The Perfect Hope (12 page)

When her Civil War couple returned, she set them up with wine—on request—in The Courtyard.

Some guests, she knew from experience, wanted a private little getaway where the innkeeper was nearly as invisible as Lizzy. Others wanted her to be a part of their experience, wanted to share with her the adventures of their day.

She listened and chatted when it was called for, vanished when it wasn’t. And like Justine with the town, Hope kept her ear to the ground of Inn BoonsBoro.

By five, with a full house, she had guests scattered around The Courtyard and in The Lounge.

“I can stay,” Carolee told her. “And that woman in E&D has you running your tail off. She assumed we’d have a wine list,” Carolee said, trying for a snooty accent. “And she certainly hopes we have Greek yogurt. It’s not that I minded running out to get it, but she could’ve asked nice—or better, in advance.”

“I know, I know. She’s a pill.” Hope poured out another bowl of bar mix. “It’s only two days,” she said like a mantra. “It’s only two days. And maybe she’ll be less of a pill as it goes on.”

“That type was born being a pill. She snapped her fingers at you.”

She had, Hope remembered, but for some reason it made her laugh. “Oh, girl, girl—because I’m much too important to be expected to remember or use your name—do you at least have water crackers available? I’d like to give her a water cracker.”

Now Carolee laughed. “Oh well, everybody else seems really nice, and ready to relax and enjoy. I can stay,” she repeated.

“No, you go home. You have to be back bright and early to help me make breakfast for this crowd. Civil War Bob’s bound to keep everybody entertained again.”

“He couldn’t entertain
that
one if he juggled fireballs naked. You call me if you want me to come back. I can even bunk in your spare room if you need me.”

“You’re the best.” Because she was, Hope drew her into a hug. “I’m on it. Don’t worry.”

She carried out more bar mix, another bottle of wine, and smiled easily when The Pill asked her for cocktail olives. Since she had some, she put them into a pretty bowl, carted them out. She chatted with those who wanted to chat, went back in to check on the guests in The Lounge.

And made the rounds until she could take a breath and offer up a prayer of thanks when The Pill and her husband went out to dinner.

Civil War Bob—bless him—talked his wife and two of the other couples into pizza delivery and games in The Lounge. She heard the good, satisfying sound of laughter and knew there would be no finger-snapping from that quarter.

She could get a little dinner herself, maybe do a little research while she ate—with that ear to the ground in case she was needed.

But first, she’d do a sweep of The Courtyard to gather up any dishes or napkins.

She stepped out into the balmy evening. Such pretty light, she thought, and quiet now that the Fit crew had knocked off. Next empty night, she’d treat herself to dinner in The Courtyard. She might even fix something fussy, just for herself, have a couple glasses of champagne. A little innkeeper indulgence, she thought as she gathered empty bottles for recycling.

Maybe he’d gotten noisier, or she more attuned, but she looked over just as Ryder stepped under the arch of wisteria.

“Some party,” he commented.

“We’ve got a full house, and some of them took advantage of the nice evening. You’re in town late.”

“Had some things. Meeting at Vesta.”

“All those irons in the fire require meetings.”

“So Owen claims.”

“He’s right.” She gestured toward the building under construction. “The roof’s looking good. I think I can imagine that part finished. It’s going to look so much bigger, and so much better.”

He took the tub she used for the bottles. “I’ll get it.”

“I’ve got it.”

“I’ll get it,” he repeated, muscling it away. He carried it to the shed, dumped them in the recycling bin. Before she could pick up the bag of trash she’d finished filling, he took that as well.

“Thank you.”

He shut the shed door, turned to study her.

“Is there something—”

“Yes.”

After silence followed she lifted her eyebrows. “All right, what?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “I’m considering the idea.”

“You—Oh.” Not a conversation she’d expected to have with an inn full of people playing gin rummy.

“That’s not accurate. I’ve finished considering the idea.”

“I see. And what’s your conclusion?”

He gave her that look—that not exactly a smile, a sneer, a smirk. “What do you think?”

“I’m going to take a leap and say you’ve concluded in favor.”

“Good leap.” He reached out; she stepped back.

