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I draw another sip of coffee, fortifying myself then replying to Harlow’s comment about what the man at the door was wearing. “Agreed. Definitely too early for formal wear.”
I cross my ankles, looking down at my old-maid pink and cream colored slippers, tapping my toes on the floor, remembering when I was a kid, going with my parents to the Calmore Estate Halloween parties. My mother had told me her grandmother had worked there as a cook way back when, but she never knew much more about her only that she had died in some accident not far from there.
The Worthington family was what is known around these parts as a ‘cereal baron’. Battle Creek, Michigan, the birthplace of modern cereal making, and from the crunching and slurping in this kitchen, it’s my opinion cereal companies infuse their products with some sort of addictive substance.
It’s been probably ten, maybe fifteen years since they stopped having the parties. I read in the local news they were bringing back the party this year, for some sort of big celebration or other. They were big extravaganzas from what I remember, the entire community turned out for free candy, everyone dressed in costumes, the castle-like house decked out for the holiday. There was always a big tent with games for the kids, a big buffet of spooky sorts of food, but no one was ever allowed inside the main house.
Rumor was always that the place was haunted, and as the years went on, that rumor only grew as old Mr. Worthington passed away and the gates of the estate have been locked ever since.
Guess it’s dumb luck I’m off for the weekend and the thought of even the slightest of possibilities that I could turn my life on its head and win this contest?
I think it’s worth a shot. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
Chapter 2
Silas
“Ashby!” I bellow for the fourth time, my voice reverberating off the dark walnut walls of the office.
On a huff, I spin in my chair and press the buzzer labeled ‘Butler’ on the copper panel behind the desk. I don’t hear a sound myself, but I’m aware that in all the areas of the house where the service staff might be working, a bell is ringing.
The antiquated sort of com system is still in working order. And, to my irritation, Ashby, the more than loyal head of the minimal staff that still tends to Calmore, insists I use it instead of just hollering his name through the labyrinthine halls and corridors of the estate built by my great-grandfather the original Parker Silas Worthington, my namesake even though I go by my middle name. Too many Parkers in this family as far as I’m concerned.
I’m more a bellower than a button pusher, and I like immediate results not waiting in silence. But I count to ten, just like I was taught in my latest anger management class, my irritation growing with each numeral I recite.
Three. Four. Blah fucking blah. Ten.
“Fuck this.” I grunt, shoving the chair back from the desk where more than a dozen monitors glare back at me.
As if it’s not bad enough I have to press some century-old intercom, Ashby refuses to use a cell phone even though I bought him a top of the line one specifically for this weekend. And of course, this monstrosity of a house had no WiFi, so I paid out the ass for a line to be dug from the local servicer and boosters to be installed everywhere, so the signal would reach from one end of the place to the other.
Just as I stomp to the door and swing it open, I wince, as I find Ashby standing there like a stone statue.
“You rang, M’lord?” he intones, reminding me of Lurch from The Addams Family as he bows his head, his arms stick-straight down his sides.
I nod on an eye roll. “Yes. What the fuck is going on?”
“As far as?”
“As far as everything. Where’s Dalton? Have the limos been dispatched? Is the dinner prepared? Are the rooms ready? Did they all agree to come or did anyone back out?”
I abhor disorganization and my less than warm bedside manner in life and business is no surprise to anyone by now.
“I can assure you, sir, the dinner preparation is well underway. As far as your other questions, those are out of the realm of my responsibility. Mr. Dalton is in the east wing, overseeing the preparation of the rooms and the security cameras as you instructed. If you’d like me to relay your queries to Mr. Dalton, I am happy to do so. I shall return with his answers forthwith.”
I shall return with his answers forthwith.
What are we living in some PBS period drama?
I shake my head. “No, I’ll call his cell. If you’d use one, would make life a lot easier.”
