Visiting Memories Past

  visiting

  memories past

  a dana potter Christmas cozy mystery

  LIZ TURNER

  Contents

  Chapter 1 The Wesley Estates Hotel

  Chapter 2 Suite 44

  Chapter 3 A Wrathful Chaos

  Chapter 4 Twenty Love Poems

  Chapter 5 Blood on the Window

  Chapter 6 A Slim Metal Object

  Chapter 7 The Comment Box Note

  Chapter 8 A Christmas Wedding

  Chapter 9 Nocturnal Creatures

  Chapter 10 Christmas at the Wesley

  About the Author

  Preview of: Small Town Corruption

  Other Books by Liz Turner

  Chapter 1

  The Wesley Estates

  Hotel

  As the sun set, the guests of the newly reopened Wesley Estates Hotel crept away from the windows, the vast landscape of snow-laden pine trees, frozen fountains, and the wide-open front lawn obscured by the onset of darkness. The snow began to fall more steadily then, coating the old mansion’s roof with a half-foot layer of pure white.

  A tall young woman wearing a thick sweatshirt and a string of pearls around her neck looked shrewdly at the dwindling fire in the draughty lobby and alerted one of her staff to get it going again. The Wesley was booked solid that night, a good sign—this would be the first holiday season the hotel was open in thirteen years. Still, the young woman was nervous. It was five days before Christmas, and they were saying the snowfall would only get worse, perhaps even reaching the level of a blizzard by the 25th. That would not be good for business.

  People came to the Wesley to experience the magic of the local town in upstate New York, famous for its frozen-in-time qualities, not a single building having been built after 1940. And while she liked to think that the Wesley was the most important building, the most sought-after place to see, let alone stay, she was worried that her guests would not take kindly to being told they would be unable to leave the premises on Christmas. Her mind whirred, mentally ticking off the supplies she’d need to be sure they had, just in case the storm did spiral out into a full-blown blizzard…. Better pick up another couple generators, more wood, make sure the pantries are well-stocked with dry goods….

  So concerned that night was the young woman—her name was Melissa Cantor—that she could hardly sleep, to her husband’s dismay. She would lie down, only to worry the wind gusts outside must be stronger than they had been ever before, and thinking that the blizzard must have already started, she would press her face to the cold window in her bottom floor suite, and peer outside into the swirling dark.

  Finally, around three o’clock in the morning, she accepted once and for all that sleep would not come. She rose and put on a pair of trousers and a thick sweater, her lucky strand of pearls, and decided to go about the business of the next day, checking inventory, reviewing the staff schedules, and ensuring that all guests had paid in full. She took great pains to work as quietly as she could, to not wake her guests. Wesley was an old stone mansion built during the early 1800s, and sounds tended to travel far through the cavernous rooms, especially considering the profound silence of that early morning.

  This was why Melissa Cantor was aghast to discover the next day what a terrible fate had befallen a guest of theirs during the night, the guest in Suite 44. In fact, Melissa found herself openly denying that which she was seeing with her own two eyes in the bright light of morning. “I was awake all night! I didn’t hear a thing! I mean, a thing!” was the first thing to escape her mouth, sleep-deprived and stressed as she was, when one of the Wesley housekeepers had insisted that she come to Suite 44 at once. Immediately, she covered her mouth with embarrassment at her inappropriate outburst and uttered something about what an awful, awful thing it was, of course, the poor thing….

  ***

  On December 19, Dana Potter stepped lightly out of the cab at the end of a long familiar drive. The cold air hit her face more with more force than she’d anticipated, and she wrapped the thick wool scarf she had bought specifically for this trip tighter around her neck. Nonetheless, the air was fresh and carried with it the pleasant smell of pine. The scene was like something out of a holiday television special: a bright, clear day, the sun shining over a massive lawn dusted just barely with snow, and in the distance, a towering gray stone mansion flanked by a dense wood of pine trees. However, for Dana, the scene was one she had encountered many times before, and she was thrust deep into her memories of many a happy holiday season here. Hasn’t changed an iota, she thought, a wave of nostalgia flowing over her.

