 “Palwick,” Mary called out from the foyer, “I’m done sweeping up the glass.” She entered the living room and announced in general, “Dinner will be ready in a while. So meanwhile, make yourselves at home.” “Ira’s got a nice place,” Vicker said cheerfully, oblivious to his wife’s attempted machinations. “She mentioned that she had inherited an old junker, but she was being too modest.” “I’m surprised you haven’t come out here sooner,” said Tabora. “So when did you find the time to get married again? Last I heard, you were down in South Africa supervising another of your ventures. I wouldn’t have thought you would have had the time. New ventures tend to fill up your schedule pretty quickly.” “I should know,” the Baron added. “After a while, it just gets tedious, you know? So a couple years back I decided to go into retirement and hand over the business to the son.” Vicker chuckled. “Unluckily, I don’t have any children to hand the business over. Lately, I’ve been delegating responsibility to the vice president who’s much more younger and energetic. I figure he’ll buy me out sooner or later anyway. I met Esther during one of my vacations to Rio. She was doing a photo shoot for a magazine in between some acting gigs. You could say it was love at first sight.” “Hm,” said Tabora. “Well, it’s too bad you didn’t have the chance to get down here before. Ira told me that the house was originally built in the late 1800s by an eccentric tycoon. Ever heard of Phineas Cronan?” “No, who’s Phineas Cronan?” said Marcus. He and Hadrian had hastily reset the chessboard despite their unfinished game. “I beginning to miss Amanda,” declared Hadrian. “The pug has his high points.” He fled through the living room to the foyer. Without an excuse, Marcus took a place behind the sofa where Reine was sitting, shielding himself from Esther who pouted. She would let her quarry off the hook. For now. “Phineas Cronan,” Reine mused. “He’s like Rockefeller and Vanderbilt, right? Was he one of those railroad barons? He must have owned a steel mill somewhere up here.” “Actually, he got rich importing furniture as well as some more questionable material,” said Tabora. “Particularly alcohol, snuff, and poor peasants from eastern Europe who were basically sold into indentured servitude. He was also rumored to be into questionable religious activities. This house is supposedly modeled after or was a reconstruction of a fortress in south France where the Knights Templar were headquartered.” “He was into the black arts, then?” asked Vicker. “Oh, yes he was,” said Xanthia who had finally walked over to the larger gathering. The feathers on her turban waved as she nodded in a faint trance-like rhythm. “I can feel his spirit sometimes wandering about the house, looking for something. A malevolent spirit.” “I thought you were an astrologer,” said Reine, “not a psychic.” “I’m very versatile.” “So you mean there are ghosts here?” said Vicker intrigued. “There are no such things as ghosts,” said Tabora loudly. Hadrian sauntered back in holding Amanda tucked under his arm. “What is this about ghosts?” Something crashed loudly behind Hadrian in the foyer which made everyone jump. Esther shrieked. Amanda took the opportunity from the commotion to tumble from Hadrian’s arms and to wander over to an empty armchair to go to sleep underneath. “Damn stairs!” It was Larrington. The guests turned back to Tabora, finally ignoring Ira’s irate nephew. “There are no such things as ghosts,” Tabora repeated. “Anyways, Phineas Cronan’s secular life was as wild as his religious life. At one time, he supposedly had ten different mistresses. He didn’t even bother sneaking around for his affairs either. He had them all under one roof, here in fact. People in town called the women his personal harem. He died naked in bed with a wineglass in his right hand and a mistress on each arm.” “How embarrassing,” remarked Reine. “He must have died happy,” countered Marcus. Reine tilted her head back to look at him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous of some dead guy.” He only grinned back, the scar on his face making him look slightly demonic. “Phineas Cronan died around 1915,” said Stephan. He waved a hand vaguely over in the direction of the dining room. “He was buried over there, in a cemetery beside the church that is approximately a mile over in that direction. The church was here even before Monadnock was settled. It was supposedly the center for religious activities to convert the non-believers during the day and to perform the dark arts during the night. Members of some Masonic club gathered there.” “The Freemasons,” Tabora supplied. “Yes, that’s it. The church is abandoned now, but the ruins are still quite spectacular. It was built entirely of stone with one tall steeple at the front. It was also for Christians who were of the Methodist Episcopal persuasion, although back in the day, the inhabitants of Monadnock would tell you that no real Christians ever went there. The church wasn’t there during colonial times, though. It was only just built around 1850. Before, there was only a hut that served as a Masonic lodge. And even before then, they were supposed to be some sacred place for Native Americans. The foundations were poured to cover a small system of caverns that the local Indians used to bury their dead before the Europeans came.” “Did archaeologists come to excavate?” asked Reine. “Two or three came around the 1960s, but they only found a couple of femur bones or something like that. They concluded that it wasn’t a major burial ground. None have come since,” confirmed the Baron. “It doesn’t look that interesting. You could probably hike out to see it. There’s a trail leading from the back of the house into the woods in that direction. There’s nothing there except the abandoned church and its overgrown cemetery.” “Well, it sounds interesting to me,” said Reine. “Maybe I’ll go out to see it tomorrow.” “I’ll go with you,” said Marcus. “Me too,” said Hadrian hastily, not liking the determined glint in Esther’s eye. “Too bad,” Esther drawled. “I was hoping one of you would teach me chess. I’ve never played it before.” “I’ll teach you!” said Vicker. “Great.” But his young wife didn’t sound too pleased. “Yes, too bad,” said Larrington who had snuck into the gathering while the Baron and Baronness were explaining about Ira’s house. He was standing next to the fire, his large puffy form thrown in highlight looked like an orange snowman. “I thought it was a lucky break Aunt Ira invited you all here. I was hoping to talk to you three about next year’s schedule.” Three pairs of eyes sent scathing looks toward his direction. “We already sent you our proposal before we left,” said Marcus. “I never got it in the mail.” “Of course you didn’t,” admonished Tabora, “because you never check you’re mail. Ira tells me that you spend all your time driving up here to bother her about money.” “She tells you?” his voice rose. “How can she tell you when she never speaks to me, her own nephew?” The ringing of a bell broke him off from his ranting. The guests turned toward the sound to find a short elderly woman with curly white hair standing on the threshold of the dining room. She wore a simple voluminous black dress. One hand gripped the head of a cane. The other hand held a small golden bell. “Dinner is ready,” the woman announced. © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |