Page 101 of Old Flames

Turning to the sky for guidance is a fool’s mistake. Smoke blots out the moon. The stars blink helplessly. As the crackling fire advances, pleas and prayers don’t reach heaven. The garden grows ever darker, dense and ominous. Why would she come here and not return to her room or seek help? Oh, yes! The garden at night, this is where they meet, and likely the only place she’s known happiness. She’s been waiting here all this time. I understand her mangled heart. I’d wait ten years and a day then, ten years more, and ten more. The answer comes in a whisper. Aurora herself spelled it out. I can help. I’m the only one who can.

“You won’t find him in this garden. He’s gone, and he won’t come back. There’s nothing left for you here. You must go.”

Heaving still, she closes her eyes and releases a wail, the most heartbreaking sound I’ve ever heard. But I don’t let up. “He’s waiting on the other side. He’s been waiting three lifetimes. He’ll wait forever if you don’t join him. The love you’ve lost is yours, but you must believe it.”

Delivering this message saps me of my energy. I lie on the ground beside her, clutch her hand, and hold her gaze until all color drains from her eyes. Death wins for now, but when the skies clear, life prevails.

35

“What the devil is going on down there? You’re hunting ghosts? Receiving cryptic messages from the beyond? I hate to come across as a responsible adult, but it’s for your own bloody good. This has gone too far! Pack your things and get to the nearest airport. Once you leave that place, all this nonsense fades. You’ll think clearly again. This obsession ends. The only ghosts you’ll care about are the ones you’re paid to write, and rightly so. I’m checking flights and will share what I find. Talk soon.”

Leo crossed the lobby, phone pressed to his ear, listening to Matty’s rambling voice message. His friend had a point, but as the saying went, they’d gone too far to turn back now. As he did most nights, he slid a glance at the portrait of Jacobsen hanging in the parlor, convinced nothing escaped his steely-blue gaze. With all the focus on the young women of the house, the old man effectively got a pass that he hadn’t earned. Leo had reached the grand staircase when, on impulse, he circled back, intent on studying Aurora’s portrait with new eyes. Her enigmatic Mona Lisa smile no longer fooled him. She would not have known a day’s happiness while married to that man, held captive under his roof. If she haunted the halls of this old house, Leo hoped she enjoyed her hard-won freedom. He hoped she danced in the tower, raced down the halls at night, knocked on bedroom doors, and delighted in terrorizing the occupants. Heaven was whatever you made of it. Aurora might have decided to spend eternity at play to reclaim her youth capped all too soon.

Another object in the display case caught his eye: the shriveled Bible that Daphne had showed him on arrival.

If Jacobsen was an orderly man . . .

Leo nearly tripped over himself in his rush to the front desk. Why hadn’t he thought to check the Bible? His research had taken him to the San Carlos Institute, the Pink Pelican, the public library, everywhere except the inn’s lobby.

“Hey there, boss,” the clerk called out, jovial as ever.

“Hey, Rob. Could you do me a favor and unlock the display case? I’d like to check something out.”

“I don’t have the key.” He held up a ring that apparently held every key except the one to the case. “Only managers have access,” he explained. “That’s either Graciela or Elias.”

“Are they around?” Leo asked.

“You just missed Elias. He’s on a cigarette break. He’ll be back soon.”

“Soon” stretched out a half hour. Leo passed the time, sat in a dainty antique armchair, engaged in a staring match with the master shipbuilder. Jacobsen frowned down at him. The artist had captured his subject’s sinister nature, a true accomplishment. Every brush stroke enhanced the angular face and expertly rendered a beaklike nose, granite cheekbones, and skin like crumpled paper. Had the old man liked the portrait? Leo wondered. Had he thought it dignified?

What a thing to do: pluck a teenage girl kicking and screaming from her parents’ home to settle a debt and trap her for your pleasure. Leo wrote stories filled with merciless demons and soulless creatures, but there was no accounting for the darkness of some men. I see you . . . worthless son of a bitch.

The night manager returned, the break finally over. “Mr. White! Rob tells me you’re interested in a tour of the display case.”

“I’ve had the tour,” Leo replied. “I’d like a second look, for research purposes.”

Leo would not suffer another lecture or history lesson. He knew exactly what he was looking for.

Elias handed him a pair of white gloves. “In that case, please wear these.”

Tight white gloves weren’t required the first time around, but he wasn’t about to complain. Elias opened the case and chuckled when Leo lifted the Bible. “Most guys go for the compass or the pocket watch.”

The explanation was simple: He wasn’t like most guys.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Elias said. “How long do you need?”

“Not long.” Leo flipped through the Bible, easily finding that center page. Jacobsen and Aurora headed the list, followed by several members of the Jacobsen clan. On the next page was a shorter, less formal list, a sort of addendum to the official record. Two names grouped together stood out.

Betty Cook 1834–1892

Juliann Cook 1867–1886

There were a few more names, but Leo was confident he had what he needed. Over Evan’s meek objections, he snapped a photo with his phone. Then he ripped off the tight gloves. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

He took off running in the direction of the stairs to July’s room. He’d promised to solve the mystery, and now he couldn’t wait to deliver the answer to her door like a bouquet of rare and precious flowers. The night manager killed that fantasy.

“If you’re looking for Miss Jones,” Elias called after him, “she’s likely in the garden.”