  Just then, a golf cart came buzzing down the drive and stopped abruptly next to Dana. A handsome young couple exited the cart, a man in his thirties, impossibly tall, with dark hair that was already showing early streaks of gray, and a woman, younger, and also quite tall, with her own dark hair cut into a sharp bob around her face.

  “Ms. Potter!” the woman exclaimed, wrapping her into a hug.

  Dana held the attractive woman at arm’s length for a moment, taking her in. “Little Mellie,” she said finally, hugging her again. “Last time I saw you, you were a little girl! Now look at you….”

  Melissa laughed. “Ms. Potter, you know I was fifteen last time you were here, right? Hardly a little girl.”

  Dana cocked her head in jest. “You sure looked like a little girl to me. Now,” she said, turning to man, “this must be your husband I’ve seen in all your Christmas cards. He is as handsome as in the pictures.” She winked at Melissa.

  “Hello, I’m Noah,” the man said, offering his hand to Dana. He had the air of a sturdy oak tree to Dana. A truly calming presence. She was glad that Mellie had found a man like that. If Dana recalled correctly, Melissa had always been somewhat of an excitable, anxious person, always exclaiming over something or the other. “You know, we could have picked you up from the airport. You didn’t have to take a cab.”

  Dana waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, I know how busy you two must be with the first holiday season underway! I didn’t want to be a bother. It’s kind enough that you invited me up here!”

  Noah smiled gallantly. “As Melissa tells me, you were Eileen’s closest friend, there to the end. We thought it only fitting that you come share in the reopening of the place. We wanted this year to be in her memory—”

  “—Yes, like a homage to Grammy. She always regretted letting the place fall to pieces when, well, you know. I think she would be so happy to see how we’ve brought it around—we kept everything original that we could, you know, just updating the important things….” Melissa chattered on as the three climbed into the golf cart and drove quickly up the long drive to the front entrance of the Wesley Estates Hotel.

  Eileen Truscott had been one of Dana’s closest friends, ever since they had attended a woman’s college together in Atlanta. Eileen, an art history major, had a habit of falling in love with historical buildings, and one winter, the two friends had come to upstate New York on a tour of such old homes. There, they’d happened upon the magical little town and Eileen had become smitten with the Wesley, then a private residence that occasionally gave tours. When the mansion went up for auction some years later during the 1970s, Eileen had used all her savings and a hefty loan to place a bid. She had felt the magic of the then little-known area even before it became a tourist destination, and she believed she could turn the old mansion into a cozy resort, full of historical whimsy and charm. Her plan had succeeded, with the Wesley becoming popular around the country and even the world as an upscale place to experience a truly tucked away, storybook Christmas. Dana had made it a point to spend her vacations at Wesley, almost every Christmas for some twenty years. It was an opportunity to
get away from her bustling life in Atlanta and to spend quality time with her dear friend.

  But, about fifteen years ago, Eileen had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, and though she managed to keep the place running for a few more years, eventually she could no longer manage and shuttered its doors. Just three years after her diagnosis, she had died in a hospital in New York City. Dana had done her best to visit Eileen as much as possible during the final months, and that was when she’d had the opportunity to get to know Melissa, her only grandchild. The teenager had impressed her with her bravery during that trying time, and when Dana heard that she, now 28, had decided to reopen the Wesley, she’d been thrilled. She hadn’t expected the girl to invite her to come stay in the house during the first open Christmas. But, Dana hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to relive some of her fondest memories.

