The question continued to linger in Lola’s mind, sinking its hooks into the deepest recesses of her thoughts.
Who else knows about Lillian’s grimoire?
So overcome with the question, she knew the only way to calm the fuzzies ricocheting in her brain was to return to the Northcott Manor House. There could be no rest until she laid eyes on the spell book. She needed to physically hold the item and compare it with the one burned in her memory clutched in a pair of fingers ringed with glittering jewels. With Raphael being out of the house for longer stretches during the week, thanks to his new training schedule, and her friends tied to their jobs and obligations, this would have to be a mission she accomplished by herself, so she made a lunch reservation for Tuesday.
Now all she needed was a plan.
The days leading up to her lunch date were consumed with ideas on how to achieve getting the grimoire. One major roadblock she had to contend with was the fact the library remained locked and off limits to the public. She tried to formulate a believable ruse that she left one of her belongings in the upper rooms when she stayed the night and needed to retrieve it, but that had been two weeks ago. Anything the cleaners or staff found would have already been removed by now. Her mind continued to wander, even while driving to the Manor House, concocting any scheme or loophole that could get her in and out of the library without the police getting involved.
“Maybe if I climb through a window,” she thought aloud, picturing herself scaling a rickety wooden ladder left out by a careless groundskeeper. She laughed, the idea obviously ridiculous. Though, she considered, it held better merit than some of her other ideas. Before long, she parked her car in the lot next to the Manor House, her steps taking her up the magnificent stoop, to present, standing in the rich foyer of mahogany, crystal, and candlelight.
The house sang to her. The walls whispered their old charm and elegance, the woodwork, of poise and grandeur, while a thrum of warmth circulated through the space as a quiet veil of mystery. The house, though at times stoic and pretentious, welcomed her with its embrace of secrets. She glanced around the small entryway, seeing the front parlor room was empty, though appeared as if a big party was about to arrive, as staff members had maneuvered the long, linen covered tables to accommodate for space. The formal dining room resonated with a healthy amount of chatter and levity, lunch running as usual for the clusters of diners.
Looking to the grand staircase, Lola saw a thick velvet rope spanning the width of the steps from railing to railing. A heavy gold placard hung from the barricade with blocky, bold letters reading: NO ENTRY.
Lola bit her bottom lip, annoyed at being thwarted by a sign. She flicked her eyes up the stairwell, peeking a sliver of the library’s doorframe, and for a brief second, debated if she could bolt up the stairs without anyone the wiser.
“Thank you for your patience,” the hostess greeted, appearing from the bar area. She approached the podium, and beamed a brilliant smile. “Are you joining us for lunch?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. I have a reservation,” Lola said, tearing her focus away from the upper floors.
After giving her name, the hostess walked her to one of the rooms near the back of the house. What used to be Cornelius’s den had since been transformed into a dining room of five linen covered tables. She was sat at a small table in front of a marble fireplace, given a menu, and then left alone to her own devices.
Serenading melodies of easy listening jazz warmed the underlying coldness that seeped from the shadowed corners of the room, and combined with the turn of the century opulence that practically dripped down the walls, the ambience created a pocket of suspended existence. If Lola wasn’t careful, she could easily find herself captured by the elegant charms of the House. Shaking off the hypnotizing spell, she held up her menu, reading the dishes just as a waiter approached her table.
“How are we doing today?” he asked, filling Lola’s water glass as he flashed a cheery smile.
“I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking up at him. She guessed him to be of college age, not quite yet grown out of his youthful face, with close cropped sandy hair and brown eyes. Not Newspaper Man, she concluded, slightly disappointed. “How are you?” she asked in turn.
“Can’t complain,” he laughed. “My name is Grant, and I’ll be taking care of you today. What can I get started for you?”
Lola mentally shrugged, figuring she might as well take advantage of a good lunch considering it appeared gaining entry to the library was a bust. “I would love the fish and chips with a glass of the house Sauvignon Blanc, please.”
“Excellent choice. I’ll put that order in and will be back momentarily with your wine,” Grant declared.
She thanked him, and he retreated for the kitchen. Breathing a sigh, she took another look around the room. There was one couple mid-meal in the corner talking quietly to themselves. Aside from them, Lola had the dining room to herself. Since her library reconnaissance mission was a failure, it only made sense to make the drive and her lunch worthwhile by using this time to get some writing done. She pulled out a notebook and pen from her purse, opening to her notes for “The Toe Box” just as Grant came around the corner with her glass of wine.
