Deadly Curiosities (7 page)

Once I’d gone over the instructions for refinishing the floors with the workmen and handed off my keys, I tossed my laptop and luggage into my little blue Mini Cooper and headed for the shop.

Thankfully, there were no new reports of perfectly normal old items suddenly turning into haunted horrors. I basked in the boredom, compared to the unsettling events of the last few days.

“I’ve got a list of contacts for the people who sold us Gardenia Landing’s items,” Teag said. “I made a few calls yesterday evening, and some this morning. Want to know what I found out?”

“Sure,” I said, pouring a cup of coffee to fortify my resolve.

Outside, a steady rain deterred shoppers, giving us the chance to talk undisturbed. Teag leaned against the counter with his cup of tea.

“The tea set came from Avery’s Auctions,” he said. “Belinda Avery remembered it. G.R. Collis silver.

She wasn’t aware of anything unusual in its background, but she said she’d call the former owner and ask.”

“I had to leave a message for the mirror lady,” he continued. “Helen Butler used to own the tablecloth.

She was pretty hesitant about talking at first, but I finally got her story. Seems the tablecloth belonged to her grandmother, and it was used for holiday dinners. One holiday, Mr. Butler’s grandfather had a heart attack at the table and died.”

“Oh my,” I said. “Still, lots of linens and furnishings are present when someone dies, and they don’t become haunted.”

He nodded. “Unless there’s something else at work. The vase originally held funeral flowers and was used for special occasions for fifty years or so. The owner’s daughter sold it because she didn’t like the style.”

I remembered the vase, a heavy cut glass piece, early 20th century – not very old by Charleston standards. I had thought it was pretty. “No hints at all?” I pressed, disappointed.

“I even asked her about the funerals where the vase was used,” Teag said. “Most were deaths from old age or natural causes, nothing dramatic. But the first funeral, when the vase came into the family, was different.”

“Oh?”

Teag nodded, and his grin slipped away. “Pretty tragic, actually. Back in the 1920s, the owner’s great aunt and uncle lost two young children to scarlet fever.”

“So funerals, but no ghosts, huh?” I said, chewing my lip as I thought. “I guess we’ll have to see who – or what – the vase conjures up at Gardenia Landing.” I set my coffee aside. “How about the lamp and the picture frames?”

“They came from a moving sale. The people who live at that house now aren’t the ones who sold the picture frames.”

“So a dead end.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “As for the lamp, the couple who sold it are out of town until the end of the week.”

I glanced toward the door to make sure no one was likely to disturb us. “Baxter and I had a little more excitement than we wanted last night,” I said, and filled him in on what had happened.

Teag looked worried. “I don’t like the sound of that. First, shadow men at the B&B, now in an alley where you’ve never had any problems before.” He took a sip of his tea. “We really need to get Sorren in on this.”

I nodded. “We also need to figure out who the guy in the hat is.”

“Tall guy, wide-brimmed hat?”

“Yeah. He was on the corner near where the shadow men came after me, and then again, outside the house.”

“I thought I saw him outside the shop right after I opened up, but then he was gone when I looked again,” Teag said.

“I don’t know about the shadow men, but I think the man with the withered face is real. He seems to be following us or watching us, and I don’t like it.”

“Oh and I forgot,” Teag said. “Maggie called when you were talking to Mrs. Butler, she’s still not feeling well. She won’t be able to work tomorrow or Thursday. But, not to worry. I can cover.”

“You sure? It’s not going to put you in a bind or make you miss anything important?”

“No, I didn’t have anything scheduled,” Teag said, and sighed. “Anthony’s really tied up with those cases. You can make it up to me later.”

“Should I be worried about Maggie? She doesn’t usually call in sick.” I had inherited Maggie with the store and she had been working with us ever since. She was a retired teacher, quite knowledgeable about antiques and how the store ran.

Teag shook his head. “No, I asked. She thinks she got a touch of food poisoning. She just needs some time to recuperate.” He hesitated, and the look on his face told me that he had something on his mind. “Cassidy?” he said. “Be careful.”

“Count on it,” I replied. “If it looks dangerous, I’m outta there.” I didn’t want to admit it to Teag, but the whole idea of suddenly spooky antiques was making me very nervous. “I left a message for Sorren on his cell phone, but he hasn’t called me back.”