  “Oh, what a wonderful job you’ve done!” Dana said as they entered through the huge double doors. The place was just as she’d remembered. Gleaming mahogany was everywhere, from the large spiral staircase, to the floors, to the paneled walls. There was the same monstrous old stone fireplace in the center from which crackled a hearty fire. Guests in varying cozy winter attire milled around the big family room, quietly chatting, ordering steaming mugs of cocoa from the bar, and lounging on the tasteful furniture. Dana smiled as she spotted a familiar painting on the wall. It was one that hung in that same spot when Eileen had first decorated the place. Melissa must have dredged it out of storage.

  Melissa blushed at Dana’s delight. “Yes, well, I wanted it to look like how I remembered from when I was a kid.” Noah squeezed her arm gently. “But don’t be fooled. We did more than just polish the floors up a bit. Most of the renovations you don’t see right away, but they’re there.” She began ticking off her fingers. “Central air and heat, updated plumbing, Wi-Fi, we had to trash the kitchen and replace it with a new state-of-the-art facility—same with the guest bathrooms, we finished that horrible basement and created a brand new luxury spa, and, of course, well the grounds needed a lot of work.” She was beaming.

  “It’s perfect,” Dana said, embracing the young woman again.

  “Shall we show you to your room?” Noah asked.

  Dana’s room was on the fourth floor and faced the front lawn. She noted that the old-fashioned keys she remembered had been replaced by a sleek card-key system. But inside, the room was bursting with nineteenth century charm. A small fireplace was in the corner and in front of it lay a huge bearskin rug. A towering four-poster bed was topped with a fluffy white down comforter. The curtains were parted to reveal the stunning view of the grounds.

  “Well,” Dana said, a glint in her eye. “I think this will do.”

  After the couple had left her to settle in, Dana unpacked her suitcase and stowed her belongings in the tall wardrobe. As she stared out the front windows, she could almost feel Eileen’s presence in the room with her. She half expected her old friend to come up behind her, tapping her on the shoulder abruptly and yelling “Boo!” the way she had done in their girlhood. Dana sighed. Stop being melodramatic, she chastened herself. She had always prided herself on being coolheaded and logical, and she wasn’t about to start becoming one of those old women who lives in her memories. Yes, the Wesley had been Eileen’s place, but now it had a new life with the Cantor’s. And from what Dana could tell, Melissa was doing her best to honor her grandmother’s spirit with the place. That’s what Dana should do as well. Honor her, without becoming overwhelmed with nostalgia. She gave herself a curt little nod and then slipped out to explore the rest of the old Wesley Estates Hotel.

  The walk around the massive hotel was quite agreeable to Dana, a chance to stretch her legs after being cooped up in the airplane and then the long taxi ride from the city. She had started at a brisk pace, wanting to exercise and eager to reach some of her favorite places she remembered from the last time. However, she found herself slowing down to take in the details in the hallways and the large spiral staircase and the small sitting rooms dotted around every corner. She sighed contentedly, mulling over the look of the sitting room at the end of her hallway; it was perfectly furnished with what appeared to be the finest quality woodwork, arm chairs and a coffee table crafted from tree-branch like wood pieces. Melissa has done a world-class job, she found herself thinking more than once.

  She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she had to admit it wasn’t this. The girl clearly had an eye for design, for quality, and she had her finger on the pulse of the guest’s experience. Dana moved on down the hallway, and the layout of the place came to her in memory as she recognized where she was. The Wesley had five floors: the ground floor (the kitchen, the restaurant, a small café, the lobby, and a ballroom), the second and third floors (twenty-two guest rooms of considerable size, and two sitting rooms on either end), the fourth floor (twenty-two more guest rooms, including Dana’s room, a sitting room, and the library), and now, of course, as Melissa had mentioned, the basement which held a spa.

  As Dana made her way down the other end of her hallway from the sitting room, she was about to go down the spiral staircase in the center when she noticed something that sparked her memory: a set of monstrous oak double doors down at the opposite end of the third-floor hallway. She was instantly drawn to them even though she imagined whatever the Cantor’s had done with that room would most likely be very different.

