A Ghost at Stallion's Gate

Ghost at Stallion’s Gate

by Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

Shannon Delaney Paaranormal Mystery Series, Vol. 4

©
             
2011 Elizabeth Eagan-Cox All Rights Reserved    First  Electronic Edition, December, 2011

             
© cover art Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

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Chapter 1

St
anley Coover’s home was his castle, literally. All three stories of fourteen bedrooms, ten bathrooms, two grand halls, one reception room, a billiard room, a game room, dancing parlor, gentlemen’s smoking room, ladies parlor, plus a kitchen and servants quarters at the very east end, adjacent to, but separated from the horse stables. Add to this floor plan a solarium off the library and a covered patio off the back gallery that ran the full 120 feet of the back of the home. Yes, indeed, Stanley Coover built a Tudor styled mansion the likes of which I had not laid eyes on since window shopping on the Internet, and coming across the Tudor estate of a billionaire technology guru. That estate had recently sold for a sum beyond the imagination of ordinary people. I sighed out loud. The crunching sound of footsteps on the gravel drive caused me to turn around. Zach was here.

“Hey Shannon.” He gave me a hug and then kissed my cheek. “This is some place, huh?”

We gazed up at the mansion, lost in its grandeur.

“This place looks to be in fantastic condition. What is it you are hired to do here?” I asked.

“It is in great shape, but not completely up to earthquake code. I’ll be working on some internal retrofitting to bring it up to earthquake code. Luckily, I won’t need to do anything to the exterior.”

One look at the extensive plaster and halved timber exterior told me why he was counting his blessings for not having to touch it. “How long will the retrofitting take?” I asked.

He studied the home and then looked down at some plans he had on his clipboard, he flipped through a few pages. “Should be finished in three weeks, four at the most. And before the job is complete, the Pasadena Conservancy must have it inspected and receive a final approval before they’ll pay me. It won’t be easy, but the retrofitting that needs to be done is straightforward. And, I’m not working on the stables, at least not for now.”

“Is that because they’re no longer in use?” I asked

“Yeah, and until the powers that be at the Pasadena Conservancy decide what they want to do with the stables, there’s no need to renovate them.”

“I guess that’s why I was told not to mention the stables in the publicity brochure. According to what I’ve learned, the Pasadena Conservancy plans to advertise and promote this mansion as a rental location for the film industry to use as a set for movies and television.”

“Yeah, it would make a great set for a mystery or horror film, considering its history, a Hollywood movie company could save money by using the ghosts that haunt this place.” He laughed, but I was not amused.

“What do you mean? Is this mansion haunted?” I asked.

“It’s just rumors, Shannon. All towns have their fair share of mythical haunted buildings, this just happens to be one of those places in Pasadena. And the location, up here in the hills of the Arroyo Seco, adds to the lore. C’mon, I’ve got the keys and carte blanche to the place. Let’s go in and take a look.”

We stood in the middle of the first of the grand halls. The stone fireplace was large enough for three men to stand in it. “Brrr, even with the summer heat outside, it’s chilly in here. I guess the chill was a benefit to surviving the summers in Southern California?” I asked.

“Sure, especially when this place was built, back then in 1919 the only relief from summer heat was a few electric fans here and there. Did you learn much about the original owner?”

“Do you want a full summary, or a thumbnail version?” I asked.

“Your choice as long as you can walk and talk, I’d like to be out of here and on our way to dinner in an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll talk and you lead,” I said.

In little less than one hour we finished our walking survey of the interior and were at the back gallery, toward the west side. “And so, after Mr. Stanley Coover made a fortune in the railroad industry, he came west from Montana and built this mansion as a winter home. Building commenced in February of 1919 and was finished in September of 1921. The sad thing is that Coover stayed here only one winter. On his return trip to Montana in the spring of 1922 he died in a railroad crash. Two trains were mistakenly scheduled for the same track and they collided head on at a blind curve, near the mountains of Coover’s home in Helena.”

He shook his head quietly, then looked at me with sad eyes. “Imagine being killed by what you built, what you made your money on, what you spent your life doing? It’s sad, yeah, but it’s creepy, too.”

“Well, yes, I see your point, but accidents happen and I’m not unsympathetic, it’s, well, it was fate, I guess.” I could see past him and noticed another room, just beyond him was an exterior door. “What about that door a few feet behind you? Is that a room, too?”

He turned to look at the door and then referred to his clipboard notes. “Ah, let’s see.” He flipped through the pages to the last one. “Bingo! Says here, that is an exterior room, an addition that was added by Stanley Coover’s nephew, Reggie Coover. The room was built in 1923 to house Reggie Coover’s collection.” 

“Yeah, I remember something about him from my research,” I paused to collect my memory. “Seems to me that Reggie Coover inherited this place, he’s the one who gave it the name of Stallion’s Gate. Stanley Coover was a bachelor, his one and only nephew, Reggie, inherited all of Stanley’s railroad wealth, including this home and the family estate in Helena. I’ve not done too much research on Reggie Coover, though I know he had a passion for horse breeding and horse racing and he lived here for about five years, sold the place before the Great Depression in October of 1929. I suppose that room held his racing trophies, and photos of his horses, maybe a bronze or two.” I looked at Zach and an odd, indescribable look passed between us, then he got a mischievous look and smile on his face. His eyes sparkled.

“A mystery, maybe?” Then without waiting for my reply, he turned to look at the locked door.

“Unless you have a key to that room, we shouldn’t go exploring it,” I warned.