Lunch was brought out soon after. She found a steady rhythm between relaxing in the enjoyment of fancy-casual fine dining and making great strides in her work. She leaned back from the table with a contented sigh, having just finished a crucial plot point in her key twist ending, as well as the last bite on her plate. With a grin, she looked at her outline, rather impressed with all that she accomplished. The waiter Grant appeared as she set her fork down.
“Can I interest you in some dessert? We have a lovely double berry mascarpone cobbler with brambleberries and blueberries,” he said with his pleasant smile, clearing her table.
“No, thank you, I am stuffed. That was delicious,” Lola boasted.
“May I get you another glass of wine?”
“Thanks, but the one was enough for me,” she said, packing up her things. “Just the check, please.”
Lola handed Grant her bankcard and he disappeared to grab her receipt. She once again observed the small room while waiting for Grant to return. She took her phone out to snag a couple of pictures, adding to the album from her birthday weekend. From the entryway, a trickle of laughter caught her ear, the sound increasing as more voices joined in the merriment.
That party must have arrived, she thought to herself, the sounds of their gleeful enjoyment making her smile. Grant returned, thanking her for joining the Manor House for lunch, and was gone. She signed for the meal and stood, albeit reluctantly, even going so far as to take her time putting away her bankcard in its correct place in her wallet. She didn’t want to leave the House. She hemmed and hawed, picking invisible lint off her table, saddened at having no reason to keep herself at the House. Lola looked to the ceiling, appreciating the preserved mural spanning the surface, yet longed to go beyond it. Lillian’s library sat right above her.
As did the grimoire.
It was so close, and yet so far. She yearned to reach up, stick her hand through the rafters, and pluck out the grimoire, satiating her desire to have it in her possession. Alas, the book remained untouched. Part of the fuzzies in her brain managed to calm down, knowing she was near the grimoire, at least, and that was good enough for now to pacify her curiosity. Throwing her large purse over her shoulder, there was nothing left to do but to go home.
“Bye, House,” she mumbled into the old den, shuffling her feet toward the front entryway. The sounds of laughter grew louder as she approached the hostess podium, and again, she smiled, happy for the party that seemed to be enjoying themselves. Upon reaching the front parlor, she noticed an easel outside the room displaying a large foam board sign. Lola paused to read it, as the purple bats, witches’ hats, and spider web cartoons in the upper corners caught her attention.
“The Stitch ‘n Witch retreat?” she read aloud, tilting her head in question. She turned fully toward the room, shocked to find the party consisted of people sitting at the banquet tables working away at their needlework projects. Some had contraptions made of wooden stretcher bars that held their fabric taut to help easily weave their needle and thread. Others held embroidery hoops of varied shapes and sizes, while a few simply sat with fabric and needle in hand, making stitches at a pleasant pace. The tables were also littered with the comforting evidence of snacks, wine, and comradery.
“---And so, it was in this very room, where Lillian was murdered in cold blood, her killer, never to be found,” proclaimed a man in a sweater vest and wide gold framed glasses. “The End.” The room cheered, some even applauding, and he gave a proud bow over his needlework.
“That’s my favorite story,” declared a woman with light up magnifying glasses at the end of her nose.
“You always tell it so well,” said a man with salt and pepper hair around his temples sitting next to the storyteller.
“Thank you, thank you,” said the first man. “Lillian’s story has always been my favorite.”
“Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve caught a curious fly in our web,” said a woman with purple, pixie-short hair who sat at the table in front of the fireplace. She spotted Lola standing in the threshold of the parlor room, clearly intrigued by the people gathered.
All eyes turned to Lola, and she flinched back a step in surprise, having been caught staring.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she stammered, embarrassed for trespassing on their private conversations. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“We’ll forgive you…if…you can tell us something spooky about this house,” said the man in the sweater vest and glasses, giving her a crafty smirk. The collective eyes of the room swiveled back to her, eager to know what this newcomer would say.
“Um…well…uh, did you know the turret on the upper level was supposed to be a widow’s walk?” Lola said. Her mind initially went blank when put on the spot, so she said the first thing that popped into her head.
