The Hound of Bar Harborville (A Jane True Short Story) (Trueniverse Book 1) (2 page)

We went back through the lobby, where I hoped we would find our host or hostess waiting with our room key, but no such luck. “Boutique hotel” was often code for very expensive bed-and-breakfast, in which staff was thin on the ground. They were probably all hands on deck getting ready for our early arrival.

We didn’t run into another soul until we’d gone through another large reception room and a very grand dining room inhabited by an eight-seat dining table that I shuddered to see. I hoped that was for things like wedding showers and not awkward breakfasts with our hosts Jack(ques) and Edeet!

We hit pay dirt, however, in the conservatory. I heard the murmuring first and I tugged Jane back. Together, we peered around the doorway into the sunshine of the all-glass conservatory.

“I told you, I’ll be all right,” the young woman who’d barged out of the office minutes earlier was saying, but this time she spoke with an elderly white woman wearing an elegant, if old-fashioned, knit pants suit. Neither looked happy. The girl’s dark eyes were red-rimmed and turned away from those of the older woman, who clutched the girl’s arms with slender, bony hands covered in age spots.

The older woman murmured to the girl, something low and conspiratorial we couldn’t hear. The girl shook her head again, this time with more vehemence.

“No, I won’t do that. I can’t do that. You don’t understand.” Then, in her desperate attempts to avoid the older woman’s intense scrutiny, her gaze lit on us. Knowing we were busted, I resisted the urge to pull Jane back with me. Instead, we forged through the doorway and toward the two women.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jane said, exuding friendliness. “We were told to show ourselves around—we didn’t know anyone was in here.”

The older woman released the girl’s arms and straightened up, dropping a polite mask down over her face. The girl looked down at her feet.

“It’s no problem at all,” said the woman in a patrician East Coast accent. “We were just having a little chat, weren’t we, Aisha?”

The girl nodded, her braids bobbing merrily about her sharp, pretty features. But her eyes were miserable still.

“Yes, ma…ma’am,” the girl said. “But I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Of course, dear. We’ll talk later.” That last bit had a note of warning that made the girl wince, but she was able to make her escape, at least for the time being.

“I’m Kitsy Rheingold,” she said, extending her hand to Jane, who ogled the woman’s enormous diamond.

“Very nice to meet you. I’m Jane, and this is my husband Anyan. And that is quite a ring you’ve got there.”

Kitsy held her hand out, fingers extended, letting the gem catch the sun in a glittering explosion of light.

“Oh, this old thing,” she said. “It’s been in the family for generations. Supposedly the gift of a raj to an English ancestor.”

“Wow. That’s quite a gift,” Jane said. I knew she didn’t really care for diamonds, but the thing was too massive not to impress.

“Yes, quite.” The woman lowered her hand and, switching gears, said, “Are you staying here at the Chateau?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane said. “For the weekend.”

The woman’s gaze flicked between us. “Anniversary?”

“Oh, no,” Jane said. “Not for a special event.”

I snorted. “It’s very special, actually. We have twins, and it’s our first weekend away since they were born last year.”

“Well, that is special,” the woman said, smiling indulgently, and she stared off into the distance, as if searching her memory. “We did something similar, my husband and me, after our daughter was born. It was so difficult to leave her, of course, but so worth it to reconnect with my husband.” The woman’s indulgent smile faded and she looked bereft.

“Are you here for a special event?” asked Jane, moving lightly away from a subject that obviously made Kitsy Rheingold sad.

“You could say that,” the woman said, and this time the smile she gave us was bright and hard. “But I should really be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time together. I’m sure I’ll see you at breakfast.” Kitsy gave us a regal nod and departed.

“That was odd,” Jane said. “I think? Was that odd?”

“Fairly odd,” I agreed. “And also none of our business.”

Jane shook her head at me, but any reply was interrupted by Edeet!, who poked her head in from the lobby to tell us our room was ready. Except not.

“I am so sorry,” she said, “But we are very much late with your room. We have had some problems with our staff. But I have called and made you a lunch reservation at our favorite restaurant and told them that it is on us. Will you please accept this with our humblest apology? You room will definitely be ready by the time you return.”