“I have people inside. Guests inside. I wouldn’t call this an optimum time to move forward with that conclusion.”

“I wasn’t figuring on wrestling you to the ground here and now.” But he put his hands in his pockets as the image of doing just that had considerable appeal. “So, what would you call the optimal—Christ, now I’m talking like you. When’s good for you?”

“I—”

He pulled his hands free, waved it away. He had smoother moves than that, for God’s sake. She just threw him off-stride. “You want dinner or something? That’s fine. You’ve got a night off sometime, or a night without bookings. I can work with that.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No.” Simple, she reminded herself. Straightforward, no frills. That’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it? “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Okay, then. You’ve got the schedule in that spreadsheet in your head. I’ve got a brother who has the same kind of brain.”

“Tuesday’s good.”

“Tuesday works. We can—”

“Damn it. Sorry.” She spotted someone crossing The Lobby toward the kitchen. “I’ve just got to check on the guests.”

When she dashed inside, Ryder looked down at his dog. “Wait here. You know how she is about you coming in when people are inside.”

D.A. sighed, plopped down, gave his sad look before his face nestled on his paws.

Ryder went in. A burst of laugher exploded from the direction of The Lounge, with a lot of voices in its wake. Another rumble of it rolled out from the direction of the kitchen.

Lively place, he decided. He’d never actually been in it when she had paying customers. It didn’t hurt his feelings to know that when she did, they enjoyed themselves. He just wished they’d all go the hell away for a few minutes so they could finish this deal.

Better yet, they could go the hell away for a couple hours, then they’d just seal the deal. He caught the scent of honeysuckle, rolled his eyes. “Stay out of it, sister,” he muttered.

Hope came back through with a man wearing what Ryder thought of as dad jeans—though his own had never worn them. He had a beer in each hand while Hope carried two glasses of red wine.

“Got yourself a walk-in, Hope.” The man grinned, all affability. “Better make up a cot.”

“Ryder. Ah, Bob Mackie, this is Ryder Montgomery. His family owns the inn.”

“Sure, sure, you told us about that.” Bob hooked the necks of the beer in the fingers of one hand, stuck out the other for an enthusiastic shake. “Pleased to meet you. You did a hell of a job here, hell of a job. My wife and I haven’t left yet, and we’re already talking about coming back.”

“Glad you like it.”

“The bathrooms alone,” Bob said with another grin. “And the history of the place. I love the old photos you’ve got back there. I’m into the Civil War. Connie and I spent the day at Antietam. Beautiful place. Just beautiful.”

“It is.”

“How ’bout a beer?”

“I was just—”

“Come on, a man’s always got time for a beer. You gotta meet Connie. And Mike and Deb, and Jake and Casey. They’re good people.” He thrust a beer into Ryder’s hand. “Say, we’re in Jane and Rochester. I bet that copper tub was a pain in the ass to get up there.”

He all but herded Ryder toward The Lounge like a border collie with a reluctant sheep.

Hope took a moment to compose herself. Ryder, not the most sociable of men in her experience, was about to be Civil War Bobbed.

HE TRIED TO
get away. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy; Bob Mackie was as likeable as a puppy. He made an excuse, citing his dog in The Courtyard, but all that accomplished was the unified insistence he bring D.A. inside.

Where his dog was petted and made over like a visiting prince.

Mike, from Baltimore, wanted to talk carpentry. He ended up taking them all around, showing them some of the details, explaining how they’d been done, why, when. They had a million questions. Before he’d finished, four more people came back, and had a million more.

Hope didn’t help, not one damn bit. She just smiled, tidied up behind them, or worse, offered another avenue of discussion.

By the time he managed to get out, it was full dark, and his brain felt soft. Not from the beer; he’d been careful there. From the
conversation
.

He hadn’t gotten across The Courtyard when The Lobby door opened. He relaxed, a little, when he recognized the click of Hope’s heels.

“How do you do that?” he demanded. “All the time?”

“Do what?”

“Talk to total strangers.”

“I like it.”

“I worry about you.”