“That’s interesting, but not very spooky,” said the man with salt and pepper hair.
“Well, did you know it was Lillian who had it decommissioned?” Lola asked.
“Why?” the woman in the purple pixie hair questioned.
“She didn’t want Cornelius to know about her secret love affair,” Lola answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if what she said was public knowledge. Collectively, the room gasped.
“She was having an affair?” asked the woman with the light up magnifying glasses on the end of her nose.
“A secret affair,” Lola reiterated, “with a sailor that may or may not have been the one to murder her, since her lover was evil.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! How do you know all of this? Or if it’s even true?” asked the man in the sweater vest.
“Lillian told me herself---through tarot cards.”
The room erupted in a flurry of activity, and Lola found herself being ushered inside, bombarded with questions to know more. She was given a chair at one of the tables, the crafters setting aside their needlework projects to give her their full, undivided attention as she regaled them with the tarot reading from the night of her birthday party.
“All in favor of making this little monkey an honorary Stitch ‘n Witch, say ‘Aye’,” the man in the sweater vest announced once Lola wrapped her tale. The room resounded in one booming “Aye”, and she laughed.
“So, what exactly is a stitch ‘n witch?” Lola asked.
“The Stitch ‘n Witches are a group of cross stitchers, who gather together at the Northcott Manor House once a month to tell scary ghost stories while working on our projects. My name is Robert-Paul,” introduced the man in the sweater vest, “and this is my husband Johnathan,” he next introduced, laying a hand on the shoulder of the man with the salt and pepper hair.
“We launched our group on social media, and formed our community of misfit crafters. We’re basically a family now,” Johnathan shared.
“Tell us your name, little monkey,” requested Robert-Paul.
“I’m Lola.”
“Well, good to meet you, Lola. That’s Denise, Margaret, Juan, Julie, Linda-Joy, Claudia, and Mark,” Robert-Paul introduced, pointing to everyone he named. “Don’t worry about memorizing their names, I promise there won’t be a quiz at the end of this,” he added with a laugh.
“So, do you cross stitch, Lola?” Denise, the lady with the purple hair asked. Some of the crafters had gone back to their stitching, relaxing into their hobby again now that the excitement of the newcomer had settled.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Lola answered. “My mom taught me. She’s the real stitcher. She’s working on a squirrel right now named Dweezil.”
“Have her join our online group, and if she’s local, she’s more than welcome to participate in our Stitch ‘n Witch retreats,” Claudia said, adjusting the magnifiers on the tip of her nose. “Hopefully she likes ghost stories.”
“You don’t have to worry about her, she’s more than capable handling her own,” Lola replied with a chuckle. “But, speaking of ghost stories, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about Lillian.”
“She’s my favorite ghost,” Robert-Paul sighed. “Absolutely tragic how she passed,” he said, pulling a needle through his fabric, returning to his stitching.
“It was a horrible accident,” Lola agreed.
“Accident? I meant what I said about her being murdered in cold blood,” Robert-Paul said, shifting his gaze back to Lola. “I’m not buying into the whole ‘stray bullet’ theory. That incident had premeditation written all over it.”
“How so?”
“She was lighting her third light,” Johnathan said.
A shiver touched her skin, raising the small hairs on her arms. “What do you mean her ‘third light’?”
“If you really want to deep-dive into the Northcott rabbit hole, you’ll quickly learn appearances didn’t match what went on behind closed doors,” Robert-Paul said, lowering his voice to a mysterious level.
Subconsciously, Lola leaned forward, wanting to learn more. “It wasn’t a happy marriage?”
“Rarely are ones made in convenience,” Johnathan said, matching his husband’s tone.
“Lillian was rather…eccentric, and Cornelius was more straight laced,” Robert-Paul shared. “It was noted that she always lit the candles by three.”
“Why?”
“Eccentric,” Johnathan reminded while threading a needle.
“When they found Lillian, the butler made a casual remark in his testimony to the police that only two lanterns were lit on the fireplace mantle,” Robert-Paul continued. It couldn’t be helped, the three briefly turned their attention to the antique oil lamps at the corners of the fireplace mantle. “So why wasn’t there a third lantern lit?”
“She had died before lighting the third one,” Lola answered, reading between the lines of Robert-Paul’s question.
