Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky Page 3

  Bruce grinned. "The secret of any business success," he said.

  Laurel nodded. "Indeed. Ten years later Gottlieb had made a pile of money, so he sold out to a consortium from the city and retired. The consortium demolished the old farmstead and built this place," she said, gesturing around her. "The only parts of the original farm left are the two barn conversions Bruce and I live in."

  She glanced at Bruce. "Sorry not to spare your feelings, Bruce, but the heyday of the resort was the 50's to early 60's." She turned back to Martin. "It was part of what folks call the 'Borscht Belt,' Martin; resorts which were very popular with the Jewish folks of New York.

  "It was my time," she said, smiling reflectively. "I had some good times here with my folks. But, by the time the 70's rolled in, foreign holidays were becoming cheaper and more folks went abroad. The consortium saw which way the wind was blowing and sold out. The resort has had five owners since 1979. Bruce and his partners make six."

  "I think we have the chance of making a real go of this," Bruce said enthusiastically. "Folks aren't going abroad as often since this war on terrorism started. There's plenty of scope for all-American vacation resorts to flourish again." He waved an arm. "Here we have sailing, swimming, mountain rambling, skiing, cycling. All the great outdoor activities. With our plans for a theater, cinema, tennis and squash courts, sauna and a health club, I think we can cater to most people."

  The realtor in Claudia pricked up her ears at the spiel but she forced herself to throttle back the interest. She could just see the orange and white box of the U-Haul trailer out the window overlooking the parking lot. It held all her possessions and represented a new life in Indiana; getting involved with a project here in upper New York State was not an option.

  "I'm sure you can attract people with that kind of layout," Martin said politely.

  "Yep." Bruce winked and slapped Martin on the arm then glanced at his watch. "Okay, got to rush and make a phone call now. Ask Laurel anything you want. Catch you later."

  "I exist to serve," she said in a dry tone as he hurried off.

  "A busy man," Martin said, laying his knife and fork on the plate and pushing it to one side. "That was an excellent breakfast! It's set me up for the day."

  "And for the month, darling," Claudia said, reaching to pat his tummy.

  He captured her hand and kissed the palm, giving her a soulful look. "Now you wouldn't deprive me of a decent breakfast, would you? I've never had so much as a merely indifferent meal since I've been in America."

  "Yeah, it's real good food," Laurel said, glancing from one to the other. Her eyes held a knowing look. "Lenny's good with kosher food too, I'm glad to say."

  "I look forward to sampling more," Martin said with a sly sidelong glance at Claudia, who stuck her tongue out at him. He chuckled, rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. "Now, Laurel; has anyone else aside from Bruce reported anything strange?"

  "Our trainee manager, Greg Dewar is one. The desk clerk, Joanne Ashby's another." Laurel nodded across at the long table, which was beginning to empty as the staff finished their breakfast and left for work. "Greg's a business studies student. He's been an intern here since May. I think you may have met his girlfriend, Donna, when you arrived. He claimed to have seen something in the office when he was working up there. He told Bruce, who told me. Sorry, I don't know the details. Joanne's one of the day reception staff. She claimed to have seen something in the staff canteen back in September."

  "Does the staff know why I'm here?"

  Laurel smiled, laid a gentle hand on his arm and leaned close, releasing a wave of musky perfume. Claudia watched her and chewed a slice of toast thoughtfully. The woman's manner may have been based on a professional's easy charm; equally, it seemed a little too familiar for her taste.

  "Martin, I'll remind you again; this is a vacation resort," Laurel said. "You couldn't drop a dime on the floor without someone knowing which side up it landed within the hour. They know. They're curious. Some will help, some won't. No one will lose their job by speaking to you; we made that plain. But it's not something we can order them to do, you understand?"

  "Oh yes, completely. I'm glad if anyone decides to speak about an encounter. Many people tend to clam up."

  Laurel chuckled. "Some around here talk so much you'll wish they stayed quiet! Listen, we've given you and Claudia the use of one of the spare offices off the main passage upstairs. You can conduct interviews there too if you want. Most anything else, you have a pretty free rein. If there's anything you're unsure of, you only need ask."

