Page 54 of Old Flames

“One Dick is enough,” Matty replied. “And he gets honorable mention.”

Vicky sighed. “Dick jokes never get old.”

19

Daphne left to take a call and returned with news. “The restaurant isn’t ready for us quite yet. We have a half hour to kill before lunch. There are some cute shops nearby, if you’d like to fan out and look around. Up to you.”

The guys took off in the direction of the corner vendor selling soft ice cream and frozen mojitos. Jules, Vicky, and Ayesha entered Cut Crystals, a shop selling stones, tarot cards, dream catchers, and the like. They were greeted by the scent of incense wafting in the air. Ayesha went straight to a quartz display and chose a rough-cut piece that look like it had been dipped in ash.

Vicky approached her. “Aren’t the pink ones more your vibe?”

In her designer logo tank top, tailored shorts, and flip-flops, Vicky was the quintessential New Yorker on vacation. Every finger had a ring. Every ring had a story. The tote bag that hung from her shoulder was twice the size of her body and probably held a can of mace. Pink was not her vibe.

“I’ve read smoky quartz is helpful when summoning a spirit.”

“Look at you!” Vicky cried. “First you figure out the language barrier thing, and now crystals! Who are you, and what have you done with uptight Ayesha?”

Jules put down a deep violet amethyst and considered the smoky quartz instead.

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to react like children?” Ayesha asked.

“No,” Vicky replied.

“Absolutely not,” Jules said.

Ayesha sighed wearily and proceeded to tell them anyway. “Every night since we’ve been here, I’m startled awake at three on the dot.”

Vicky and Jules drew closer, intrigued.

“At first, I didn’t think anything of it,” Ayesha continued. “I’ve always found it difficult to sleep in hotels. Then it happened again. I checked the time, only because that’s what people do—3 a.m. Last night, same thing! Only we were out late, and I was still awake, dozing off, really, when I heard it.”

“What?” Jules asked, her own heart pounding wildly.

“The faintest knock on my door.”

Vicky gasped. “Shut up! I have chills!”

“I swear.” Ayesha’s hand covered the cross at her neck.

“Aurora,” Vicky said. “It makes sense that she’d knock on your door.”

Ayesha made a face. “Does it?”

“Yes,” Vicky said. “Of all of us, you were the least interested or involved. To prove herself, all she had to do was convince you.”

“You’re implying that she, a ghost, is observing us and making highly complex decisions based on our character, as opposed to simply drifting down the halls and knocking on doors at random.”

“Nothing is random,” Vicky said, grim.

Jules was inclined to agree with Vicky. Ayesha wasn’t ready to accept it. “I spoke with the property manager. As it turns out, occupants of my room consistently report hearing things, but unlike me, they love it! Apparently, it was her former sitting or sewing room.”

“Interesting,” Vicky said. “What was my room? Did you ask?”

“A future nursery.”

“Aw.”

“Mine was the servants’ room,” Jules said, recalling their conversation on that first strange morning.