“Exactly! And who better to know when to pull the trigger than someone on the inside.”
“Someone who knew her eccentricities,” Johnathan purred.
“Wait, but her husband was out of town,” Lola said, pulling on her memory of all the details surrounding the infamous case. “And all the staff had been sent from the house.”
“Yes, and if what you said about her secret love affair was true---,” Robert-Paul began.
“---Then her lover was the one who killed her,” she finished, eyes widening in shock. “That’s mind blowing!”
“And that’s why Lillian doesn’t like it when you try to light three lights. It reminds her of her death,” Robert-Paul said. “It happens without fail.” He rummaged in a tote bag on the floor next to him, pulling out a booklet of matches. “Follow me.” He stood, as did Johnathan.
Lola followed suit despite being at a loss of the movement around her. She glanced around at the other stitchers sitting at the tables. Some watched her with a knowing smile while others continued stitching, relaxed and uninterested at the scene before them. She was instructed by Robert-Paul to stand in the middle of the room, he and Johnathan placing themselves in front of her.
“Hold this, please,” Robert-Paul said. He broke off a matchstick from the bifold and handed it to Lola. Then, he broke off another to give to Johnathan, followed by breaking one off for himself. “Lillian is going to stop you from lighting your match.”
“She will?” Lola asked, her eyebrows raising high.
“You have the third light,” Johnathan said.
“It’s like clockwork. Watch,” Robert-Paul scratched his matchhead across the prickly strip on the back of the matchbook. “The first light,” he said, and passed the booklet to Johnathan.
“The second light,” and Johnathan struck his match. He handed over the booklet to Lola.
She stared at the two men, noting their gleeful, expectant expressions while holding actively burning matchsticks. An eerie trepidation had cloaked itself around her, settling into her lungs as she watched the two take turns striking their matches. A warning sense of dread made her hands tremble as she took the proffered matchbook. She licked her dry lips, sucking in the lower one, and set her matchhead to the striker.
“The third light,” Lola said, her voice a hushed whisper.
“Hello, Stitch ‘n Witches! How’s everybody doing today?”
Lola yelped. She dropped her unlit match and the booklet as a staff member appeared in the threshold of the parlor room. She crouched down, picking up the fallen items, and looked up to see the Head of Hospitality Annie standing in the room.
“Hi, Annie, always a pleasure,” Robert-Paul greeted. He shook out the flame from his match to give air kisses to the pleasant lead hostess. “What brings you into our little corner?”
“How would you all like a special treat?” Annie asked, addressing the room of crafters, to which, they “ooh-ed” in curiosity. “As you know, the Manor House will be undergoing some renovations. One of the rooms about to start renovations first is Lillian’s library. Before construction begins…do you want to see it?”
If Lola hadn’t already been on the ground, she would have surely fallen over, as she could have been knocked over with a feather upon hearing Annie’s treat.
“You’re going to take us into the library?” Robert-Paul asked. “I’ve only ever dreamed of seeing her library.”
“Well, it looks like your dreams are about to come true,” Annie said, and turned to leave the room with a wave of her arm for everyone to follow her.
Light commotion moved all around Lola as the crafters rose from their tables, happily sharing their excitement and hopeful expectations of what they’ll find in Lillian’s library. She stood up, momentarily at a loss for what to do, but the gentle prodding from Claudia moved her feet to walk with the others gathering around the bottom of the grand staircase. She waited in the middle of the pack as Annie removed the velvet rope barring the people from venturing to the upper levels. Her heartrate picked up several beats as the excitement and disbelief of being allowed free access to the library registered in her mind.
Lola followed as Annie continued to guide the way up the stairs. Her eyes fixated on the oak door, her anticipation building as each step brought her closer to her coveted destination.
“Okay, my Stitch ‘n Witches, here we are,” Annie called out in a sing-song lilt. She produced a ring of fancy keys from her jacket pocket. “Get your cameras ready.” She slid one of the keys into the lock and twisted. An audible “click” echoed in the small space as the key released the tumblers inside the hardware. “I present to you Lillian Northcott’s library.” Annie pushed open the door and then stepped to the side, gesturing for the group to walk in.
