A Groom wirh a View

half expected bats to appear to see who was talking to them.
    “I hate to say it, but it looks to me like a ghost. A sort of dirty ghost,“ Jane said.
    Shelley drew a deep breath, disengaged herself from her death grip on Jane, and suddenly strode forward, holding the lamp high above her head. “Get out of here!“ she shouted at the apparition.
    For good measure, she stamped her foot.
    The figure whirled, clutched at its own chest, then yanked the door back open and fled.
    “Wow!“ Jane said. “Just like Ghostbusters!”
    Two doors along the hallway were opened an inch or two. Jane was so disoriented she couldn’t tell whose doors they were. And she was further distracted by the sound of a crash in the main room, and a shrill scream. Another bedroom door opened.
    Jane and Shelley stared at each other for a long moment, silently debating whether to hide in their rooms or investigate. Naturally, they headed for the main room. As they approached the entrance, the door opened again. They drew back, thinking the ghost had changed its mind. But it was Mel who appeared in the doorway.
    “Nothing to worry about,“ he said cheerfully. “Everybody just go back to bed.”
    Several doors closed quietly. He pointed to one that hadn’t and it slammed shut.
    “What on earth—“ Jane began.
    “Just some folks playing silly ass,“ he said. “You two are going to be comatose in the morning if you don’t get some sleep.“
    “So are you,“ Jane snapped.
    “Yes, but I have no responsibilities here. You do.”
    Jane was too tired to argue. She and Shelley found their rooms and Jane toppled into bed like a felled tree and was sound asleep before she could even wonder who the silly asses had been.

Seventeen

    Jane was up at seven in the morning, not really .awake, but vertical and dressed, which was the best she could manage. Although, as Shelley pointed out, she had her shirt on inside out. The struggle to get the sleeves turned right side out seemed almost insurmountable.
    “Did I dream that ghostly figure last night?“ Jane asked, fumbling at her buttons and wondering why her thumbs didn’t seem to be working right.
    “If so, it was a mutual dream.“
    “You were terrific,“ Jane said. “Just telling it to scat!“
    “I was, wasn’t I? What was Mel doing... roaming around in the middle of the night?“
    “I don’t know what anybody was doing. Are you ready for breakfast?”
    Jane gathered her notebooks once again and the two of them headed for the kitchen, where Mr. Willis, chirpy as a chickadee, was just getting some freshly baked croissants out of the oven.
    “Are we the first?“ Jane asked.
    He nodded as he set out a plate of the croissants as well as butter, cream cheese, and honey. Jane would normally have fallen on this feast like a starving barbarian, but today she was too preoccupied and only poured herself a cup of coffee. “The table and chair people are supposed to be here at nine. I wonder if I should call them.“
    “Jane, if they’re coming at nine, they’re already on their way. Don’t fret. Eat. You need your strength.”
    Jane couldn’t face food yet, and merely sat sipping her coffee and running down her mental list of what still remained to be done.
    Iva and Marguerite came staggering into the kitchen, looking as tired as Jane felt. Iva had done something weird with her maroon wig, pulling some of the hair (if indeed it were hair, not polyester) down from the crown to form a sort of Veronica Lake sweep of bangs. It was extremely unattractive and as Iva sat down to eat, she kept fussing and pulling at it.
    Jane was fascinated and kept staring at the older woman. When Mr. Willis asked Iva if she wanted straight coffee or decaf, Iva turned slightly to reply.
    “Is there something wrong with your left eye?“ Jane asked.
    “No! What a rude personal remark!“ Iva snapped.
    “Sorry, but it looks like—“
    “Mind your own business,“ Iva said, tugging at the bangs again.
    The area around her left eye was heavily made up and it looked as if she’d used a good half a stick of blemish concealer above and below the eye. There was so much that it was caking. No wonder she was trying to hide it with her fake hair.
    One of the local ladies who was helping Mr. Willis turned from where she was standing at the counter, rolling croissants, and said, “Oh, honey, you need to put some witch hazel on that. It’ll take the swelling right down. And I’ll make you up a nice little ice