“They’re a very nice group, except for the ones who came in and went straight up to their room. You had a lucky break there. She’d have probably asked you to remodel something in the room on the spot. I call her The Pill—in my head.” She smiled, touched a hand to his arm. “You were very polite, even friendly. It has to be gratifying when people—total strangers—so admire your work.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to talk to them.”

She laughed. “You enjoyed Bob.”

“He’s okay. But next time I’ll know to steer clear when you’ve got a houseful. Tuesday, right? Nobody.”

“Just me. And Lizzy.”

“I can handle you and Lizzy,” he replied and pulled her in before she could evade.

In the moonlight, with the scent of roses. In the shadows of the inn with stars dazzling above. She wasn’t looking for romance, but when it dropped in your lap, what could you do?

She locked her arms around him and took it. The heat, the promise, the quiet splendor of the night.

She fit against him as if she’d been made to. And the scent of her mixed with the perfume of roses. A man could get drunk just on the scent of her.

Better not.

He drew away. “Tuesday. Do you want dinner or not?”

“We’ll order in.”

His grin flashed. “That works for me. Come on, Dumbass, let’s go home.”

She wouldn’t watch him cross the parking lot, she told herself. That was silly, and not at all what this—whatever this was—was about. But she did glance back once, just once, as she walked back to the inn.

She walked back in, to the voices, the energy, the peals of laughter. Smiling—a woman with a hot little secret—she went into the kitchen to make a plate of cookies for her guests.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE SCREAM SHOT HER STRAIGHT UP IN BED AT TWO IN
the morning. Dreaming? she wondered. Had she been—

The next scream sent Hope flying out of bed, rushing for the door. She grabbed her cell phone on the run and bolted into the hallway in her cotton shorts and sleep tank. Heart thudding, she charged downstairs and into considerable hysteria on the second floor.

The Pill loosed one glass-shattering scream after the next while her husband, wearing nothing but boxers, gripped her shoulders and shouted at her to stop. Leading with shouted questions, other guests poured out of rooms in various states of undress.

Calm, Hope ordered herself, someone had to be calm.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Mrs. Redman. Mrs. Redman. Lola,
stop!
”

Hope’s order cracked out, but she thought it carried less insult than a slap across the face. The woman sucked in her breath. Color flooded into her face.

“Don’t you speak to me in that tone.”

“I apologize. Are you hurt?”

The color died again, but at least she didn’t scream. “There’s someone—something—in that room. It—she—was standing right over the bed. She
touched
me!”

“Lola, nobody’s in there,” her husband began.

“I
saw
her. The door to the porch was open, wide open! She came in through the door.”

When everyone began talking at once, Hope raised her hands. “Just give me a minute, please.”

She opened the door to Elizabeth and Darcy, thinking,
Damn it, Lizzy,
and switched on the lights. She saw nothing out of place, but she could certainly smell honeysuckle. Mr. Redman came in behind her, with Jake Karlo at his heels. Jake’s wife held the door open, her eyes sharp as she tightened the belt of the inn robe she’d thrown on.

“There’s nobody in here,” Redman began, and checked both porch doors. “These are still locked from the inside.”

“Nothing in the bathroom,” Jake announced, then got down on all fours to peer under the bed. “All clear.”

“Bad dream, that’s all,” Redman said and scrubbed at his close-cropped gray hair. “She just had a bad dream. I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

“Please, Mr. Redman, don’t apologize.”

“Austin,” he said to Hope and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m standing here in my underwear. Make it Austin. Sorry about that, too.” With a sigh, he stepped over to take one of the robes from the hook in the bathroom.

“We’re all pretty casually dressed.” Jake stood in jeans so hastily yanked on he’d yet to fasten them. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I’m sure we’re fine now,” Hope told him, “but thank you.”

She stepped out to where Mrs. Redman remained in the hall, her arms crossed tight, hands hugging her elbows. She might have been a pill, but she was shivering, and obviously frightened.

“Austin, maybe your wife would like a robe.”

“I don’t care if there’s no one in there now.” Lola jutted up her chin, but it trembled. “I don’t care if you say the doors are locked. There
was
someone.”

“Lola.” With a patience Hope found admirable, Austin laid the robe over his wife’s shoulders. “You had a bad dream, that’s all. Just a bad dream.”

