A Ghost of a Chance, Cherie Claire [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .txt] 📗

I’m standing in the doorway of an exquisite art gallery filled with local artwork, much of it hand-blown glass and delicate ceramics. In the state I’m in, another night of little sleep and haunting dreams, I don’t trust my clumsy self to enter the store. Alicia hands me a coffee as she passes me at the door and I know there will be a hallowed place in heaven for this petite public relations goddess.

“Bless you,” I manage and she looks back with a cute smile.

“What’s the matter with you, now?” Winnie asks. “Not enough rest?”

I look at my new friend with longing, wanting so much to tell her everything. “Winnie, it’s not what you think.”

She waves her hand in the air and saunters off. “I’m not thinking anything.”

Bless the shop owner’s heart as well, for he’s brought in an array of baked goods and tiny quiches, which Irene studies intensely and asks, “Do you have anything gluten free?” and Winnie roll her eyes.

After we all grab a bite and the owner explains how the beauty and history of Eureka Springs makes for the perfect art colony, dating back to FDR’s time when Cora Pinkley-Call started the Ozark Writers’ and Artists’ Guild, we head to the back of the store where a staircase leads down to a variety of fine art. I grab Winnie before she descends.

“I really was exhausted last night and on my way to bed.”

“God, Vi, I’m not your mother.”

When she turns, I grab her sleeve again. “That woman was the mayor’s cousin.”

She’s bending but she’s not all there. “Whatever.”

“You don’t know this but there was an incident on my morning tour.” This stops Winnie from leaving and she looks back curiously, like any good journalist. “That woman was part of it and the mayor’s furious at me and Merrill came to explain what happened.”

Winnie pulls up close. “What did happen?”

“You’re not going to believe me.”

She gives me the mom stare.

“O-kay.” Here goes. “I saw a vision of three dead girls covered in blood by the side of this lake. And I screamed. The police came and found a bone of a person sticking out of the bank, most likely someone long dead. That woman and a bunch of protestors showed up because they’re trying to save the town’s springs which have become polluted over time and then the TV station arrived.”

Winnie puckers up her face and I’m not sure she’s with me. “It looks like those bones are from an old murder case,” I continue. “Kinda like what happened in the cave.”

I’m grimacing, waiting for the backlash, that Winnie imagines I’m either mentally deranged or pulling her leg but instead she opens her mouth like a freshwater trout. “No frickin’ way!”

“Unfortunately way.” I pull her aside knowing we only have a few minutes before they will call for us. “Please don’t tell anyone although it’s probably in the newspaper this morning.”

Winnie pinches my arm. “You have to tell me more.”

I give her the Scouts honor sign and we head downstairs to view a bunch of Ozark scenes encapsulated in oils and watercolors. I look over and Winnie’s practically bursting with questions.

Two hours and several galleries later with a quick trip to Keel’s Creek Winery for a lovely tasting of local wines that are thankfully not muscadine, a painfully sweet grape that grows in the Deep South, we head over to the Basin Park Hotel’s balcony restaurant and join the others. We learn that Carmine and Richard spent the morning visiting nearby Beaver Lake on a fishing excursion and Holly enjoyed a private tour of local gardens.

Winnie grabs my arm and leads me to a table that only sits two, pushing Richard aside.

“Hey,” Richard objects. “I’m sitting there.”

“Not anymore.”

You don’t mess with Winnie, I learn. Richard the once stout-hearted moves as far away from us as he can, which pleases us immensely. We sit down at our table overlooking Spring and Center streets and Winnie instantly starts firing off questions. I put up both hands. “Slow down. All in good time.”

The waiter arrives. “Can I get you something to drink? Ice tea, soft drinks, our Basin chocolatini or the 1905 top shelf margarita?”

Of course, I don’t let an opportunity like this pass me by, especially since I’m going to enjoy a spa treatment later on. Winnie gets a gin fizz and I vote for chocolate.

