“Yeah? I guess you’re right.” But Donna seemed reluctant. “And I’ve also been having some pretty freaky dreams.”
Vera glanced at her. “What kind of dreams?”
“Nothing specific. I’m walking around somewhere, long dark halls, past rooms I’ve never seen.”
“So? You’re dreaming about a new place, an uncertain experience,” Vera tried to psychologize. “What’s freaky about that?”
“It’s just the way I feel in the dream. I feel almost drunk, entranced. It’s like I’m being summoned somewhere, and it seems really sexual, ’cause all I’m wearing is lingerie.”
“And you’re smoking a cigar too, right?” Vera attempted some levity, “an obvious Freudian symbol. Or maybe it’s not a dream at all. Maybe it’s one of the ghosts calling you, one that likes lingerie.” But then it occurred to her that she needn’t joke about it, for her own dreams too were indisputably sexual, and arousing to the point of disturbing her sleep. It proposed an aggravating contrast: the dreams distressed her, but at the same time she actually looked forward to them. Perhaps it was part of her subconscious that longed for what she’d been raised to believe was immoral—having sex with a person I don’t even like is definitely immoral, she reasoned—and the part of herself that was now sexually unfulfilled. Suddenly, the image returned: herself naked on her belly, panting as The Hands worked up the backs of her legs, raising her buttocks…
“What did Mr. Feldspar say about our huge turnout?” Donna asked next.
Vera was grateful for the distraction as she steered the sleek Lamborghini through another series of winding, wooded bends. “He doesn’t seem to care,” she answered. “The Carriage House is just a sideline; he doesn’t even care if it makes a profit. He’s counting on room service and accommodations to put him in the black. It’s crazy, if you ask me, but he must know what he’s doing. All of Magwyth Enterprises’ other inns are in the black. Long as we do our job we got nothing to worry about.”
Minutes later they pulled into town. main street, the central drag was originally dubbed. The town seemed repressed by the cold; only sparse traffic could be seen, and few pedestrians. An ancient barber pole twirled lazily along a row of little shops: a general store called HULL’s, a tavern called the waterin’ hole, and a farm supply store. When Vera parked, she noticed faces squinting from windows. An old man stopped in the middle of the crosswalk and stared. No doubt they’d noticed the two hundred thousand dollar set of wheels that just pulled into their one-horse burg. A sudden frigid wind bit into them when they got out of the car. Vera rushed into a hardware store, while
Donna scurried into the save-on clothing store. Vera purchased several big Master padlocks. “That’s some car ya got there, ma’am,” a tired old man remarked at the register. “It’s not mine, it’s the company’s,” she offered. “And what company might that be, if ya don’t mind my inquirin’?” “I work at The Inn,” she said. “I manage the restaurant there, The Carriage House. You should try us out.” “The Inn, you say?” he questioned. “Don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it.” “The old Wroxton Estate,” she assisted. “It’s a country-style inn now.” With that, the old man made no further comment and rather hastily bagged her locks.
All right, don’t try us out, she thought. See if I care. She found Donna raptly inspecting a small lingerie rack at the save-on. “Not exactly Fredrick’s of Hollywood,” Vera observed.
“Oh, but the prices are great,” Donna enthused, holding up a pink-lace bra that was only straps. “Three bucks!”
Vera had to frown. “There’s nothing to it, Donna. A bra with no cups?”
“Oh, Vera, where’s your sense of adventure? Men love this kind of stuff. Oh, I’ve got to get this!” Now she held up a pair of panties that looked more like a frilly g-string. “And it’s only three-fifty!”
“Yeah, and a postage stamp is only twenty-nine cents, and it would cover you more.” Vera failed to see the fascination. Maybe if I’d worn silly stuff like that, Paul wouldn’t have cheated on me, she reflected. But that was a bad subject. “I can see you’re going to be a while. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done at the bank.”
“Okay.” Now Donna inspected another bra that had holes for the nipples. “Dan B.’s gonna love this!”
I’m sure he will. Vera left and strolled down the row of shops. Now several jean-jacketed men had emerged from the tavern to look at the Lamborghini. I’ll tell them
I’m a movie star, she considered. They’d probably believe me. The Farmer’s National Bank sat at the end of the row, one old-fashioned teller window with bars in front of it instead of bullet-proof glass. A slim, elderly woman put down a copy of The Globe when she entered. PEKING woman gives birth to gorilla! boasted the headline. And: prehistoric birdnest found in robert CULP’S ATTIC!
Vera took care of her bank business, then withdrew some walking around money from her personal account. The teller was friendly and efficient; she seemed even pleased to wait on a new face.
“Is that your fancy car out there?” she asked.
“Yes,” Vera said, pocketing her withdrawal slip. Should I say I’m a movie star? she wondered.
“Then you must be up at the old Wroxton place,” the woman said. She glanced up over her bifocals.
“That’s right. I’m the restaurant manager. How did you know?”
“On account of that Feldspar man. He drove one just like it, only it was red. Now don’t get me wrong, miss, we’re quite grateful to him, what with all the money he put in our branch. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told him.”
“Let me see if I can guess,” Vera ventured. “Wroxton Hall is haunted.”
“That’s right, miss, and don’t you laugh. There’s still some folks in this town that remember. Weird goin’s on up there.”
“Well, we’ve already had the ghostbusters go through the place. It’s clean.”
The woman smirked. “Go ahead and laugh, miss. You’ll be sorry. Lotta folks ’round here’re still sorry they ever heard of that godawful place.” She propped her glasses back up on her deeply lined face. “Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Actually, yes,” Vera said. It was none of her business per se, but, after all, she was management, and she did have authorized access to the account Feldspar had opened for the restaurant. It was a legitimate curiosity, wasn’t it?
Vera held up the Magwyth Enterprises account card. “I’d like to know how much is in this account.”
The old woman inspected the card again, then double-checked Vera’s driver’s license to make sure that the names matched. Then she pointed over the counter and said, “Just punch up the account number in the jahoozie box there.”
The bank, spare as it was, did not fully lack modern conveniences. On the counter was a small keypad and LED screen, so customers could check their accounts themselves.
“Then press send,” the old woman added.
Vera punched in the account number and her access code. Then she pressed send. Working, the screen read. Please wait.
Vera tapped her foot, waiting.
Then the screen rolled on: Magwyth Enterprises, Ltd. Auxilliary Account: Carriage House, Access Vera Abbot ID Code 003. Please wait.
Then Vera gasped.
Your account total is $1,000,000.00.
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