Again, Lola felt herself prodded to move forward, and she complied, accepting the invitation to enter the library. The room was unnaturally cold. She shivered, bringing her hands to rub up and down her arms for warmth. The room was just as it was that fateful night she stumbled upon it, though, in the daylight hours, Lillian’s library had a soft glow emanating from the gilded furnishings, as if this space was frequently loved instead of closed off and forgotten. She stepped all the way inside, observing the room in its full beauty.
“Are you all right?” Annie asked.
Lola blinked, taken out of her daydreams as the hostess approached her. “Yes, thank you. It’s just a little cold in here,” she said, smiling politely and rubbing her arms again to emphasize her comment.
“You look familiar,” Annie said, her eyes squinting as she tried to recollect who Lola was. “Have you visited the Manor House recently?”
“Actually, I have. A few weeks ago, in fact. A group of us rented the House for my birthday.”
“Oh! How lovely. Yes, I think I do remember your party. I hope you enjoyed your stay,” Annie said, smiling broadly. “I didn’t know you were also a member of the Stitch ‘n Witches. I haven’t seen you in the group before.”
“She’s our newest inductee,” Denise said over her shoulder as she stepped back to take pictures of the intimate space with her phone.
“Annie, you said the library was about to undergo some construction,” Johnathan said from the fireplace. “What is the Manor House intending to do? This space looks in relatively great condition.”
“This room is going to be converted and redesigned into a modern day home office,” Annie answered.
“A what?!” Lola nearly shouted, the information acting like a hard slap in the face. “You can’t be serious!”
“Yes, the owner wants an office space on site to conduct business, and the library was chosen as the optimal location,” Annie explained.
“But…what about the books?” Lola demanded, throwing her arms out to indicate the hardback, dusty treasures.
“Most will go into storage, and some will be donated to the museums, but the rest will be given to the surviving Northcott family members.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” Lola laughed incredulously. “That’s not right. That’s not fair. These are Lillian’s books!” She started pacing, her indignation at the thought of boxing up Lillian’s treasure trove of sanctum artifacts absurd and out of the question. “Aside from her son, this is her legacy.”
“Well…I’m sorry…but there’s really not a whole lot to be done about it,” Annie tried to appease. “The books will be handled with care and respect---.”
“It’s not just about the books,” Lola stressed. “Lillian lived here.” She laid hands on a white, canvas tarp covered chair. “She read these books,” she continued, going next to touch a bookcase. “She ran her household from this very spot, and---oh!”
The strap on her purse snapped, falling off her shoulder, and landed on the ground. Lola looked at her spilled bag, sighing as she crouched down to gather her scattered belongings. As she scooped her things back into her purse, her fingers brushed over a loose floorboard. It slid out from under her hand, opening a secret compartment. It dawned on her she was behind Lillian’s sheet-covered writing desk, hidden from the Stitch ‘n Witches and Annie. Laying before her, shrouded in a pocket of shadows, was Lillian’s grimoire.
“Do you need some help, dearie?” Denise asked.
“No! No, sorry! I’ve got it! Silly me, it’s okay!” Lola stammered. “Don’t worry about me!” Her hand was in and out of the hole faster than her brain could process the movement. She put the floorboard back into place with her foot as she stood, clutching the broken purse to her chest.
“Sorry for getting so worked up,” Lola apologized. “I just really love books, and the news caught me by surprise.”
“It’s understandable,” Annie said with a nod, accepting Lola’s apology. “Why don’t you take some pictures, so you can look back on this little piece of history?”
Lola agreed, and grabbed her phone from the outside pocket of the purse still clutched to her chest. She fumbled with the device, her hands shaking almost too much to take a decent photo from her trembling. Eventually, it was time to depart and head back downstairs. Before Annie could close and lock the door, Lola hovered in the doorway, giving the library a farewell look-over. She snagged one more picture, the last of the group to leave the sacred room. Lagging behind, she waited for Annie to lock up as the others descended the stairs to return to their crafting.
“Again, I’m sorry for being overly passionate in there, and thank you for showing us the library. That was a really special treat,” Lola said as she and Annie walked down the stairs together.
“You’re very welcome. And no more apologizing, please. I think it’s very sweet you wanted to protect the books and Lillian’s library,” Annie said with a heartfelt smile.
“By any chance, do you know when the construction is going to happen?”
“Soon, I believe, but I don’t know the exact date. I know it will start before the next time the Stitch ‘n Witches meet, which is why I wanted to show you the library.”