Jane perked up at the mention of lunch while I resisted the urge to throw myself on the floor and hold my breath until they either had our room ready or gave us something, anything, with a horizontal surface and a door that locked.

“I am hungry,” Jane said, because Jane was always hungry.

“Of course we accept,” I said. “But you needn’t pay. We were early, after all. We’ll get out of your hair and come back later.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Edeet!, “although we do insist on paying for your lunch. I’ve written the name and the directions on this piece of paper. It is right down the street.”

Jane took the piece of paper and Edeet! continued to thank us profusely as we walked through to the lobby, where a very large, middle-aged human male with a blank, slack-jawed expression was putting our small amount of luggage onto a very oversized cart.

“Timmy, he will take care of your things. They will be waiting for you in your room when you return. I do apologize again. We are usually able to accommodate our guests, but today has been a challenge.”

And for just a second, her perfect French polish showed the slightest hint of wear, but soon enough she was smiling and gracious and chic again.

We left the Chateau Bar Harbor, Jane practically skipping at the thought of lunch and me bemoaning all the other things I’d rather be feeding my lovely girl than a lobster roll.

Of course, lunch wasn’t just lunch. After we’d eaten our weight in Bar Harbor lobster—I’ll never understand why vacation lobster tastes so much better than our normal, Rockabill lobster, considering it’s the same damned lobster—Jane spotted an “adorable” gallery, and then another, and then another. After that she had to have an ice cream, and then a cocktail, and then another cocktail, and then there was another gallery, and then it was time for dinner, and then a nightcap. Somehow she conned me into ice cream again. Then we called home to check on the twins and Jane’s dad, who had everything well in hand. By the time we got back to the hotel, it was eight o’clock and I was very, very ready for our bed, if not for sleeping.

A shiny brass call bell was sitting on the desk at the hotel, and I gave it a mighty clap when we arrived, carrying what felt like dozens of shopping bags filled with tourist tat and some nice pieces of local art.

And then we waited.

And waited.

“That’s weird,” said Jane, and she clapped the bell again.

This time it was Timmy who shambled out of the hidden door behind the desk.

“Hullo,” he said listlessly, staring at us.

“Hello,” said Jane, straightening her spine with an expectant air.

Timmy’s dull brown gaze shifted between us like he wasn’t quite sure who we were or what we were doing there. His graying blonde hair hung into his eyes, contributing to the boyish air that clung to him, despite his obviously being middle-aged.

“We’re the Barghests,” I explained. “You carried our luggage to our room earlier today.”

“Okay,” said Timmy.

More silence.

“Could we go to our room now?” Jane asked gently.

“Okay.” Timmy didn’t have a very wide repertoire of responses, apparently.

“We don’t have a key,” said Jane. “Or a room number.

“Okay,” said Timmy, but this time he did move, first to take a key from under the desk and then to lead us up the stairs with a slow, determined tread.

Our room number was 13. Jane nudged me, but at that point I didn’t care if we had to kick a black cat and walk directly under a ladder to get into our room. Timmy pushed open the door and stood back, handing me the key as I followed Jane into the room. When I turned around to tip the man, he was gone, disappeared like a ghost.

I felt the hair on my arms rise and I reminded myself that I was Anyan Barghest, scourge of the supernatural world, and I shouldn’t be afraid of a middle-aged boutique hotel valet with the IQ of a toddler.

“It’s gorgeous,” Jane breathed as we set our shopping bags down next to the door and I turned to shut the door. “Look at that bed!”

The bed was huge and very elegantly made up. A four-poster draped in fabric, it was utterly romantic and incredibly practical for tying someone to. There was also the advertised chaise lounge and the fireplace and, when we poked our head in the bathroom, the enormous tub and equally large shower.

I turned to Jane, who put a hand on my chest.

“Not so fast, puppy. I need a shower. And to put on something special for our special night.”

“You already are special,” I said. “You can’t get any specialer…”

Well played, I congratulated myself. For I had my own special plans for tonight that had counted on Jane’s usual nightly ritual of a shower or bath before bed.