  "Thanks. First things first, I'd like to speak to this Greg chap, if you can spare him from his work."

  "He's got to work on some bookings for the first hour or so, after that I surely can spare him." She winked. "If nothing else it'll teach him to expect the unexpected in his chosen career!"

  * * * *

  Martin and Claudia went to the office they'd been allocated and set to work on the file. An hour later there was a knock at the door and he looked up to see Laurel standing there with a tall, good-looking young man with short blond hair and a fresh, open face. A spray of freckles across his upper cheeks and nose gave him an endearingly boyish air.

  "Martin, Claudia, this is Greg Dewar. He's willing to be interviewed if you're ready to see him."

  "Mr. Grey, Ms. Mackenzie," Greg said, shaking hands with a firm grip. "I'm at your service."

  Martin gestured to a chair. "Thanks for sparing us some time, Greg. Won't you sit down?"

  "I'll get some coffee," Laurel said on her way out.

  Martin produced his cassette recorder. "If you don't mind, I'd like to record this interview."

  Greg waved assent. "Sure, go right ahead."

  "Thanks." Martin recorded the date, time and those present, then turned to Greg. "Now, Greg, what did you see, when and where?"

  "Sir, ma'am, I was alone in the main office early one morning in May, working on a new staff roster for the upcoming season. Mr. Baker had just left after seeing me settled in. I was wet behind the ears, sir," Greg said with a wry smile. "I needed my hand held for a few days."

  "I understand," Martin said kindly. "And my name's Martin, Greg. Relax, this isn't a formal interview. Which date, and what time was that, please?"

  "It was May third; around 7:40 a.m. Mr. Baker had just left to check the kitchens." Greg stirred in his seat and looked pensive. "Martin, I hadn't been alone for long when I got the feeling I wasn't alone, y' know what I mean?"

  "Yes, I do," Martin said, glancing at Claudia. "No one had come into the office, yet you felt someone was there?"

  "Yeah, that's it!" Greg said with relief. "I looked round at the window, thinking someone had come in without me noticing, although I couldn't think how. You've seen that office; the desk faces the only door. There was nothing at first, then…" He shifted in his seat, looking pale. "Then I glanced to the door and back again to the window—and there he was."

  "There who was, Greg?" Martin asked softly.

  "This guy. He… he was just standing there looking at me."

  "Can you describe him?"

  "Middle height, I guess; maybe in his thirties? Fair hair, like mine in shade, and he was kind of slim. Well, I say slim, he was wearing overalls, y' know? It was hard to tell, he looked like an old blurred photo; it was difficult to make out detail."

  "What color were the overalls?" Martin asked casually, thinking of the apparition he'd seen in the office.

  "Brown, I think. They had darker patches on them, like they were badly stained with oil and stuff. And there was a smell…" Greg wrinkled his nose in remembrance. "He stunk like a distillery!"

  "Ah!" He glanced at Claudia, who raised her eyebrows. "That's interesting."

  "You think so?" Greg asked anxiously.

  "Oh yes!" He remembered the smell of burning he'd detected in their previous case when he and Claudia had first met and explored an old hotel. It had proved significant later. "Smells are commonly associate
d with supernatural activity. Sorry, I interrupted you; please go on."

  "I stood up and stared at him." Greg looked embarrassed. "Martin, I don't mind admitting, my skin was crawling all over me then. I think I said something like 'Who the hell are you?' and he never said a word, just looked at me kind of sad, like."

  "Did you attempt to touch him?"

  Greg shifted in his seat with an expression of repugnance. "No way! I got out of there, man!"

  "Understandable," Martin said soothingly. "You said earlier you looked at the window; why there, particularly?"

  "I had the sense of someone being there. Like someone could've been outside cleaning the glass."

  "When you left the office, what did you do then?"

  "I went downstairs to reception and asked Joanne if she'd let anybody go up."

  "This would be Joanne Ashby?"

  "Yeah. She said no. I asked her to come upstairs to look at this guy. When we got to the office, he'd gone."

  "How long did the whole encounter take?"

  "No more'n a few minutes, five at the outside."