Before either of us can get a word out, our host welcomes us to the Basin Park Hotel, a landmark in the center of town. The hotel rests on the site of the Perry House, which rented rooms and operated a bath house across the street back in the 1800s. The Perry House burned in a fire and the Basin Park Hotel replaced it in 1905, built by William Duncan out of local limestone by those always creative Irish stonemasons. And here I thought the Irish were only famous for black beer, wool sweaters and a good fight?

The new hotel built on this spot boasted of one hundred rooms complete with telephones, an elevator, electric lights and a ballroom known as “The Roof Garden.” The ballroom’s still there, the owner explains, and of course includes a few hotel guests who refuse to stop dancing. When he starts discussing the other ghosts lingering about, I turn off.

“You don’t like ghost stories?” Winnie asks, which makes me choke on my drink. “Did last night’s trip to the morgue freak you out little girl?”

“You have no idea,” I reply.

Once we get our lunch orders out of the way, and the owner finishes his history lesson that most of us have stopped listening to, Winnie grabs my hands. “Spill!”

I’m about to explain everything from the cave to the lake when Maddox emerges on to the balcony, broad hat on his head, surveying the scene like a sheriff in an old western. “Shit,” I mutter, pulling my hands from Winnie’s grip. “This may have to wait.”

“Oh hell no,” she says. “He can take a turn.”

Maddox sees me and heads my way, pulling a chair from a neighboring table and plopping it down next to us. He straddles it backwards and checks out Winnie while pulling off his hat and straightening out his hair. “Mind if Miss Valentine and I have a talk?”

Like I said, you don’t mess with Winnie. She crosses her arms and states proudly, “Yes John Wayne, as a matter of fact I do.” I’m so glad I have confided in my new friend for I’m grateful to have a comrade at my back.

“Fine.” Maddox pulls out his notebook from his back pocket. “Maybe you can help me make sense of this.”

Winnie shoots me a look that makes me laugh. It’s half what have I gotten myself into and half you better not be shitting me. I try to offer something that will appease them both. “What do you want to know?”

“First, how did you know about the girl in Sycamore Cave? And don’t tell me you stumbled and found a pile of bones. You asked about some girl to the ENT right after you regained consciousness.”

“What did the bones tell you?”

“I’m asking the questions here.”

I hold up my hands in defense. “I’m just trying to help.”

He grimaces and I wonder for the umpteenth time why this man couldn’t be nicer to me after all the crime scenes we experienced together. “Forensics were called in from the University of Arkansas,” he finally tells me. “Said there was a dead body in the cave, probably died early twentieth century.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. I headed down the path that I wasn’t supposed to because I’m ADHD and I have a hard time following orders.” I look over at Richard and give him the evil eye. He’s wolfing down fried cheese and pauses mid-bite saying, “What?”

“I heard a noise that I thought might be a wild animal,” I continue. “I shined my flashlight over to where the noise was coming from and I thought I saw a girl in school clothes crying. It scared me, I slipped backwards and hit my head, lights went out. End of story.”

He puts his pencil down. “You’re going to tell me that you saw a ghost and that’s why you knew it was a girl’s body down there.”

“No, actually I saw a living girl who time traveled from the 1920s.” I shouldn’t be sarcastic but I can’t help myself.

Maddox narrows his eyes. “Then what happened?”

“I killed her,” I admit. “Somehow I did this sixty years before I was born. Then, because I’m not a bright criminal, I came back to the scene of the crime, walked down to the bowels of the cave and screamed, ‘There’s a dead girl here.’”

Now Maddox is sending me the evil eye. “Just tell me what the hell happened.”

“She already told you Jack,” Winnie pipes in and I look over to Winnie sending me a knowing smile. I’ll never badmouth Ole Miss again.

“She’s told me nothing.” His voice rises, causing Stephanie and Joe to look over, not to mention Henry from his side of the room.