“I wish Isabel had included a class on spinning yarn. I’ve always thought it would be fun to spin my own yarn and then knit something wonderful with it.” Her eyes held the kind of gleam Vi got when talking about the pendulum.

“That sounds fabulous,” Mom exclaimed. I sensed she was just glad to change the subject.

“I wouldn’t know the first thing about what kind of fleece to spin or how thick to make it,” Vi said.

“That’s why I wish there was a class.” Lucille took a sip of wine. “I’ve been thinking about buying an alpaca from that farm outside of Crystal Haven.”

Mac choked on his chicken and I pounded his back.

Lucille glanced at Mac and continued. “I could keep it in my garage in the winter and spin its fleece. I wonder if I need more than one—how many alpacas do you need for a sweater?”

Fortunately, Wally began clearing plates, and Mac was able to gain control of himself.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite, but I heard the desserts are the chef’s specialty,” Mom said.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, the lights flickered, and the room plunged into darkness.

Someone screamed. A plate shattered on the floor.

“Everyone stay calm,” Wally announced. “I’ll go get some flashlights.” He crashed through the dining room, bumping into tables on his way out.

I heard muffled whispers and the shifting of chairs.

Mac raised his voice to be heard over the mutterings around the room. “Let your eyes adjust to the dark,” he said. “I’m sure Wally will be back in a moment.”

As if on cue, Wally clicked on a large flashlight that he shone in everyone’s eyes before realizing he had blinded us all with its brightness.

“Oh, sorry everyone. I have some flashlights here,” he said as he pointed his light at the ground and made his way to the tables, passing out the lights.

“We only have a few of these, but Jessica went to get some candles,” Wally said. “Unfortunately, we do lose power occasionally during severe storms. We have a backup generator and it should be working momentarily.”

Murmurs spread as people clicked on their lights and checked to be sure their friends were okay.

“Why don’t we all move into the lounge?” Wally swung his light toward the door. “The fire is warm and bright, and we can have coffee while we wait for maintenance to get the power up and running again.”

The flashlights and promise of coffee had improved the mood of the room. Scraping chairs, giggles, and exclamations of “just like camping!” and “delightfully spooky” accompanied the group out of the room. We trooped down the dark hallway, following Wally’s light, and settled by the fire.

I was grateful for the shadows in the corners as Mac and I separated from the group for a moment of privacy.

“I would think that this was the most romantic place ever, if we didn’t have most of our families along for the weekend,” I said.

“This hasn’t worked out quite the way I planned, but we should be able to find another place tomorrow,” he said quietly. He leaned toward me and kissed my neck just below my ear. I slid my arm around his waist and was enjoying the moment when Wally’s light shone right in my eyes again. Mac jerked away. And Wally swung the light back toward the group.

“Sorry! Just doing a head count,” Wally said.

Mac and I stepped closer to the group sitting by the fire.

Vi looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Isn’t this exciting?” she said. “A blizzard, a power outage, and a haunted castle! What could be more fun?”

“Haunted?” Mac’s lipsticked admirer asked with a quavery voice.

“Oh, definitely,” Vi said. “The original owner died on a night just like this. Drowned in her bathtub up in the turret room.”

Wally was standing close enough that I heard him sigh.

7

Vi had grabbed everyone’s attention.

“What?”

“Drowned?”

“Who?”

Vi launched into her tale of treachery and deceit.

I’d assumed that the ghost story was part of the hotel’s offerings. Like a “George Washington slept here” kind of thing. But, apparently, Vi had pried the information out of Wally and he seemed to be regretting it.

“. . . found her dead in the bathtub when she returned with the cocoa,” Vi concluded. “Her ghost walks the halls and stands at the turret window on nights like this.” The flashlight she held cast spooky shadows on her face.

The lounge was silent as the group digested Vi’s story. Jessica rushed into the room at that moment carrying a box of candles and a lighter. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get back.” Her hair stood out in excited springs and she stopped to catch her breath. “I see you’re all settled comfortably here.” She glanced around at the pale, shocked faces. “What?”

“I was just telling them the story of your ghost,” Vi said. “It’s a doozy.”

“Our . . . ghost?” Jessica’s eyes grew wide and she glanced at Wally. “We’re trying to leave that in the past.” Jessica passed out the candles. “Clarissa doesn’t think it represents our new direction. She’s even living in the turret room in order to prove to the staff that it’s just a story.”

“What do you think?” Lucille asked. Several heads turned at this question.

“Well, I did grow up hearing the stories,” Jessica said. “And certainly had some fun with my friends at sleepovers scaring one another.” She glanced at Isabel, who smiled. “But I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary in that room or any other room in the castle.”

Wally coughed quietly next to me.

“Now, maybe we should talk about something else,” Jessica said. “The castle has a very interesting history besides the tragic story of Ada Carlisle.”

“I heard that rumrunners used to hide alcohol here during Prohibition,” Vi volunteered. “I heard there was a speakeasy in the basement.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of history Ms. Garrett means,” Wally said.

Jessica smiled gratefully at him and nodded.

“No, I was talking about the architecture and some of the furnishings and paintings,” Jessica said.

Vi yawned in my ear.

“The castle has been in my family since it was built in 1895, and every generation puts its own stamp on the building. We have an extensive art collection as well as authentic period furniture. My mother has spent much of her career curating the collection. I often tease her that the castle is her favorite child. Clarissa is working to make this a destination spa and hotel. And our chef, René, is close to having our restaurant Michelin rated.”

“Do you do other conferences here?” Mom asked.

“We try to schedule something once a month. We don’t like to do too many because we are small enough that a conference can easily fill all the rooms and then there aren’t any for regular guests.” She glanced at me and tilted her head. “My mother could tell you so much more about the history of some of our artwork. It’s really her obsession, right after running the hotel. I wonder where—”

A muffled shriek cut across Jessica’s words.

Everyone turned toward the door, candle flames dancing with the movement.

We heard it again, but louder.

I rushed toward the exit, and Mac followed right behind.

“Everyone stay where you are,” Jessica said. “We’ll be right back.”

I assumed no one followed directions, based on the stampede of feet that trailed Mac and me into the hallway. We heard someone running on the floor above and headed for the stairs. As we reached the top, a well-dressed older woman approached carrying a kerosene lamp. She wore a navy suit and low heels, its conservative feel contrasting with her huge, wild eyes. She put her hand to her mouth when she spotted us.