that’s nonnegotiable.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Your family is still waiting, hoping to hear from you. All it takes is a phone call.” The bastard was blackmailing me. “We’ll be in touch,” he said, stepping out the door.

  I slammed it shut while considering my options. Contacting my family would be like opening a can of worms, I’d put it off with good reason. But being blackmailed rankled, and being a pawn in Reed Wallace’s pocket was unthinkable. Unable to commit myself to a course of action, I wandered back to the kitchen for more cake batter.

  Chapter 9

  Stephen shambled into the office carrying a stack of new phonebooks, Ben close at his heels. Being old, Ben didn’t do the whole eight hours of sleep thing. He was scheduled to work from five in the morning until one in the afternoon, but typically he started his shift before the appointed time. That meant Missy got to leave early while I got stuck with Ben hovering around the office hours after he was supposed to go home.

  “Over there,” Ben instructed Stephen, pointing a knobby finger. “No, no, bend at the knees or you’ll have a bad back when you get to be my age. Not that I’d know—I’m fit as a fox.”

  “Is that even a saying?” I asked. “I thought it was healthy as a horse.”

  “Bah,” he said, waving my words away.

  “Change the phonebooks out while you’re cleaning,” I said to Stephen. “Room seven is probably gross, the customers seemed shifty. I think they snuck a dog in or something.”

  “They’re not customers, they’re guests!” Ben hollered, sounding aggravated. I knew better, he wasn’t aggravated, just his usual gloom, a misery that followed him like a second shadow. He still mourned Mary.

  “This is a cheap motel, Ben, calling them guests is pretentious,” I argued.

  “No, using the word pretentious is pretentious.”

  “Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll call them guests if you’ll only do a landlord’s duty and have my window fixed.”

  “What window?”

  “The window at my house, it’s broken.”

  “How the hell did you break a window?”

  “It’s possible it broke itself. Old windows are bound to become fragile, I hear it happens.”

  “It broke itself,” he repeated in disbelief. “That’s the best lie you could come up with?”

  “I said it’s possible it broke itself. That’s not a lie,” I explained.

  “Trying to take advantage of a poor old man, you ought to be ashamed.” He could pretend all he wanted, but I knew he enjoyed these ornery conversations.

  “What poor old man?” I asked. “I thought you were fit as a fox.”

  “Piss off, Adelaide,” he muttered as he shuffled out the door.

  “I guess tha
t’s a no to the window then?” I called after him.

  * * *

  I felt her before I saw her, a shifting miasma of emotions. I wanted to hide, that was my first thought. But as she bustled through the door I was held in place by my own gruesome fascination.

  She wore a knee-length pea jacket in deep purple which matched her floral print purse. Her makeup was too heavy, her hair too tall, and her jewelry too gaudy. It was easy to picture her shopping at a Hallmark store.

  She approached the front desk, bringing feelings of outrage, rejection, and sadness closer with each step. “Hello,” she said as she settled her purse atop the counter. “I need a room please,” her voice cracked. The tears were coming.

  Wanting to get rid of her, especially before the crying started, I rushed through the check-in process. I’d just gotten the needed signatures when she began to sniffle, her eyes turning watery.

  “Here’s your key,” I said, thrusting it at her, “room twelve.” That was as far from me as I could put her.

  She took it slowly, but didn’t turn to leave.

  “Have a pleasant evening,” I hinted.

  Her lips flattened, the edges turning down—that was all the warning I got. Abruptly she was sobbing, tears streaming down both cheeks. Her feelings began to bubble up and boil over, suffocating any sense of propriety she might have felt. There was only hurt. It stemmed from alienation and loneliness, leaving behind a bitter disappointment. I felt it, and yet I felt nothing.

  You might think being an empath made me kind and compassionate, seeing as I was capable of more than simple sympathy. But no, being an empath had made me somewhat dead inside. I saw someone crying, I ran the other way. I felt their sorrow, I tried to leave. It was a matter of survival really, self-preservation.

  I watched stoically as she pulled a cloth kerchief from her sleeve, blowing her nose as she began to babble. “I mean, I paid to be here and she’s just going to...” She shook her head. “...to pull this, acting as if it was all an accident!” Her outrage and indignation swelled. She looked at me. “Did you know she had the audacity to pretend the hotel had made a mistake? A bold-faced lie if I ever heard one!”

  I stared at her.

  Apparently that was all the prompting she needed. “She’s the queen you know, so I can’t do anything about it.”

  Now I was curious, and since she wasn’t likely to shut up anytime soon, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “queen?”

  “Yes,” she said, rubbing her nose. “She started the chapter.”

  “Chapter?”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “Didn’t I say? Oh, well, sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me. I suppose it’s just one of those days, did you ever have one of those? You know, where everything goes wrong?”

  I shook my head, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I bought this coat because I’ll be graduating from pink to red soon.” She stroked the arm of her jacket. “I thought it would be alright to wear. I’m only a few weeks from fifty. But Kathy, that’s the queen, she said it wasn’t appropriate, that I should be wearing lavender.” I felt a renewal of her hurt and humiliation. “But I couldn’t help wearing it, I was so looking forward to the trip. Then we get here and I don’t have a room!” A spike of anger; I wondered if it might be mine. “Kathy said she’d made the correct reservations, and everyone believes her, but I know she hates me. I just don’t understand why,” she admitted softly.

  “What hotel was this?”

  “The Crowne,” she sniffled. “I tried to get a room, but they’re full. Reed Wallace is on the island. He’s holding a work retreat so all of his employees have a reservation.” A fresh round of tears began to leak, and I felt her miserable jealousy. “I bet they’ll even meet Reed, and I won’t!” she wailed.

