A Ghost at Stallion's Gate (Shannon Delaney Series) Read online

  “Darren Kelsey, at your service. I’m one of the owners and the primary innkeeper. If you need anything, I’m at your call.” He smiled, and I liked him, instantly. “When Mr. Blackthorne telephoned he requested that I show you our cottage. It’s toward the back of our property, originally was the carriage house, very quiet and private. In fact, you’ll not share a parking space, the cottage has it’s own.”

  “Okay, that’s sounds good to me Mr. Kelsey. Should I move my car to the back?”

  “By all means, please do. Just pull in the drive, continue to the back then make a slight jog to the left, you’ll see the cottage. Your parking is on the left side. I’ll be there to meet you. Oh, and if you prefer, please call me Darren.”

  I parked and met Darren at the front of the cottage. He immediately began to tell me about the inn.

  “We call the inn Rose Victorian because all the rooms are named for roses. This cottage is called Sentimental Journey. All the rose bushes surrounding this cottage are the striped burgundy and ivory rose named Sentimental Journey. They’re very fragrant, so feel comfortable opening your windows to allow the scent in.”

  He opened the door and I followed him into the suite of rooms. We stood in the center of the front room.

  Darren turned to me and explained, “Basically, you have this living room, your bedroom is off the right, the bath is off the bedroom. Then at the back of this living room there’s a full service kitchen and a small dining area off of it, to the left. From the kitchen, at the far right corner there’s a porch and a door that leads to a small patio with a garden. We call it the secret garden because it is completely private.” He held out his hand, offering me the key.

  I took the key. “Thank you. This is perfect.”

  Darren nodded agreement. “Okay then, I’ll just be a moment getting your luggage,” he said and turned to leave, but then he did a turnaround. “Ah, I forgot to mention that the refrigerator is stocked with a few courtesy items, should you require anything additional, please, just ring the front desk.”

  “Thank you,” I replied and then went into the bedroom, dropped my purse on the chair that was off to the side of the queen bed. I returned to the front room. Darren had my suitcase and tote bag in hand.

  “Shall I leave these here, or take them into the bedroom?”

  “Here, is fine.”

  “Then I’ll be on my way.” Darren turned to leave and I stepped forward to give him a tip, but he seemed to sense what I was trying to do and turned back around. “Oh, I forgot, all gratuities are included in your lodging.” He clasped his hands together, determine not to take a tip. “Enjoy your stay.” He turned and left.

  The cottage was beautiful. The rooms were painted a warm ivory color and the furnishings were in various hues of burgundy reds, in variant patterns of solids and floral. The color scheme was just like the dozens of rose that decorated the exterior. This was a style of country Victorian at its very best. I couldn’t resist going around to all the windows and opening each one a little. True to Darren’s description there was a rose bush at every window and all the bushes were in full bloom. The spicy fragrance was heavenly and better than any candle or potpourri scent I ever had. “Thank you Alex,” I said aloud.

  “You are quite welcome, only the best for you, if I have anything to say about,” I heard a phantom voice say.

  A mist of cold air enveloped me. I turned to see Eric Blackthorne standing right behind me. “So, my ghost has come along for the ride?” I asked him.

  “My dear Shannon,” he bowed slightly, “never will you be without my company in times of need.”

  “Eric, is this about that horrid room of horse trophies?”

  “Shall we be comfortable?” He turned, and without waiting for my reply went to the living room. Eric sat down in an overstuffed wing chair.

  I sat across from him on the overstuffed sofa.

  “Whose idea was this inn, yours or Alex’s?” I asked.

  “Oh, Alex, I assure you. Of course, I am in full agreement; otherwise, you’d not be here. By the way, did the innkeeper, Darren, seem a bit nervous?”

  Eric’s comment caught me off guard, but I have to admit that Darren did seem a bit nervous. “Yes, now that you mention it, I guess he could be described as nervous, or maybe he’s new at being an innkeeper and he’s trying his best. He made me feel welcome.”

  “He is quite new at this innkeeper business. By trade, he’s a magician. Catch his act this coming Sunday and you’ll see a totally different personality.”