  She pulled on the heavy metal door handle, and the door swung open with momentum. Dana’s jaw went slack as she took in the scene. She couldn’t believe it! The room was large and dark, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves around all four walls, except for the interruption of a large stone fireplace on the south wall. Linen drapes softened the light streaming in the large windows, to not damage the old books. The fireplace was roaring, which surprised Dana, and there were two newly upholstered antique armchairs, stylishly draped with soft wool blankets, and facing the fire.

  Dana drew in her breath, stunned for a moment by the perfection of this room. Eileen had maintained a private collection of antique books that had been written by local people and the occasional historian about the town. The old woman had always believed that precious books belonged in the hands of careful private collectors, not the public. “The public doesn’t know what they have. They’ll let the poor pages rot if we let them,” Dana could hear Eileen saying.

  So it was that Eileen had amassed this collection over the span of several decades and kept it here at the Wesley, but always under lock and key. Dana had been invited there to take in a cup of coffee with Eileen many times, but ordinarily, guests were not allowed. Melissa had restored it to even better than it had been in Eileen’s day. As Dana stood in the doorway, the memories hit her viscerally, like a film playing before her eyes. She could almost smell the dense aroma of a dark brew coffee, just like Eileen had loved to indulge in.

  “Hello there, care for a cup?”

  Dana jumped in surprise. A handsome man was peering around the edge of one the armchairs, his gray-speckled hair glinting in the firelight. Dana put her hand to her chest and chuckled, shaking her head at herself.

  “Scared you, did I?” The man grinned amiably. “Here.” He stood and walked slowly and elegantly over to a small table where a kettle and a set of large coffee mugs were waiting. He held up a mug in question to Dana, and when she nodded politely, he poured her a cup of steaming coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “All the above, I’m afraid,” Dana said, patting her slightly fluffy stomach gently.

  The man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “A woman after my own heart, I see. Life’s too short to drink black coffee, am I right?” He held out the cup, and Dana took the cue to settle beside him in the adjacent armchair.

  “I’m Dana. Dana Potter.”

  “Wallace Black.” Wallace gently clinked her mug with his and then settled in his chair with a contented sigh. “Isn’t this place grand?”

  “That it is,” Dana said. Wallace had his eyes closed,
his mouth relaxed into a small closed-lip smile. Dana took the opportunity to openly study the stranger. He was tanned and had his fair share of wrinkles; Dana guessed he might be fifteen years younger than her. He wore a slim-fitting sweatshirt in a flattering shade of slate blue. His full head of dark hair was graying at what appeared to be a rapid pace, but nonetheless he looked the picture of rugged health. Dana thought he resembled the sort of person you might find in a television advertisement for an arthritis medication—the after, the man who has a new lease on life, who climbs mountains into his sixties now that his joints are no longer inflamed. She chuckled at herself, managing to compose herself as he opened his eyes again.

  “So, Dana Potter. What brings you to the Wesley?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

  She told him about Eileen and how the Cantor’s had invited her up to celebrate the holiday with them.

  He whistled. “You knew the previous owner? I wish I had known of this place back then. But I suppose they’ve done a nice job fixing it up.” He winked.

  “Are you here to visit the town, or family, or…?” Dana asked.

  A misty look came over his face for a moment before he smiled again. “I suppose I’m here to just have a good vacation.” He cleared his throat and went to pour himself another cup.

  Dana smiled in response, though inwardly, she thought his answer odd. She wondered if he had lost someone, perhaps wanted a vacation away from home in order to not relive painful memories. That would explain why he’d so readily engaged an old lady in conversation. He was lonely. “How long are you staying?” she asked.

  But before he could answer, a gust of wind hit the large front window and rattled the glass panes noisily. The wind whined as it twirled away from the window. Wallace went to the window and parted the curtain with a sure hand. He gazed out. Dana noted that night was swiftly falling, the sun having dropped behind the large pine trees. Though it was not quite dusk, the thick forest at the edges of the property made it seem darker than it was really was.