“That was never a serious consideration,” Louise Jane sniffed.
Charlene winked at me. “I’m off home now. Do you have any plans for tomorrow, Lucy?”
“Connor and I are going to the beach. It’s supposed to be a hot day. Would you and your mom like to join us?”
“Sounds good,” Louise Jane said. “Are you planning a picnic?”
“Thank you, but Mom and I will not join you,” Charlene said, “and neither will Louise Jane.”
“Why not?” Louise Jane asked. “I’ve no better plans for the day.”
“Because Lucy only asked out of politeness. She doesn’t want us tagging along on a date.”
“Oh,” Louise Jane said.
I said nothing. Charlene was right: I had only invited them to be polite.
Ronald clattered down the stairs, briefcase in hand. “’Night all. See you on Monday.”
He and Charlene left together. I looked at Louise Jane. Louise Jane looked at me.
“Good night,” I said. “I’m locking up now.”
“So,” she said, “things with Conner are progressing well, are they?”
“Whatever ‘well’ means,” I said as heat rushed into my cheeks. “We enjoy spending time in each other’s company.”
“If you’re thinking of spending any more time in each other’s company, remember I’m only renting my place from Uncle Gordon. I can move out at any time.”
“What? Oh, you want to move into my apartment. Sorry, I’m not leaving.”
“Whatever you say, Lucy, honey.” She gave me her patented smile. The one that put me in mind of a shark circling a particularly oblivious minnow. Then she said, “I have to be off. I’m going to the Ocean Side for drinks.”
“You’re going to the Ocean Side Hotel for drinks?”
“Didn’t I just say that, Lucy?”
She wouldn’t have dangled that bit of information in front of me if she didn’t want me to beg for more details. I shouldn’t have asked. Somehow, as usual, I found myself giving her what she wanted. “Well, yes. You did. I mean, who are you having drinks with?”
“Sheila called me earlier and mentioned that some of the reunion group will be gathering in the hotel bar before dinner. She thought they’d be interested in hearing things I know about the history of the hotel—the stories the hotel management doesn’t want the guests to hear.”
“Oh, right. Those stories.” I knew all about the maid who supposedly haunted the second floor of the hotel after killing herself because her lover had convinced her to steal from the guest rooms to raise money for his mother’s desperately needed medical care, and then he’d abandoned her. The maid, not the mother. Who’d never existed. As well as that one, Louise Jane had plenty of other stories about supposed hauntings at the hotel. Staff had been told to keep an eye out for her and put a stop to her scaring the life out of their guests.
I had no interest in hearing those stories again.
But I was interested, very interested, in chatting to the women who’d been here last night. Maybe one of them had noticed something she hadn’t thought to tell the police. The death of Helena Sanchez didn’t have anything to do with the library community, and this time, thank heavens, there was no reason for me to become involved.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt for me to listen to what they had to say. Sometimes, I’ve found, I can learn more from casual conversation among friends than the police can in an interview room.
“Sounds good,” I said to Louise Jane. “I’ve no plans for tonight. I’ll join you.”
She eyed me suspiciously. As well she might. Louise Jane knew I didn’t believe her tales of ghostly happenings and restless, wandering spirits. Which is why, I suspect, she continues to tell them to me.
I smiled at her. “You can give me a lift. That way I can enjoy a drink and take a cab back.”
They’d taken a big table in the lobby bar of the Ocean Side Hotel and pulled additional chairs from all over the room. Bertie was there, along with Shelia, Lucinda, Ruth, Mary-Sue and several others whose names I hadn’t caught. Sheila saw us first and sprang to her feet to wave us over. Bertie glanced between Louise Jane and me, clearly surprised to see us together. Louise Jane pulled up a chair, but before I sat down, I leaned close to Bertie and whispered in her ear. “Okay if we join you? Sheila invited Louise Jane to tell stories, and I thought I might check things out. I’ve heard nothing more from the police today.”
“Happy to have you,” she said.
The table was piled high with drinks and bar snacks, and the women chatted and laughed.
The Ocean Side Hotel is one of the nicest, and most expensive, in this part of the Outer Banks. My mom always stays here when she comes to visit. She says she doesn’t want to impose on her sister; what Mom really means is that she knows my aunt Ellen won’t wait on her.
After a few years of slipping standards, the hotel owners had recently spent a lot of money to get everything back into shape. One wall of the bar was all glass, giving a view over the well-maintained gardens, the umbrellas and lounge chairs surrounding the swimming pool, and the dunes and beach grasses lining the oceanfront. Inside, it was all bright shades of blue and yellow, with colorful whimsical art, comfortable furniture, giant-leafed plants in large pots, a gleaming mahogany bar, and rows and rows of bottles against a mirrored background. The room was full of the laughter and conversation of vacationing couples or families and locals relaxing after their workweek.
I took a seat and a waiter immediately appeared at my side, asking what I wanted to drink. I ordered a glass of white wine. The woman next to me nodded politely and shoved a platter of deep-fried calamari toward me. I thanked her, helped myself