  “Really? Darren Kelsey is a magician? Why, that must be the connection to Alex. You mean to say, that Darren is a member of the Magic Castle, too?”

  Eric smiled. “Not only that, but you’ll probably meet magicians while lodging here. Among professional magicians, this is a favorite place for lodging in the Los Angeles area. In fact, you quite well may be the only lodger here who is not a magician.” He smiled and appeared quite charmed by that knowledge.

  “Eric, this is exciting news. Will Darren perform at the Magic Castle, and if so, how can I get invited to it?”

  “Darren gives a show in the main parlor of this inn every Sunday afternoon. Guests are, of course, invited. The Magic Castle, that’s a little different. Give a hint to Alex, he’ll take you as his guest. Generally speaking, it is not open to the public.”

  Disappointed, I nodded, and looked around, “I would like to unpack, I’ve agreed to meet a photographer over at Stallion’s Gate, in about an hour.”

  Good thing about Eric is that he quickly picks up on hints. “Yes. About Stallion’s Gate. Shannon, the horse room should not distress you.” He leaned forward and looked at me. His face was sincere and as handsome as ever. Dark hair framing classic features with eyes that commanded attention. Dark eyes, dark hair, tall and lean, Eric Blackthorne was the iconic image of a Victorian era magician. I imagine every boy who ever dreamed about being a magician dreamt of looking like Eric Blackthorne. “Shannon?”

  I came out of my fog, “Yes.” I smiled, trying to shake off the feeling I had when I was around Eric. “But, that room is eerie and creepy. Eric, why would anyone do that to horses?”

  “Because they were loved. Remember that the owner was passionate about horses. He loved them, maybe even more than the humans in his life. And they are, or were, animals, not human in form.”

  “Oh, please! Then, do you think Alex will stuff Atlas when he passes over?”

  “No, but Alex is not living in a time when the passion and love for Irish Wolfhounds is prohibited by law.”

  “Huh?”

  “Shannon, in the 1920s, horse racing was a form of gambling and it was illegal. It wasn’t legalized in California until 1933.”

  “Eric? You were dead and gone by the 1920s. How could you know this?”

  “I had the opportunity to do a little research last night, before you packed up your laptop computer.”

  “While I was sleeping you were in my room, surfing away on the Internet?” I asked.

  “Really, Shannon, what difference does it make where I was. I’m a ghost. I can be anywhere, especially within the interior of the home that I built. You were asleep. I saw no reason to interrupt your rest to ask permission to use your computer. After all, I do recall you gave me access to it in the first place, hence I have my own email address.”

  “Yes, I remember.” I could not fault Eric for taking advantage of something I taught him how to do. I looked at him. He had been studying me. I knew that look all to well, it was identical to the way Alex would study me, and patiently wait for me to say the right thing. So I did say the right thing. “I’ll keep your advice in mind when I’m over at Stallion’s Gate. Which, by the way, I need to leave soon.”

  Eric stood up. “I shall be on my way. Just call my name if you need me.” He bowed ever so slightly.

  And then, poof. Like magic, he was gone.

  Chapter 4

  The late morning sun cast a decidedly sunny ambiance over Stallion’
s Gate mansion. I stood outside in front of the mansion admiring it and relieved that it didn’t seem spooky, at all. Good thing, I thought. Because the very last impression I wanted to give to the photographer is that I am apprehensive about this assignment. At that last thought I heard a car drive up, I turned in time to see a young woman pull up, park right in the center of the circle drive. She waved to me from her car and then got out.

  Grace Jordan did not fit her name. She was far too young for a name like Grace. Must be a family named handed down to her, I mused. And she didn’t walk, she bounced. Her black hair was pulled back in a short pony tail and it swung back and forth. A camera bag and portfolio slung over her shoulder bounced in time to her steps. For a moment I thought she would bounce right past me.

  “Hi. You must be Miss Delaney? I’m Grace Jordan, but call me Gracie, okay?”

  Gracie’s enthusiasm was contagious, “Sure, and call me Shannon.”

  “I’ve got everything I need. Can we go on in?” she asked.