“I just wish---oof!” Lola ran into something hard and solid that had turned the corner to come up the stairs just as she was coming down them. She fell over, landing hard and flat on her bottom upon the carpeted steps.
“My gracious, I am so sorry,” a man declared, startled himself by the surprise impact. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Lola looked up from her place on the steps to see a tall, broad shouldered man in a three piece navy suit standing before her. At first glance, he reminded her of a robin’s coloring, with his red double-breasted vest and slicked back brown hair with shoes and belt to match. His eyes were a striking clear gray, and he had massive hands, she noted, as one was reached out to help her stand. She slipped her palm against his, accepting his assistance, and shivered at the contact, the skin unnaturally cold. She thanked him for his help, but when trying to take her hand back, he held on tighter.
“Forgive me for saying this, but, I have the strangest feeling we’ve bumped into each other before,” he said.
“I can’t say that we have,” Lola said. Part of her wondered why her insides were internally panicking, but the longer he stared at her with his hauntingly glassy eyes, the more she wanted to flee.
“You’re probably right. I’d be a fool not to remember you,” he said. “May I have your name?”
Something deep in her spirit told her not to give it to him. She floundered, flustered in coming up with a response that didn’t involve disclosing her name. She became more nervous the longer he stared and the wider his smile grew. Thankfully, Annie came to her rescue.
“CJ, what a pleasant surprise,” Annie greeted, genuinely cheerful. “It’s been a while since we’ve last seen you.”
“Just making the rounds, Annie,” the man, CJ, said, matching Annie’s smile.
“CJ, this young woman stayed the night at the Manor House a few weeks ago for her birthday,” Annie continued to share.
“Really?” His attention and smile turned back to Lola whose hand he still clasped. “Well, happy belated. Tell me, did you notice any peculiar, otherworldly things during the night? Any wails or rattling of chains, perchance?”
“Just some footsteps on the third floor,” Lola said. Again she tried to pull her hand free and again he held strong. The cold sensation of his palm made hers turn clammy, her discomfort increasing the longer her hand remained trapped.
“Ah! Then you must sign the haunted guest book,” CJ proclaimed. He let go of her hand, turning to a side table by the entryway of the front doors, and picked up a rectangular object.
“What’s the haunted guest book?” Lola asked.
“It’s a regular guest book, but, if you have a personal ‘ghostly’ experience during your stay through the night, you get to share it in the haunted guest book with all the other claims,” Annie explained.
“Oh! That’s a fun idea,” Lola said, a lightness returning to her disposition.
“Here you are,” CJ announced, returning to the women. He held out the haunted guest book, opened to a blank page. “I insist you record your experience. And, if you share your address, you’ll receive the exclusive newsletter detailing all of the Manor House’s paranormal events.”
“Maybe another time, I have some errands---.”
“Nonsense,” CJ stressed, dismissing her rejection with a scoff and click of his tongue. “I’m sure your errands can wait. Please?” He held out the book closer to her. “I won’t let you leave until you sign it.”
Lola was positive he meant every word of that statement. Her purse weighed heavy in her arms like a lead brick the longer she stood in the foyer. If signing the haunted guest book meant she was free to leave, she’d acquiesce. “Do you have a pen?”
“Certainly,” and CJ produced a gold plated pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Taking the item, Lola wrote in the book while he continued to hold it out for her.
Stayed the night for my birthday and heard footsteps on the third floor.
Finished, she held the pen out for CJ to take back.
“And your address?” he reminded, tapping a column in the margins where guests could leave their information.
“All right, there you go,” Lola declared, biting back her sigh of impatience as CJ refused to let her leave. She tried to give him his pen back, but he ignored her, turning the book around to double check her work instead.
“Glenbrook?” he asked, his eyebrows lowering as he thought upon the surname. “Glenbrook. Hmm. Why do I know that name?”
“It’s fairly common,” Lola was sharp to reply, and he laughed.
“We obviously have two very different definitions for when it comes to being ‘common’, Mrs. Glenbrook. Rest assured, it is a name I shall not soon forget.”
Lola involuntarily trembled, his promise reading more as a threat. Her legs begged her to run away, even if that meant sprinting back up the stairs, her feet itching to put as much distance between herself and this slick man. “I hate to write and run, but I need to get to those errands---.”