He held up two keys. “Just so happens, I do have another key, and I bet this is the one for that room.” No sooner said than done. He took three quick steps over to the room and unlocked the door. He held it wide open. “After you.”

We stepped just inside the entrance. The room was dark and even colder than the grand hall. I reached out and grabbed Zach’s hand. “It’s as black as night in an unlit cavernous closet. Where’s the light switch?” I asked.

“I found it, it’s right inside, here.” I heard the click of the switch.

The stark brilliance of the expansive ceiling crowded with dozens of dazzling chandelier lamps hurt my eyes. I squinted and then ever so slowly opened my eyes in an attempt to adjust to the brightness. Instantaneously, I wished I had never caught a glimpse of the room’s contents.

Icy goose bumps sprinted up my back. “It’s horrible!” I gasped and then choked on the acrid air. Zach held on to me as I caught my breath. I looked at him and nodded okay. Only then did we dare turn to face the hideous display.

Dozens of dead eyes stared back at us.

Chapter 2

I leaned across the table and whispered, “Why would anyone do that?”

Zach didn’t pay attention to me; he was looking over my shoulder. With my right hand, I lightly tapped my knuckles on the table’s top. He looked at me, leaned over to me and whispered, “Shhh, here comes the waitress.”

A pert college-age woman approached, smiled and asked,” Have you had enough time to decide on your menu choice?”

I glanced at my menu, and not wanting to take up more time, I ordered, “Seems to me I saw a chef’s salad listed, so I’d like that with Italian dressing and black coffee.”

The waitress smiled and then asked, “Anything else, Miss?”

“No thank you,” I replied.

“And you sir?”

Zach hesitated for a moment and then said, “Ah, I’ll have the same.” He handed our menus to the waitress and waited until she was out of earshot to say, “Shannon let’s try to put this in perspective. Whoever stuffed those horses was eccentric and it’s certainly an odd thing to do, by today’s standards, but back then, in the 1920s, it may have been the norm. Certainly it wasn’t a crime.”

His logic numbed me. “I’m not convinced it was harmless. How do we know those horses died a natural death? And even if they did die from natural causes, and it wasn’t a real crime, it’s a crime of the heart.”

Zach leaned forward and said, “For now, try to put it out of your mind. First thing in the morning I’ll get in touch with the Pasadena Conservancy and find out about it. Maybe they will agree to move the horses out of the mansion. Put them in storage somewhere. Look, Shannon, I’ll tell them that in order to retrofit the entire mansion, including that room, because it is attached, I’ll need all the horses out of the way, okay?”

“Okay.” I avoided his eyes. I couldn’t get the ghastly image out of my mind. All the mounted horse heads crowding the walls and the singular big horse, standing in the middle of the room with a carriage hitched to it. It was horrid.

Our waitress served our salads and poured coffee, I watched in silence. “Anything else?” she asked.

I smiled at her. “No thanks, we’re fine.”
Fine?
I questioned my own judgment. We ate in silence. Zach made a valiant attempt at small talk. I listened, but my heart wasn’t in the conversation until I heard him mention his grandfather.

“Huh? Why would Francisco be interested in the Stallion’s Gate mansion?” I asked.

“Because he loves old Hollywood. You know him, anything that has to do with the lore and legend of old movies, the dawn of the big sliver screen, he can’t ever get enough of that kind of trivia. I bet if I call him, he’ll come up and keep you company while you’re in the mansion.”

“By no means am I going to lodge in that place. Uh-uh, not after what we discovered. I don’t care if that was part of the bargain. I’m not staying there. I’ll get a hotel room or lodge at a bed and breakfast inn.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” He set down his fork. “Why not call Alex, see if he knows of a reputable bed and breakfast inn?”

That suggestion confused me. “Why Alex? He’s down in San Diego, what would he know about lodging up here in the Los Angeles area?”

Zach chuckled and explained, “Because he’s a magician and a professional member of the Academy of Magical Arts over at the Magic Castle in Hollywood. If anyone knows the area, one of Alex’s colleagues at the Magic Castle would be the best source.”

“Hmm, okay.” Again, I kept my thoughts to myself. I was perplexed that Zach would refer me to his only real rival for my affection. I guess I should be flattered? Was Zach so comfortable with our relationship that after all this time, he now thought Alex Blackthorne was not a threat?

We finished our meal in a quiet awkwardness, and then Zach got up and paid our tab. We walked out together, got in our separate cars and left. He was staying at a cousin’s home in Pasadena. I headed back home to San Diego. I promised to call him in the morning after I had found lodging arrangements.

Night had fallen by the time I drove into the driveway at Blackthorne House B and B. I parked in the back near the garage and entered through the kitchen door. Rosario was there, preparing tea for a guest.

“Shannon, you’re back earlier than I expected.” She gave me a mother hen hug and pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit down dear, and I’ll only be a minute taking this upstairs to one of our guests.”

I did as I was told. Long ago, when I was little and Rosario would visit with my mom, I had learned that she had a way of mothering and taking control that could make a military general cower under her watchful eyes and gentle handling.
Gentle handling?
I laughed at my own
description of my favorite nun who had more administrative savvy than CEOs of any one of America’s top 500 corporations. As the administrator for the Blackthorne House Bed and Breakfast Inn, Sister Rosario Santiago had turned a pretty penny in the hospitality business and the church parish was mighty proud of he
r. I was sitting and musing about the unlikely prospect of a nun successfully overseeing an inn when Rosario fluttered back through the kitchen door. I couldn’t help but to smile.