'It was 'four kilometers over sand dunes without a camel' where I grew up,' said Zainab.
'I saw one of the maids with a basket of laundry. Not her,' Anna said, frowning toward Lilith, who was uncorking a wine bottle at the main table. 'Imagine what it must be like to hand-wash all these table linens and curtains, not to mention the sheets.'
'Seems the sheets get a good workout around here, if you believe the rumors,' Cris said.
'You mean the ghost stories?' Mason said.
Anna's breath caught in her throat. If she managed to contact any ghosts here, she didn't want a bunch of would-be necromancers holding midnight seances and playing with Ouija boards. She believed those sorts of disrespectful games sent ghosts running for the safety of the grave. And if she had a mission here, a last bit of business before her soul could rest, she preferred to handle it undistracted.
'I was talking about sex, but the ghost stories are interesting, too,' Cris said. Her sibilants were starting to get a little mushy.
Strike two, Anna said to herself. A man who's an arrogant, tee-totaling prude probably doesn't want to swap tongues with someone whose mouth smells like a barroom.
She knew she was being catty. The last entanglement had cured her of desire. And she definitely had no romantic interest in the sculptor. Even if he did have strong hands, thick, wavy hair, those dreaming-awake eyes. Maybe what she had taken for sullenness was actually insecurity. A shyness and hesitancy that was refreshing compared to Stephen's self-righteousness, and Stop it right there, girl. Find something NOT to like about him.
There.
He chews with his mouth open and he has pie crumbs sticking to his chin.
Mason said, 'According to William Roth-'
'Oh, I met him.' Zainab's brown eyes lit up as she interrupted. 'I actually got to talk to him. I've always admired his work, but he's not at all like you'd think a famous person would be. He's so down-to-earth. And he has the most wonderful accent.'
'He's quite a character, all right.'
'I think William is charming,' Zainab said, looking at him seated at the main table where he seemed to be engaged in three conversations at once.
'What were you saying about ghosts?' Cris said, as if she'd just realized the subject had jumped track. 'Anna does that stuff-'
Anna cut her off with a look and a subtle shake of her head. She didn't want everyone to think she was a flake, at least not right away.
'Roth says Korban Manor is haunted, and he's going to try to take some pictures,' Mason said. 'And the handyman I met today sure seems a little spooked.'
'Has anything weird happened to you guys since we got here?' Zainab asked.
Mason frowned. 'I don't know about ghosts. I'll believe them when I see them, I suppose. But old geezer Korban's pictures all over the place sure give me the creeps.' He nodded to the portrait on the wall above the head of the main table.
'A big old place like this,' Anna said, 'you always have creaky boards and sudden drafts blowing from everywhere. And all these lamps and candles throw a bunch of flickering shadows. It's no wonder stories make the rounds.'
'Sure,' Mason said. 'If there really were ghosts, do you think all these people would keep coming back year after year?'
'And how could they keep any employees?' Anna said.
'Well, I wouldn't mind seeing a ghost or two,' Cris said, her cheeks bright. 'Might liven the place up a bit. I like things that go bump in the night.' Cris smiled at Mason in lewd punctuation.
Anna watched his reaction. This is it. Right over the heart of the plate. Strike three, or the long ball.
Mason shrugged, seemingly oblivious to Cris's come-on. 'I don't know. I'll believe it when I see it.'
A small, cheap glow of victory burned in Anna's chest. Then she despised herself for the feeling. What business was it of hers if Cris hooked up with this country boy? After Stephen, men didn't exist, anyway. Ghosts were far more solid and reliable than men were.
The conversation was broken when Miss Mamie rose from her seat at the head of the main table. She tapped her wineglass with a spoon, and the clatter of dishes and small talk died to a whisper. Lilith and the other maid stood at attention near the foyer, each holding a silver pitcher.
'Ladies and gentlemen, lovely guests,' Miss Mamie said, her voice filling the hall. She looked at the faces lining the main table, clearly enjoying the moment. 'Friends.'
Anna was already bored. She hoped the speech would be short. Miss Mamie drew in a breath as if she were a soprano about to leap into an aria.
'I'd like to welcome all of you to Korban Manor,' Miss Mamie said. 'As most of you know, this house was built in 1902 by my grandfather, Ephram Korban. After he passed on, God rest his soul, it came into my father's hands. We turned the manor into an artists' retreat to fulfill Ephram's final request. Now it's my duty to carry on the legacy, and I do that with great pride and joy.'
'And profit,' cut in a British accent, and an uncertain laughter rippled across the room.
Miss Mamie smiled. 'That, too, Mr. Roth. But it's more than just a way to fund the estate's preservation. It's a labor of love, a continuation of Ephram's vision. He himself was an admirer of the arts. And I hope each of you finds fulfillment during your stay here, and in so doing, you'll help keep Ephram's dreams alive in your own way.'
Anna sneaked a glance at Mason. He was staring at Miss Mamie with blatant curiosity.
Hmmm. Maybe he's not as handsome as I first thought. His nose is a little long in profile. And his fingers are too thick. I'll bet he's clumsy with women.
Satisfied that she had found enough flaws, she sipped her wine. Miss Mamie was in the middle of stoking the collective artistic fires.
'— so I propose a toast, my friends,' the hostess said, twiddling her pearls. She raised her wineglass toward the vaulted ceiling, then turned and tipped it toward the portrait of Korban. Most of the room joined her. Anna reached for her glass again, then changed her mind. Mason saw her and smirked.
Asshole. Probably one of those 'holier than thou ' types. An artist with a superiority complex. Now, THERE'S a rarity.
She grabbed her glass. When Miss Mamie drank, Anna took a large gulp. It was house-bottled muscadine, a little too sweet for swilling. But she took an extra swallow for good measure.
'You're welcome to join me in the study for after-dinner drinks and conversation,' Miss Mamie concluded. 'There's a smoking porch off the study as well. Again, thank you for allowing us the pleasure of your company. Good evening.'
The room erupted in chatter and rattling silverware. Cris wobbled slightly as she stood, and she put a hand on Mason's shoulder to balance herself. Anna pretended not to notice. She was after ghosts, damn it. Ghosts didn't make a fool out of you the way men always did.
She slipped away up the stairs. The lamps along the hall threw a warm glow over the woodwork. She entered the dark bedroom and stood by the window, looking over the dark manor grounds. The sky was fading into a deep periwinkle, soon to be smothered by the blackness creeping from the east, the moon rising faint and blue in the east.
She took her flashlight from the nightstand. At least one modern convenience had been allowed, probably on the demands of the manor's insurance provider. She turned the light on and played it across the walls, half expecting to see a restless spirit, but revealing only a spiderweb crack in the plasterboard.
She sighed. Ghoulie-chasing. That was what Stephen called it.
'Leave me to do the serious investigating,' he'd say. 'You can play at ghoulie-chasing.'
A ghost lived in this house. She knew it as surely as she knew that she was dying. And she would chase it to hell if she had to, because she wanted to be right for once in her life. At least, she wanted Stephen to know she had been right. Even if it was only her own ghost she found.
She collected a sweater and put the flashlight in her pocket. A long walk alone with the night would do her good.
Rubbish.