  "And Joanne saw nothing?" Claudia asked.

  "No, ma'am, although…she did say there was a trace of that smell, y' know?" Greg blushed, a startling sight on one so fair-skinned. "She looked at me like I'd been drinking!"

  "But Joanne changed her mind about what you saw later, I gather?" Martin pressed.

  "Oh yeah!" Greg grinned. "Last month she came to me and said she'd seen the same thing. Was that helpful?" he asked. "Will you be able to get a handle on this?"

  "I think so, but it's early days yet." Martin waved to the computer. "Laurel's file has a lot of detail about the history of the place."

  "You figure on it being from the time this place was a resort, then?" He looked from Martin to Claudia and back again. "There've been some tragedies here, y' know."

  "So I read here," Martin said wryly, flicking the computer mouse to clear the screen-saver, an electronic rendition of the resort logo, a knight on a caparisoned horse. He turned the monitor to let Greg see more clearly. "Let's see… June, 1957 was the first. It happened during a convention of shoe manufacturers. A businessman was killed by his wife in one of the cabins. She'd driven up from Albany to surprise him and found him in bed with his secretary."

  "Nothing unusual there." Greg grinned, glanced at Claudia and blushed. "Sorry, ma'am."

  She waved it away. "Relax, Greg; I'm not that easily offended. And my name's Claudia."

  "Okay—Claudia." He nodded. "Like I said, it's not unusual; we get it all the time during the conventions."

  "It was his male secretary. And it happened in 1957," Martin said gently.

  Greg winced. "Ouch! Yeah. Doubt she would've gone to the chair for killing him because of that back then. What else is there?"

  "December, 1962. A comis-chef was knifed by a drunken waiter after an argument in the kitchens. Equally as nasty as the first killing, but it's not likely to be our spirit."

  "Not when the guy wears overalls. Wasn't there a third killing?"

  "Yes, although there're some doubts as to whether it was murder." He tapped the screen. "June, 1965. A breakdown truck driver was killed when his own vehicle ran over him."

  "Holy cow!" Greg was open-mouthed. "How the hell did that happen?"

  "The truck was parked on a slope near the parking lot whilst he was hitching the tow to a car. The hand-brake slipped—apparently. There was some suggestion it may have been released deliberately but no one was seen near the vehicle."

  Claudia looked at Martin. "Is he a possible suspect for the ghost, you reckon? Tow truck drivers wear overalls."

  Martin pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "Yes, he's a possibility, love; but farmers also wear overalls. If you include the history of the land prior to the resort being built, it could be one of the previous owners."

  She nodded. "Good point. As you say, ghosts can be free-ranging so it's even possible the spirit up in the office could be that of the tow truck driver."

  "Exactly; we can't rule that out." He looked at the printouts and tapped a page. "All we can rule out at this stage are the three suicides, who were all women." Martin closed the file and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "A tragedy, each and every one. Self-destruction is the worst way of ending a life; they can make for the unhappiest spirits. Yet as I said, in this case I can rule them out on gender alone."

  She reached and took his hand, squeezing it to comfort him. He smiled at her. A silence fell.

  "I can't see how the others would fit anyway," Greg said slowly after a while. "The dates are all wrong for a start."

  "Hauntings aren't necessarily tied to a date, whatever common wisdom says," Martin pointed out. "But I agree; I think I'll have to look elsewhere for the origins of this one. I'll dig a bit deeper into the time when it was a farm. In the meantime, thanks for your help in this, Greg. Sorry to have kept you from your work."

  "Not all, Martin!" Greg said, standing. "It's been fascinating."

  "Is Joanne Ashby around? I'd like to speak with her if I may."

  "She's on duty downstairs," Greg said, heading for the door. "I'll ask her to come up and see you. We're not busy right now, so I'll cover for her."

  * * * *

  Bruce leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Figures danced in afterimages imprinted on the purple-black of his eyelids and he swore softly. Late nights and early mornings were killing him slowly, but he was relieved that things were going according to plan. It was all coming together. Ursula and Howard would be kept nicely in the dark, and before long he'd be able to recover the funds and begin with a fresh slate. Just a few more days, was all.