  I held up the keys and said, “And I’ve got the keys to the mansion.” I stepped up to the front door, Gracie was right behind me. I unlocked the door and stepped aside, “Go on in.”

  Gracie bounced into the foyer and continued right on into the first of the grand halls. I hastily closed the front door and caught up with her. She stood in a posture I recognized all to well. She was gawking.

  “Oh my.”

  “It is impressive, to say the least.” I walked over to a card table that the work crew had set up for me. I sat in one of the unfolded chairs. “Maybe we could get started discussing the photo concept for the brochure?”

  “Oh sure.” Gracie walked over and sat down and took out some files from her portfolio. “I went over lots of old photos of this place and brought a few to show you. You know, just in case we wanted to duplicate a look or do a montage that contrasted the past to the present.” She handed to me a stack of large photos. Had I not known better, I would have mistaken them for photos from a film archive of movie stills.

  “These are intriguing. It almost looks as if they were taken for a magazine feature article or a social report in a local newspaper. Did the Pasadena Conservancy give these to you?”

  “No.” She shook her head sideways. “No way would they do that.” Gracie giggled ever so lightly; as if what I asked was a private joke. “I dug these up myself, and this stack, right here, they’re copies for you. If you want them.”

  “Thanks, I definitely want them.” I spread them out the best I could on the small table. I glanced up at Gracie, “Gracie, I’m new to this area. In fact, I’m up here from San Diego and I’ve been there less than a year. I came out from Chicago. So, not being familiar with this area, may I ask, what do you mean about the Pasadena Conservancy?”

  Gracie hesitated for a moment and then said, “Oh, well, what I mean is they, uh, they want to put a whole new spin on this mansion. And, well, between just us two, they might not like us digging too deeply into its history. It’s supposed to be haunted, and all that.” She smiled a type of grin that was meant to diffuse her awkward slip of information.

  “Oh,” I nodded in agreement. I could see that Gracie was a fountain of information and far be it for me to discourage her enthusiasm for sharing her knowledge. “So, you’re from this area?” I queried.

  “Oh, yeah. My whole life. I grew up right here in Pasadena. I went to college at the University of California in Los Angeles. They have a great film and photography art department. Can’t help but to appreciate the old films and all of old Hollywood when you grow up right here where it all happened.”

  “I see. What is it that fascinates you about this place?”

  Gracie’s eyes lit up. “Oh, everything. It was quite the party place in the 1920s. And the nephew of the owner, Reggie Coover, well, he was a real playboy and a party animal and business tycoon. Everything that wasn’t supposed to happen in that time because of Prohibition, well it happened right here, under this roof.” She grabbed her portfolio and rummaged around in it. “Here.” She handed me a rolled wad of paper. “I photocopied old newspaper articles about him and made copies for you.”

  I looked down at the roll of articles, tidily held together with rubber bands. “Thank you, I’ll be sure to read over all of this tonight.” I looked at her and smiled and for a moment I felt like Nancy Drew, on the cusp of discovering a mystery with my new best friend. “Can I do a favor for you, in return?” I was thinking professionally, a letter of recommendation, a career reference, or some such professional courtesy. But her request took me by surprise. Total surprise.

  “Yes.” Again, Gracie reached into her portfolio and brought out another piece of paper to the surface. Unfolding a full page of newspaper, she held it up for me to see. It was a feature article from three months ago. The article was about Stallion’s Gate with an interview of Zach and photos of him explaining the process of retrofitting the mansion. Gracie explained, “Since the tragedy, I understand that Mr. Zavala’s cousin, Joshua Zavala, has taken over the company. Please, could you introduce me to Joshua Zavala?”

  I scrambled to gain composure. “Oh, sure,” I said as casually as possible. “I’ll be glad to introduce you. In fact, Mr. Zavala should be here any moment and I’ll ask him to give you a tour of the place.” I reached into my pocket and took out a slip of paper. “Actually, I jotted down a few areas of the mansion and on the estate that I would like photos of. How about I give this list to you and when Mr. Zavala comes in, he can take you around to these photo spots?”