Yes, a nearly six hundred year-old vampire uses a cell phone, and email. As Sorren has told me many times, vampires who can’t adapt with the times don’t survive long. Problem is, Sorren’s work with the Alliance often means he falls out of touch for days or weeks at a time. Then again, his letter gave me hope we’d hear from him soon. It wouldn’t be soon enough.

G
ARDENIA
L
ANDING WAS
a Victorian ‘painted lady’ with a two-story colonnaded piazza, an intriguing garden wall and an elaborate wrought iron gate to a garden with lush greenery and a fountain. It was exactly the kind of place I would have picked if I had wanted to indulge and pamper myself.

I parked and hefted my backpack and overnight bag out of the trunk, along with a small pack filled with some ‘special’ tools to help me tackle whatever was causing the problems at the B&B. Since I deal better with haunted antiques on a full stomach, I’d stopped for a quick dinner on my way over. I was even wearing my favorite agate necklace and earrings, gemstones I trusted to help protect me from bad supernatural mojo. With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and resolved to take on the worst Gardenia Landing had to throw at me.

Gardenias were in season, and so was honeysuckle and Confederate jasmine. The burble of a fountain promised cool respite from the warm Charleston evening.

As I opened the door into the foyer, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm sugar cookies welcomed me and enticed me inside. I was greeted by a room done in period wallpaper and antique furniture with a large crystal chandelier. Off to the left, I got a peek of a dining room, and to the right, what I guessed was a parlor or library. I’d explore both later, I vowed.

Straight back down the hallway was the kitchen with modern, stainless steel appliances. A door under the stairs was likely a powder room. The place managed to feel homey and upscale without pretension.

“You must be Cassidy!” A trim woman in her mid-forties rushed from the kitchen at the sound of the door. Her very wavy brown hair fell shoulder length, setting off tasteful gold earrings and a discreet – yet expensive, gold necklace. She wore a blue t-shirt and jeans that looked as if they had been pressed, over Sperry’s without socks. Everything about her exuded warmth and welcome, except for the look of worry in her blue eyes.

I smiled. “Are you Rebecca?”

She nodded. “Yes. And thank you so much for agreeing to come.”

I still wasn’t convinced it was a great idea, but I was resolved to see this thing through. “Your B&B is lovely,” I said sincerely.

Rebecca’s good cheer dimmed. “Thank you. I really love this place. But if we can’t figure out what’s going on, I don’t think I can stay here. Maggie said you had a talent for dealing with these things. I don’t have a whiff of ESP, but unusual abilities do run in my mother’s family, so you’re not going to shock me.”

“How about if I put my bag in my room and then we sit down and talk?” I suggested. “I’d love a cup of that coffee; it smells amazing!” I paused. “Unless you’ve got other guests waiting.”

“Unfortunately, no.” She gave a sad smile. “It’s just you and one other couple for the next few days.

I’m afraid word might be getting out about the problem.” She gestured for me to follow her. “Come on.

I’ll show you to your room.”

I climbed the stairs, looking around at the foyer with its dark wood, beautiful balustrade, and antique furniture. A lovely cut glass vase was filled with hydrangea blossoms, and I recognized it as the funeral vase Teag researched. I resolved to come back for a closer look once I settled in.

Upstairs, I counted four rooms plus another set of stairs. “I live on the third floor,” Rebecca said as she led me down the hall. “It was originally the maid’s room.”

She stopped in front of the last door on the right. “This is your room,” she said, opening the door for me. “Every room has its own bathroom with a shower. It’s a little tight, but you don’t have to share.”

The room was charming. The walls were painted a pale blue with a stenciled border. The large brass bed was the focal point, with its plump throw pillows and chenille bedspread. A small white night stand with a lace doily stood to one side, complete with a brass reading lamp with a stained glass shade.
Is that the lamp she bought from Trifles and Folly?
I wondered, suddenly a little disquieted by the idea of having it next to my bed.

At the foot of the bed was a dresser with a tall mirror and a marble finish on the top. A fluffy white bathrobe was draped invitingly over the arm of a comfortable chair with an ottoman, below a perfectly angled floor lamp. I loved every piece, and the combined effect made me wish my stay was truly for rest and relaxation.