  A step outside the office door made him open his eyes and look up. Joanne stood there, a thoughtful look on her pretty face. He blew her a kiss and her bright smile flashed briefly. "All okay, baby?" he asked softly.

  "Yeah, Bruce," she nodded and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I'm just going in to see Mr. Grey."

  "Good. Tonight?" he mouthed, and she nodded after a moment's hesitation.

  She walked away and he felt his cock twitch in his pants. Suppressing any sexy thoughts about Joanne, he sighed as he rubbed his stomach. His weight was under control—well, he wasn't gaining any; but Joanne had proved surprisingly inventive in bed in ways his middle-aged body was finding hard to keep up with. Another thirty minutes on the exercise machines each day should take care of that, and then he and she would get it together.

  He thought of Claudia Mackenzie and briefly envied the Brit ghost-hunter. There was a babe with more adult charms that definitely held appeal! But Joanne was there for him, she was sweet and compliant, and took far less maintenance than Ursula, with her New York City ways. Whistling softly between his teeth he turned his attention back to the figure work that'd lead to a brighter future for them both.

  * * * *

  Joanne Ashby knocked on the door and entered. Martin looked up from taking notes to see a petite, pretty young brunette smiling at him. "You wished to see me, sir?"

  "Yes, I'm Martin, this is my partner, Claudia," he said, rising to shake her hand and waving her to a chair. "Please take a seat. Laurel or Greg told you why I'm here, I take it?"

  "Oh no," she said with a wide grin and a glint in her blue eyes. "The rumor-mill had you pegged from the moment you arrived last night."

  "Ah, I might have guessed," Martin said ruefully. "I take it you're willing to talk about your experience?"

  Joanne glanced at Claudia and shrugged. "Sure, although there isn't much to tell."

  "Well, let's begin with the time Greg claimed to have encountered a man in the office along the hall from here. What can you tell me about that?"

  Joanne sat back and crossed her legs, her skirt riding up shapely thighs. She twitched it back into place with an automatic gesture. "Let's see… It was back in May. Greg had started his internship the week before. He was the newbie around here and Bruce—uh, Mr. Baker—was showing him the ropes. It was around
seven in the morning; I had just come in on the early shift and could hear them up in the office. After a few minutes Mr. Baker came down, told me Greg was working upstairs on the new roster, and then he went through to the restaurant."

  "He didn't mention anyone else being there?" Claudia asked.

  "No, and I didn't expect there to be, not at that time of day. Most of the office staff comes in at nine or later. About ten minutes went by; I was busy booking in a couple of early guests when Mr. Baker came back and went upstairs again."

  "Ah," Martin said, nodding thoughtfully. He jotted a note on his pad. "Please go on."

  "He came down after a minute and went back through to the restaurant. A few moments later Greg came down; he looked kind of pale. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think he was shaking. I asked him what was wrong, and he said there was some strange guy up there with him."

  "No one had passed you in the reception area?" Claudia asked, thinking of the distractions likely to be present.

  "No, ma'am. Even when guests are there, I can see if anyone tries to go upstairs. Nobody went past apart from Mr. Baker."

  "What happened then?" Martin asked, jotting down a note.

  "Greg asked me to go up to the office with him. I was kind of reluctant. He seemed to be so tense, as if he was psyched up or something." Joanne inspected her fingernails. "I didn't know Greg then; I didn't want to put myself in a potentially compromising position."

  Claudia thought of Kyle Marshall, her previous boss, and nodded emphatically. "That's understandable. You can't be too careful these days."

  Joanne gave her a grateful look. "Yeah, exactly! But he was so worried, you know? In the end I went upstairs and we looked in the office. There was no one there."

  Martin gestured to the door. "Did you see or hear anyone else up on this floor?"

  "No, sir. The office was empty."

  "Did you feel anything? Smell anything?"

  "Smell?" She nodded. "Yeah, I could smell liquor. Quite strong at first, then it faded. At first I wondered if Greg had been hitting the bottle in Bruce—ah, Mr. Baker's—absence, but I moved close when he was distracted and sniffed. I couldn't smell any liquor on Greg's breath or clothing."