“I saw her. The door was open, and the light shone right through her. I’m not going back in that room. We’re leaving. We’re leaving now.”

“It’s two in the morning.” Twin edges of irritation and embarrassment jutted through the patience. “We’re not leaving now.”

“Why don’t I go down and make you some tea?” Hope suggested.

“I’d appreciate that,” Austin said when his wife remained silent. “Thank you.”

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Jake’s wife—Casey, Hope remembered—fell into step beside her. “You don’t need to bother.”

“I don’t mind. I could use a drink myself. If I were you,” she continued, lowering her voice as they went down, “I’d add a solid jigger of that whiskey you have in The Library.”

Tempting, Hope thought. “I’ll suggest it.” Hope wound her way to the kitchen, put on the kettle. “What can I get you?”

“I can get it myself. She really put you through the paces tonight. You don’t have to say anything,” she added. “It’s just I know the type. I waitressed all through college.”

At home, Casey got an open bottle of wine from the refrigerator, took off the topper. “She’s the type who wants to adjust everything she orders, complains about the food, the service, the table, calculates a tip on the wrong side of insulting, and acts like she’s doing you a great big favor leaving that.”

As she spoke, she got down two glasses, poured both.

“This is a beautiful place, and you went out of your way—way out—to accommodate her, with class. You give some people a canteen in the desert when they’re dying of thirst, they’ll bitch that the water’s not wet enough.”

“Unfortunately true.” And that, Hope decided, was all she could discreetly say about that. “Still, I’m sorry your night was disturbed.”

“It’s all right. Excitement’s always a plus. And Jake and I weren’t asleep yet.” She smiled, sipped. “We were just getting there. So, Hope.” She slid onto a stool. “Tell me about the ghost.”

“I—” Hope broke off when Jake strolled in.

“The other women have Lola in The Library. Austin’s having some whiskey with Bob out on the porch. I think she’s calming down some.”

“Hopefully some tea will finish the job.”

“Hope was about to tell me about the ghost.”

“Yeah?” He took his wife’s wineglass, had a swallow. “What’s her deal?”

“Jake’s all about ghosts,” Casey explained. “Whenever we can get away, we always look for an interesting old hotel or B&B—with potential. Like this one.”

“We were out on the porch a couple hours ago,” Jake said. “I thought I saw her. Young, in period dress. Maybe nineteenth-century. Just a flash, you know. Like—” He snapped his fingers. “And the air smelled sweet.”

“I didn’t see her, but he’s right about the scent. Sweet and pretty.”

“Busy night,” Hope murmured, and heated one of her little teapots with hot water.

“She wasn’t threatening or scary. But I guess if you’re not into it, and you get woken up by a ghost, screaming’s a viable option.”

“Come on.” Casey took her wine back. “She screamed like somebody’s mutt chewed the heel of her Jimmy Choos. She screamed so loud she woke up Bob and Connie, and they’re out in that room off the back porch.”

“If she hadn’t, we’d have missed Bob’s Mickey Mouse underwear. That was a perk. Okay,” Jake said as Hope poured him his own glass of wine. “What do you know about her? You must know something. You live with her.”

Maybe it was the hour, or the easy company after a shocking strain, but Hope found herself telling them. “Her name’s Eliza Ford. She came here from New York, and died here in September of 1862. It was honeysuckle you smelled. She favors it.”

“That’s it! I couldn’t place it.” Jake grinned at her. “Honeysuckle. This is too cool.”

“How did she die?” Casey asked.

“A fever. She was young, and from a wealthy family. She came here to meet or find someone named Billy. She’s still waiting for him.”

“That’s so sad, and romantic. How do you know about this Billy?”

“She told us,” Hope said simply, and finished making the tea. “She’s loyal, funny, and yes, romantic—and completely benign. She also happens to be one of my ancestors.”

“You’re kidding!” Casey gaped. “Seriously?”

“Cooler and cooler.”

“That’s about all I can tell you. I need to get this tea to Mrs. Redman.”

“Here, let me carry that for you.” Jake took the tray she’d filled. “Eliza should’ve come to our room. We wouldn’t have screamed the house down.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Redman would be as entertained.” And, Hope thought, as they walked upstairs, she didn’t think Lizzy had meant to be entertaining.