“It’ll take me twenty minutes, tops,” she said. “Think you can survive for that long?”

I sighed. “I guess. If I have to.” I bent to kiss her, meaning it to be just a quickie, but it deepened and soon we were almost too deep into it, ready to forget both of our separate missions. Champagne, I reminded myself. Candles. Shit girls like.

And with that I managed to pull back. “Get ready,” I said, giving her a soft kiss before she gathered up a few things from her little suitcase and went into the bathroom and shut the door.

I sprang into action.

From my own suitcase I pulled out three pillar candles I’d stashed amongst my clothes and the kit that Grizzie and Iris had handed me the following evening. I opened it to find a baggie full of rose petals, a bottle of massage oil, a pair of handcuffs that were not the fuzzy sex kind but real, honest-to-god handcuffs, a variety of toys, and a bunch of bananas. I hoped the bananas were for us to eat to keep our strength up, but with those two I probably didn’t want to know.

I placed one candle on the bureau across from the bed, by the door, one on the mantle above the fireplace, and one on the left-hand nightstand. I pulled from the earth’s magic, using a small burst of power to light each candle as I set it down. Then I strew the rose petals on the bed, looking at the clock. I still had fifteen minutes to carry out my plan.

Creeping out the door, I turned off the lights, looking back to check the scene. I had to admit, it looked good. I’d not bothered with the fire, as it was a warm night, but the candles lit the room with a soft glow that left most of the room, especially the bed, plunged in velvety shadow.

It looked warm and mysterious and sexy, like my Jane.

Then the candle next to bed guttered in a draft and went out, leaving the fabric-draped four-poster bed in total darkness. I nearly went to relight it, not trusting my aim with fire to do it from the doorway without lighting the bed on fire. Then I decided it could wait till I got back; getting the food and booze was more important.

It was Jane I was dealing with, after all.

Downstairs, there was no one at the desk and no one answered the bell this time when I slapped it impatiently. After a few minutes of waiting, I decided to take matters into my own hands and went behind the desk to push open the secret door there. It led into a small office, through which I could see a large kitchen.

Bingo.

I went to the refrigerator and pulled it open. Sure enough, there was a large paper bag that said “Barghest” on it. Inside I found the champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries I’d had delivered to the hotel for our arrival. A little rummaging in cupboards and I found a few flutes and a silver tray, upon which I arranged everything. I debated whether to open the champagne there, in the kitchen, but figured I’d do it in the bedroom, especially as there was no one to help me open doors or anything.

Where the hell is the staff? I wondered. It felt like we had the whole place to ourselves, which was odd considering part of the Chateau’s outrageous price tag was its promise of first-class service.

The champagne flutes jittered on the tray as I carried everything through the secret door and back up the stairs to our room. I figured that in the time I’d waited at the desk and then helped myself, I’d been about twenty minutes. I’d wanted everything set up before Jane came out of the shower, but arriving with it on the tray wouldn’t be too shabby.

I did have three of her favorite things, after all. On the tray was food and booze.

And the third thing is my doggie style, I thought smugly as I carefully nudged open the door, trying to be as quiet as possible in case she was still in the bathroom and I might yet manage to surprise her.

Only I was the one who was surprised.

For Jane was doing a sexy little shimmy for another man.

Even with my sharp barghest eyesight, I couldn’t see whom he was through the thick darkness created by the curtains of the four-poster bed. All I could see was that someone was in the bed, and Jane was standing just a few feet in front of me, facing the stranger and sliding her robe down her shoulders to reveal an absolutely stunning lingerie set.

“Who is that in our bed and why are you dancing for him?” I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral, not least because I’d registered something very odd about the man.

He wasn’t moving. Not even when Jane revealed her lace-covered tatas, which should have created some sort of reaction.

And speaking of Jane…

“EEEEEK!” she squealed at the sound of my voice, drawing her robe up and jumping away from where I stood, then shrieking again and jumping back towards me as her head swiveled toward its mystery occupant.