  “How do you know about Reed?” Up until a few days ago I’d never heard of him, and even then I hadn’t taken him for a big celebrity.

  “He’s been on the cover of Corporate World, you know, the magazine.” She didn’t look for a reaction, just kept talking. “He’s just so, so...”

  “Charming,” I supplied dryly.

  “Yes, charming, and such a handsome man. I’d really like to meet him, but I’ll be busy with the ladies, no time for chasing men. Red hatters are a busy bunch you know,” she said with pride. Her emotions were evening out, her demeanor turning mild.

  “Well,” I said awkwardly, “um, things can only get better... probably. I mean, that harpy, Kathy, she’ll most likely get receding gum lines, or have an extreme case of early pattern hair loss. Karma always has the last laugh.”

  She began to gather her bags. “Well, I try not to be too negative. Maybe we’ll work out our differences.”

  “Yeah, or that,” I agreed.

  * * *

  A few hours later Stephen returned carrying a couple of phonebooks. “These are the leftovers. I did every room but twelve. It was occupied before I got a chance.”

  “Are you going home?”

  “I think I’ll stay and watch TV for a while.”

  “Be home by seven. I don’t want your mom to call looking for you.”

  “Okay,” he said, turning to go. Halfway to the door he bent down. “What’s this?” I looked to find him picking up a red and white scarf with tiny chirping birds speckled all over.

  “Appalling, it could only belong to...” I glanced at the signature scrawled across the receipt. “...Pattie Hankey, equally appalling.” I held out my hand.

  Passing it over, Stephen lectured, “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”

  “She’s not a book. Now go away.”

  After Stephen left I quickly became bored. I played MASH a few times, discovering that I was either going to marry Leonardo DiCaprio or Steve Buscemi, depending on which game you counted. I wondered if MASH was a gift, and if someone was out there legitimately predicting futures with it.

  The boredom persisted, so I pretended to be blind, closing my eyes to try and learn the room like they did in the movies. I counted steps, substituting a flyswatter for a cane. It didn’t really work. I know because I slammed my thigh into the sideboard.

  In an act of desperation I collected Pattie’s scarf and a phonebook for her room, so bored I was willing to deliver both items. I left the office, checking the lot to make sure there were no customers—I’m sorry, guests—coming. I wanted to stretch out the task, so I walked slowly.

  Ahead was the small breezeway that separated the two units. Stephen used it daily, a shortcut to the cleaning cart which we kept in a storage shack out back. Nearing it I noticed a mist floating in from behind the building, filling the walkway floor.

  I stopped abruptly, becoming nervous because I’d seen this before. The mist moved lazily, swirling slowly, but rising higher.

  I cursed and stumbled back, wondering how I could be seeing a ghost without the ring. And then I felt it, the thin wire band wrapped snug against my finger. I had no recollection of putting it on, and yet there I was wearing it.

  The night was deceptively peaceful. The cicadas sang and the trees swayed, their leaves lit silver by the half moon. But I hardly noticed because I was too busy staring at the rising mist, unable to move away. It began to form a coiling milky pillar, compressing itself into the shape of a man.

  We stood staring at one another until he stepped closer. Startled, not to mention scared shitless, I jerked back, tumbling off the sidewalk into the parking lot.

  He wafted toward me silently, and as he passed in front of the mounted lights they obscured his image like a hologram blinking out. He loomed over me, and I could do nothing, not even breathe.

  He seemed to solidify, turning that sickly gray, a cadaver’s complexion. He leaned over me, his face pressed so close I sunk back to avoid him, his glassy eyes filling my vision. “Go away,” I whispered.

  I felt a burst of emotion, mostly it was a mix of amazement a
nd surprise, but I felt the subtly of relief and a growing eagerness, no, anxiousness.

  He straightened so fast I hadn’t even seen him move. But I did see him raise his arm as he prepared to hit me.

  Chapter 10

  I screamed, flinching when the phonebook flew from my arms. I opened my eyes to find the ghost had moved away, now kneeling hunched over the book and flipping pages.

  “That’s what you’re all excited about, a phonebook?”

  He turned, scowling at me, his face fading as he became transparent. I realized he could hear me, I just couldn’t hear him. Not his voice, not even the whisper of his clothing or the scuffing of his boots.

  With renewed anxiety he began to flip pages. Only he couldn’t now because he’d lost his solid form. Frantically he continued to try again and again, his hand blurring it moved so quickly. The ghost’s anxiety was replaced by torment, a feeling I particularly despised.

  He turned to me, looking helpless as his face began to expand, turning a pearly white. And then his form surged outward, raining down into a puddle of slowly swirling mist.

  “Uh...”

  A door opened and closed across the parking lot. Pattie hustled toward me, asking, “Are you alright, dear? I heard a scream.”

  I looked for the cloudy mist, but it was gone, no longer hovering over the asphalt. “I’m fine, I just fell is all.” Slowly I got to my feet.

  “Oh,” Pattie said, feeling slightly confused, “my scarf.” She bent down, picking up the ugly thing.

  “I was returning it to you.” I reluctantly took up the phonebook. “This too, the one in your room is outdated.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  But I was already running back to the office, pausing to yell over my shoulder, “Have a good night!” I couldn’t reach the phone fast enough. Once inside, I began searching for the Parlor’s number. I dialed, hoping they were open.

  “You’ve reached the Parlor, where—”

  “Nancy, it’s Adelaide,” I cut in. “Adelaide Graves, you remember?”

  “Of course, is everything alright?”

  “No! I just got poltergeisted!”

  “What happened?” I could hear her concern, but was unable to feel it through the phone.