  Gracie snatched the list. “This is perfect. When do you think he’ll be here?”

  At that very moment I heard footsteps in the foyer, “I’d say right now.” I turned to look in that direction and there he was. Zach, in all his guy next door handsome charm, walked toward us and stood within arm’s reach of Gracie Jordan. I smiled at him and thought to myself, poor thing, he has not a clue about what he has just walked into.

  “Shannon, miss,” Zach said and looked at me.

  But before I could introduce Zach to Gracie, Gracie stood up and faced him.

  “Hi, I’m Gracie, the photographer. Shannon gave me a list of places I am to photograph and she said you’ll take me around to them.” Gracie bubbled with enthusiasm, no doubt because she would have Zach to herself. She snatched up her camera and took Zach by the hand. “I’m ready,” she announced.

  Zach never stood a chance. They walked off together and the last I saw as they turned the corner to go outside was Zach looking back at me with a glazed expression on his face. I smiled, knowing I would hear all about the ambush later tonight over dinner. But for now, I had the silence of the grand hall to myself and I was dying to look at the bundle of papers Gracie had given me.

  Nearly an hour had passed and I was deep into reading the outlandish stories written about Reggie Coover in local newspaper gossip columns from the 1920s when I heard an odd noise. I set down the papers and sat perfectly still, listening. There it was again, a muffled and rhythmic clop, clop, clop, clop sound.

  I got up and walked over to the fireplace, wondering if a bird or another kind of creature was caught up in the chimney. I knelt down and leaned forward, no sound. I stood up and faced the mantle, closed my eyes and strained to hear the sound again.

  Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.

  Good grief, it was as if the sound was immediately behind me. I turned and was shocked to see that what was making the odd noise was all too apparent and far too close for comfort. And it was looking down at me.

  Chapter 5

  I looked around for a place to run to. I dashed a few steps to the side and the room’s atmosphere shifted, causing a rift in the ground. I tripped over my own two feet, crashing to my knees. The thing was hanging over me. I dared to glance up, discovering that all the color in the room had faded away into a sepia world.

  “Grab hold,” it commanded.

  I reached up and felt the slender cold strips of leather. I grabbed them and was lifted to
standing height. Now I was right next to it and it was the only thing in the room that was infused with color, shiny redwood auburn. The soft liquid brown eyes flickered in nervousness.

  “I’m a horse of a different color.”

  “And you’re huge, too,” I commented.

  “Release my bridle.”

  I let my fingers unwind from the leather straps and tried to relax my arms at my side. “Where would I have fallen to?”

  The horse shook its head back and forth in a nervous twitch and whispered “Bad.”

  Not knowing how far I could stray from the hero horse, I stepped back a foot, just so I could take in the full figure of the horse. It was as I suspected. The ghost was the same horse in the trophy room that was hitched to the carriage. It was the gentle giant of the horse world, a Clydesdale.

  “How close must I stand next to you to be safe?” I asked.

  “Bridle reach.”

  I stepped another foot back and raised my arms to judge the distance. I relaxed and exhaled. I was in a safe distance. “I’m Shannon.”

  “I know. I’m Rory.”

  “You were expecting me?” A queasy feeling in my gut told me the answer.

  Rory nodded his head up and down, twice. “Twice means yes.”

  “Okay. Rory, what do you mean, saying you are a horse of a different color?”

  “Too red.”

  I took a really good look at him and noticed that he was an atypical shade of auburn with brilliant red highlights. Coloring the likes of which I had never seen on a horse. Course, I hadn’t been so close to a Clydesdale before. His blaze and stockings were blinding white. Was the stark contrast due to the bland sepia world surrounding us?

  I looked around. I was still in the exact spot I was before, in the grand hall a few feet from the fireplace. Rory and I were standing in an oval of illumination, fully colored, fully fleshed out. All that was outside the illumination was drab and nearly colorless.

  Rory made a soft snuffing sound and it broke the focus of my bewilderment. I looked up at him. His eyes were bright, knowing and intelligent. The rapport was instant. A slight quiver ran over his face, his nostrils flared.