It was nearly three thirty before Hope had the inn quiet again, and her guests settled down. The whiskey in the tea—Austin had added a generous portion himself—did the trick. When Jake and Casey offered to switch rooms, he’d gratefully led a half-asleep Lola into Titania and Oberon.

Back in her own apartment, Hope let out a long, long sigh.

“Lizzy, what were you thinking?” On a jaw-cracking yawn, she shuffled her way back to her bedroom. “Oh, I know what you were thinking. The woman’s rude, demanding, ungrateful, and an all-around pain in the ass. You scared her on purpose, a little occult payback.”

She put her phone back on the charger, set her alarm as a precaution before she slid back into bed. “It worked. We may have gotten her back to bed, with the help of a couple shots of Irish, but no way her husband’s going to talk her out of leaving tomorrow, a day early. I don’t think he wants to—he’s had it. Me, too. So I’ll adjust their bill and say good-bye to them tomorrow. I don’t think they’ll be back.”

As she reached over to turn off the light, Hope’s hand froze.

Lizzy didn’t shimmer into existence or ease into form like a photograph in a chemical bath. She was simply just there, her blond hair caught tidily back at the nape, her gray—no blue, blue dress, softly belled. Her lips curved in a smile full of fun.

“Good riddance,” she said.

“You’re here,” Hope managed.

“I don’t know how to be anywhere else. But I like it here, especially now that you are.”

“You have to tell me more, so I can find him for you, find Billy for you. We all want to find him for you.”

“It fades.” Lizzy lifted her hands, turned them. Hope saw them go in and out of focus. “I fade. But the love stays. You can find the love. You’re my Hope.”

“His name. The rest of his name.”

“Ryder. Did he come?”

“He was here earlier. He’ll come back. Tell me Billy’s full name.”

“He was here.” She crossed her hands over her heart. “Close, but too far. I was ill, and it fades, like an old letter. Rest now.”

“Eliza—” But she was gone in that same finger-snap. Hope tossed back the sheets. While it was fresh, she wrote down everything in that brief, surreal conversation.

Never sleep now, she thought, and lay in the dark, watching in case Lizzy reappeared. But the minute she shut her eyes, she dropped away.

SHE DIDN’T EXACTLY
crawl out of bed, but it was close to it. She revved her shower on full and hot, then gritting her teeth finished it off with a blast of cold, hoping to wake up both brain and body.

One look at her face had her moaning. The day called for a whole bunch of concealer.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, Carolee was already there, humming away as she mixed waffle batter.

“Sorry. Little late.”

“No, you’re not. Have some coffee, and tell me how it went last night.”

“Oh boy, have I got an earful for you.”

“I knew that woman was trouble.”

“That’s not the half of it.” She poured coffee, made herself drink the first cup black. She began to arrange the fruit she’d sliced fresh the night before as she filled Carolee in on the details.

She got a lot of
Oh my God
s,
You’re kidding
s,
I can’t believe it
s, but finished the entire tale by the time they’d prepared the fruit, bacon, juices, cereals.

“You must be exhausted!”

“It wouldn’t be so bad, but this group’s full of night owls.”

“Didn’t Justine make it clear that just because a guest wants to stay up half the night, you don’t have to?”

“I know, but I can’t settle down until they do. I’ll work on it.”

“As soon as we get breakfast done, you’re going up to take a nap.”

“Let’s see how it goes. In any case, we’re down to seven rooms tonight.”

“Good riddance,” Carolee muttered, and made Hope smile.

“That’s what she said. Lizzy.”

“It’s so exciting.” Carolee’s bright hazel eyes danced. “She talked to you. I knew she would sooner or later. And if she’d let me, I’d give her a high five for chasing that woman out of here today.”

“We’re going to get a lot of rude or high-maintenance guests in the mix. It’s part of the hospitality package. But I can’t be sorry, either.”

“Sit down, have more coffee. I’ll get the tables set.”

“It’s done. I had plenty of time last night. Why don’t you fill the coffee urn? I’ll do the eggs.”