I set down my luggage and turned back to Rebecca. “The room is beautiful. Can you show me around the rest of the B&B, please? Then let’s talk about what’s been going on.”

Rebecca smiled, but I could tell she had a lot on her mind. I tried to set her at ease. “I always love to hear stories about old homes like this,” I said warmly. “And if you know the stories of any of the pieces that aren’t from our shop, please fill me in!”

“Most of the furniture in this room came from my grandma’s house near Savannah,” Rebecca replied.

“Everything except the lamp, which is from Trifles and Folly.”

“Your grandmother had good taste,” I said.

Rebecca’s smile grew reflective. “She got a lot of the furniture from her mother and grandmother, so it’s authentic Victorian. When I was a little girl, I loved sleeping in the big brass bed.”

“The linens look period, too,” I said. Later, I would risk touching pieces, when I was alone. But Rebecca didn’t know much about my talent, and I didn’t want to give her an impromptu demonstration.

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “Though the table cloth Debra bought from you is in the dining room. The bedspread was also my grandmother’s, as are the pillow shams. But the pillows and sheets are all brand new!”

I wanted nothing more than to cozy into that inviting bed with a good book and a cup of tea, but relaxing would have to wait. “It all goes together perfectly. Do you have a different theme for each room?”

That was Rebecca’s cue to lead me back into the hallway. She handed me a key on a pretty keychain, and I recognized the fob as the handle from an ornate silver plated fork or spoon. Lovely.

“The house itself was built in the 1850s as a wedding present from James Harrison to his bride, Clarissa,” Rebecca told me as we walked down the narrow, dimly-lit hall. “The light fixtures were originally for gaslights, although of course, everything was remodeled for electric years ago.” The wall sconces had bulbs that replicated the warm glow of gas, which made the hallway a little eerie.

“The Harrisons raised their family in this house,” Rebecca continued. “They had three sons and a daughter, all of the sons rose to prominence.” She frowned. “Unfortunately, they also lost two infants, something that was far too common back then.”

“Did the house stay in the family?” I prompted. Mindful of the haunting, I was listening to validate the tragedies Mrs. Morrissey had mentioned, events that might have primed the house for paranormal activity if the right catalyst was introduced.

Rebecca paused with her hand on the molded brass door knob to one of the other guestrooms. “It did, for a while,” she replied. “The oldest of the Harrison sons, Joseph, took over the family shipping company, and brought his new wife here. The other two sons eventually purchased homes nearby.”

“And the daughter?”

“Arabella Harrison did not fare as well as her brothers, I’m afraid,” Rebecca said. “She had what they called back then a ‘delicate nervous condition’. Today, I guess we’d say she was given to bouts of depression or worse. She died young.”

“Did she pass away here in the house?” I asked. “I’m looking for clues about what might be going on,”

I said apologetically, feeling like a ghoul.

“Actually, she did die in the house,” Rebecca said. “From consumption – the old name for tuberculosis.” I shivered. “Do you know where she died?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’ve never found anything that says exactly. Family letters just say that she spent most of her time in the garden, and that she died ‘in bed’.” She pushed open the door and turned on the light to the second guest room.

“We do have guests in this room, so I can’t let you do more than look.” As if she could guess my thoughts, she added, “None of the items we bought from you are in this room, and neither this room nor your room have had any problems.”

From the doorway, I peered into the room. It had a masculine feel, with a dark walnut bedroom set that had all the Victorian ornamentation. The bed’s high headboard nearly reached the ceiling. There was a huge armoire, a comfy chair and ottoman, and brass lamps with brass shades that reminded me of ones I’d seen in big city libraries. The dresser was the same dark walnut, with a white marble counter and an ornate mirror that must have been almost eight feet tall, crested with a carved medallion. Small antique pieces gave the room a lived-in look: old tintype photos in silver frames, a watercolor of a dog on the wall behind the chair, and white antimacassars on the backs of the chairs.

Two duffle bags lay to one side. Obviously, the other guests hadn’t unpacked, either. I wondered if I would run into them later on. The web site said that guests were invited to gather nightly for cocktails.