Again, he interrupted her. “You know, if you submit three addresses, the House enters you into a drawing to win a voucher for a free one night stay. Know anyone else who might enjoy a newsletter?” he asked, turning the haunted guest book back around to Lola.
“CJ! My goodness you’re being particularly pushy,” Annie said with a laugh.
“I’m allowed to be pushy, I’m eccentric,” CJ rejoined with a played up haughty scoff and raise of his shoulders. “Two more addresses and then I promise you’ll be on your way,” he said, tapping the empty space on the column below her name. “You have my word.”
It was easy writing her home address, putting down her soon-to-be married name, and so used the same loophole of anonymity for her friends by only listing their places of business. She finished writing down the address for Curios and Oddities, and as she went to scribe Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, the gold plated pen flew out of her hand. It landed on the floor in front of the hostess podium, where Annie bent down to retrieve it.
“Sorry about that,” Lola said while laughing. “That was weird.” She tried to write Pyrite’s Pawn Shop’s address for the second time, and as before, the pen flew out of her hand. “Well, you know what they say; if it happens a third time, then I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
CJ acted as if she physically attacked him. He bristled and blustered, offended by the very idea that she couldn’t write down the third address. He grabbed the pen from Annie, who, for the second time, had retrieved it.
“Why don’t you tell me the address, please? That way, we’ll have no other interferences, and you can be on your way,” CJ said, turning the haunted guest book toward himself, poised to copy down her dictation.
Eccentric is an understatement, Lola thought, eyeing CJ warily. At least he was quick to recover himself, the mask of poise having slipped only briefly. She gave the pawn shop’s address and he sighed, relaxing tense shoulders as he put his pen away in his suit jacket pocket.
“Well, now that that’s all settled, I have no reason to hold you hostage from your errands any longer,” CJ said with a chuckle. “I appreciate you indulging my pushy behavior,” he added, the charm and smarm back in full swing.
“It’s a good thing I like newsletters,” Lola said. “Have a nice day. Thanks again for showing me the library, Annie.” She slipped past CJ and Annie, her purse burning against her chest. Without a look back, she pushed open the main doors, and was gone.
“You took her to the library?” CJ asked, a curious look in his eye as he watched after Lola’s retreating form.
“I did, I hope that was all right,” Annie apologized. “The Stitch ‘n Witches adore this house so much, I wanted to treat them to the library before the renovations began.”
“No harm, no foul,” CJ said, giving Annie his signature smile. He closed the haunted guest book, passing it over to the lead of hospitality. “Great minds think alike. I, too, was on my way to visit the library.” With a nod, he departed, his light steps carrying him up the stairs.
Annie resumed her business. She checked over paperwork at the hostess podium, humming blissfully to herself and enjoying the laughter coming from the front parlor room filled with the needlework crafters. She moved to return the haunted guest book back to its place on the side table, when from behind her, a clattering sound of footsteps came running down the stairs. Startled, she whirled around to discover CJ barreling toward her. He pushed past her, bursting through the front doors.
He took the stoop steps three at a time, nearly flying down them to reach the front walkway. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw a car pulling out from the Manor House side parking lot to glide along the quiet street across from him. He noted the woman behind the wheel, her distinct red hair billowing behind her as she sped away. CJ took a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He ran his hands through his hair to help him gain his composure, watching the little black car morph into a speck down the road before disappearing around a corner.
Turning on his heel, he slowly climbed back up the stoop, entering the Manor House. He found Annie in the entryway, still discombobulated from his brusque departure. She recovered enough to stare at him, wide-eyed and stammering around her questions. His eyes flicked down to the haunted guest book she clutched in her hands, and wicked inspiration flared to life in his mind. He plucked the book from Annie’s grasp, a thin grin splitting his face.
“I think I’ll take over the newsletter this month,” he said, and without another word, tucked the haunted guest book under his arm. He turned from Annie, waltzing up the grand staircase. He whistled a happy tune, the notes eerily complementing the cold shadows lingering in the corners of the entryway, his song creeping down the stairwell as he vanished into the lonely solitude of Lillian’s library.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hiya, friends! It's been awhile! I'm in love with this chapter for so many reasons! I hope you all liked it too! And now...mayhem! See you all next time, and happy reading!
~Melissa
