3
Our guide led us toward the back of the hotel and to the right, where we came to a restaurant surrounded by windows. It had the feel of a greenhouse except today everything was white outside. Small tables were scattered about the room. Black tablecloths topped with white squares lent a more cosmopolitan feel to the space than I had expected. The walls displayed black-and-white photos of Paris, and the large windows shared a view of the back of the property, which sloped down toward the woods. The snow was picking up and any lingering thoughts of escaping the knitters’ convention fled as I watched it fall.
“This is our restaurant.” Wally swept his arm in the direction of the dining room. “Complimentary breakfast is here from seven until ten. Usually we recommend reservations for dinner, but I don’t think that will be a problem today.” He chuckled and then turned it into a cough when no one joined him.
Wally led us out of the dining room and gestured toward a hallway outside the door and said that it led to the kitchen and offices. He took us to the back door, where a small area had been fitted with hooks for coats.
“Sometimes our guests prefer to leave coats and such here so they can grab them quickly if they want to enjoy the gardens.” Wally pointed to the coats, scarves, and hats hanging on hooks—it looked like there were quite a few knitters here if the amount of outerwear was any indication.
I didn’t imagine we would choose to enjoy the gardens on our brief stay during a blizzard, but we shrugged out of our jackets and found hooks for them. Mac took a slim envelope out of his inside coat pocket. I saw my name scrawled on the front. He folded it and stuffed it in his back jeans pocket without looking at me.
Mac felt more comfortable expressing himself in writing and I had been the recipient of a whole box full of notes over the years. I decided to pretend I hadn’t seen it and let him give it to me when he felt the time was right. But I did wonder what could be so difficult to say that he had brought a letter with him on vacation.
We followed Wally back out toward the front and to the other side of the entry hall. This was the room I’d imagined when we’d first pulled up to the building. Rich mahogany wainscoting and subtly patterned wallpaper made the room feel cozy. Dark reds and greens accented the deep leather couches and chairs placed about the room in conversational arrangements. Worn Persian rugs anchored the seating areas. Heavy red velvet curtains looked as if they could insulate the room from any storm. An enormous fireplace with a bright and cheerful fire glowing within beckoned me toward the couch.
I sighed and squeezed Mac’s hand, for the moment forgetting that we were leaving as soon as possible.
“Isn’t this terrific?” Vi said in my ear.
I glanced upward in a reflex eye roll and saw something pink on the chandelier.
“What’s that?” I pointed.
“You spotted it!” Vi said. She patted my back.
Wally rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head.
“Spotted what?” Mac craned his neck upward to see what we were looking at.
I noticed that it wasn’t just something pink. It was also something purple and teal and lime green. Every arm of the beautiful crystal chandelier had a small tube of knitting attached.
“Yarn bombing,” Vi said. She crossed her arms and nodded decisively.
“What bombing?” Mac said.
“It’s a knitter thing,” Vi said, and patted his arm in a reassuring way. I was pretty sure no one had patted Mac’s arm in a reassuring way in many years. “When a bunch of knitters get together we just have to show off. There’s a contest for the most interesting and difficult yarn bomb. It’s supposed to be a secret until the last day when each knitter takes credit for her pieces. So you’ll see lots of little knitted items all over the castle this weekend. This one wasn’t easy to pull off. They must have gotten the maintenance guy involved. . . .” Vi walked in circles under the chandelier to get a better look at the knitting. “I would have liked to see that. He’s a hottie.”
“Are these normal knitters?” Mac whispered to me. I shrugged and moved a little closer to him. He moved his hand from the small of my back and put his arm around my shoulders.
Wally cleared his throat and gestured toward the door.
Mac and I followed quickly. I reconsidered the idea of braving the storm to go anywhere else.
We walked to the front of the hotel again and up the wide, dark wood staircase. Just as in the lounge, mahogany wainscoting gave way to Victorian-style wallpaper halfway up the wall. Torches had been placed along the hallway every ten feet or so. Fortunately, they were electric, but the effect was still one of walking into the past. We turned the corner at the top of the staircase and the sensation intensified. Tapestries hung from the walls and a large stained glass window loomed at the end of the hall. The weak outside light was unable to do it justice. I was no expert on antiques, but if any of the décor was as old as it looked, the furnishings alone must be worth a fortune.
Wally led us down the hall that ran along the front of the building. His description of the paintings, tapestries, and sculptures solidified the sense that we were in a uniquely preserved Victorian mansion.
“Here’s your room, Ms. Fortune.” He pointed to the left. “Mr. McKenzie, you’ll be in here.” He showed Mac the room two doors down. Wally pointed to the end of the hallway. “And that door leads to the turret room.” His voice became quiet and his expression indicated we should know what he meant by “turret room.”
“Tell them the ghost story,” Vi said while bouncing on her toes like a six-year-old.
Wally lowered his voice. “Ms. Greer, I don’t think I should have told you that story. I don’t know if Ms. Carlisle wants to advertise the ghost.”
“Oh, come on, Wally.” Vi gave him a good slug in the arm. “Everyone in Kalamazoo has heard the story. There’s no way she’s going to get everyone to un-hear it.”
He sighed and rubbed his arm. He glanced over his shoulder. “Okay, but not here, she might hear us.”
Mac sighed.
“The ghost?” I whispered. I didn’t believe in ghosts, per se, but in my anti-jinx state of mind decided to keep that to myself.
Wally shook his head. “Ms. Carlisle.”
“Let’s go in here,” Vi said. She led us to her door. “All the rooms are decorated in a different theme. We got the red Victorian room—it’s the best.” She glanced at Mac. “Yours is good, too. Green, I think.” She took her key and opened the door, gesturing us inside.
Mac hadn’t said a word, which indicated his level of shock that his plans had fallen apart so completely. Wally sheepishly followed Vi inside before shutting the door behind us.
The room was larger than I’d expected, and definitely red. And Victorian. Dark, carved wooden headboards loomed over the two beds. Red and white floral bedspreads matched the curtains, swags, and tassels that framed the windows. I crossed to the small sitting area and a window that faced the back of the property. Snowcapped fir trees and white-outlined branches were just visible through the falling flakes. The tops of the cars had disappeared under a blanket of white.
“You can have that bed,” Vi said. She pointed to the bed nearest the window. She stood next to me and looked out. “It’s getting pretty bad out there.” She turned and rubbed her hands together. “I’ll have to empty one of the drawers. I brought a lot of yarn, but I can store it downstairs where we have the workshop.”
Mom’s tarot cards covered the coffee table in her standard pattern. I looked away, not wanting to know what dire predictions they held. Vi had evidently been using the pendulum and it sat waiting in the middle of its yes-no cross. Wally’s eyes darted around the room.