Finding Trouble

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 17

Early Friday

Up the coastal highway a few miles from Bluewater and the hotel found a little community that was, in fact, more casino and resort than anything else. It was not a particularly fancy hotel nor casino, but it offered up flashing lights and somewhat meaningful atmosphere that promised a good time, if not a slight return on the money shoved into the slot machines.

At one particular machine was a once energetic and and creative man. His fixated eyes, unshaven face, and clothes that had been worn for several days already, were the signs of him nearly prepared to give up hope on his search. Joseph sat solemnly and, watching the wheels go by and slowly eat away at the money that was technically set aside for petrol. It was not the house, however, that was the primary sink to his pocket that day, nor any day recent. The red marks on his bank account were still adding up, but the network company would not offer up another check his way while the star of the show was still missing, forcing the halt to production.

A rustling of papers and padding of heels across the dingy carpet behind him pulled him away from another quid being sucked away into the depths of the machine. “Joseph, you must see this.”

“What’cha got for me, Liz?” He turned back tiredly, blinking the cigarette smoke from his eyes.

His suited assistant, having been mistaken for one of the attendants too many times, flipped the folds of newspaper into Joseph’s hands. “This is the county’s paper.”

“Oh, good thinking!” Joseph said back, a slight slur to his words. “We can put out a help-wanted to see if we can come across someone brand new to star in ‘Emmanuel’s Kitchen!’”

Elizabeth grabbed up the papers from Joseph’s unfocused grasp and held the particular section taut before his eyes. “Look!” She exclaimed, shoving her finger around and to the tall ad at the edge of the page.

Joseph leaned back and tapped at the glowing ‘spin’ button on the slot machine before turning his focus back to the paper. “Ohh, what do we have here? The… Washwater… Hotel. Dinner service open to the public? Do you want to eat there? Sounds expensive, Liz.”

“Again, please call me Elizabeth.” She rebutted. “Did you not read what it says?” She pulled the paper back around and squinted the glow of the neon lights from her vision. “Blah blah blah, only 5 pounds, if you’re a local. Enjoy a meal of traditional fare prepared by our newly hired chef Brian.” She read off. “Brian!”

Joseph perked up. “Our Brian? No, no, no, no way he would be using his real name.”

“Well, obviously this isn’t written by him.” Elizabeth smacked at the paper. “He wouldn’t be advertising himself if he were still trying to dodge us.”

“I mean, how many Brians are out there that can cook?” Joseph said, flipping his head back and forth. “May not even be our man.” His eyes turned back to the slot machine, and the cocktail sitting in the cup holder beneath the coin return.

Elizabeth placed the paper in the nearby seat before giving a heavy yank to Joseph’s shoulder. “Come on now, look at you. We’re going. We can’t take the chance that it isn’t him, especially when it’s only a couple miles down the road.”

Joseph stumbled and found his footing on the ground beside Elizabeth. “Fine, fine, but you’ll have to drive.”

Continue reading “Finding Trouble”

An Affair

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 16

Sarah Seer had come down from her room just before noon. On her way from the second floor, she had passed Marianne and Anna on the stairs, who, despite their best attempts, had barely gotten a second look from the woman. Upon her arrival in the lobby, she came up before the front desk and waited patiently. There seemed to be nobody else about the public area, nor was there a sign of anyone beyond the closed-tight door behind the counter.

Obidiah stepped out from the dining room, double checking his shirt button at his collar. He stiffed up and held his breath as he caught sight of the puffy grey hair of the woman awaiting him in his usual spot.

“Oh?” Sarah called out as Obidiah appeared in the corner of her vision. “Mr. Wash. Another new outfit I see, it is quite pleasing.”

“This?” The owner pursed his lips and tugged on his collar. “I was simply about the town today, pardon my disheveled state.”

You should see the man when he attempts his own laundry.

“I can imagine.” Sarah responded.

“Excuse me?” Obidiah asked, taken aback.

Sarah pushed herself up off the counter and wandered toward Obidiah, her finger pointed out toward him. Mr. Wash looked down at his shirt for any particular spot she may have been pointing out. “Mr. Wash, tell me about Venicia.”

Oh boy.

“How do you know that name?” Obidiah cocked his head.

Sarah pointed at the library to the right of the front desk and stairs. “It was in one of the old guidebooks. About how you two opened the hotel. That is your name, is it not?”

“To who are you referring to, Mrs. Seer?”

Obi, I told you. It’s time to give up the ghost.

Sarah clapped her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderfully peculiar sense of humor she has, too.”

Obidiah shook his head back and forth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me…” He sighed, turning back toward the gate and heading through.

Sarah pushed past after him as he moved about the ‘employees only’ door. “Mr. Wash, you must know this is as peculiar as just about anyone.”

“Mrs. Seer.” Obidiah stood just beyond the doorway, his back to the clairvoyant woman.

“I must ask that you not continue past that door.”

“Then stop me yourself, Mr. Wash.” Sarah insisted, closing the door after her.

Persistent.

Obidiah rubbed at his creased forehead while making his way about behind his desk. “Fine. Have a seat.” He said, pointing to the smaller, velvet embroidered chair to his front.

Sarah excitedly shifted about and planted herself in the seat. “Mr. Wash, Venicia, you as well, never in my life, even once, have I had the chance to… convene with such a… vocal spirit.”

And I, not with such an insistent guest.

“Venicia…” Obidiah grumbled.

“Tell me, either of you.” Sarah began, pulling out a notepad and pen from her pants pocket. “When was it that you, Venicia, arrived in the spirit world and found yourself able to communicate with… the other side?”

The other side? It was if… I never left.

“Indeed. I learned of her… passing… before I ever found her body.”

That’s right, you did.

“Interesting.”

“Of course, when the initial shock of hearing my wife’s voice not attached to her body, she led me right to it.”

“How many years now have you been in this situation?” Sarah asked, scribbling down more notes. “She- you, Venicia- have been bodily separated for two years now?”

Two and a bit.

“And it seems you are bound to the hotel? Or your husband himself?”

“Hard to tell, actually.” Obidiah hummed. “Though, often times when I am out, I am unable to hear her voice.”

“So the hotel is what is housing her spirit…” Sarah hummed.

Is that the case, really? I’d have loved to play pranks on some of those more unruly guests that tear up our rooms, but I’m no poltergeist, if that term is applicable.

Obidiah grumbled. “Venicia, you can’t do that…”

“Ethereal… being…” Sarah repeated as she took down the words. “I see. Mr. Wash, Venicia. I am of the understanding that business has been suffering here, if not just a bit?”

“I pray you are not suggesting what I am thinking of.” Obidiah leaned in across his desk, his hands folded.

“Having a little bit of supernatural influence is a draw for many an otherwise uninteresting hotel, Mr. Wash.”

“Uninteresting…” Obidiah repeated, gnawing on the tip of his tongue. A loud ding rang out from the front desk just beyond the door. Obidiah stood. “Duty calls, Mrs. Seer. Please stay put for a moment. Perhaps… converse with my wife a bit longer, if that suits the both of you?”

Continue reading “An Affair”

The View from Below

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 15

Obidiah had returned early to the hotel to discuss his current scheme with chef Brian. The fresh-faced cook was still working on the prep for that day’s dinner service when the owner came through the doors of the kitchen to meet with him. Brian looked up from the roux to greet him. “Ah, I thought I heard you. How may I help you, Mr. Wash?”

Obidiah looked about the sparking kitchen while taking in the buttery smell. “Good work, I’ve seen so far, Mr. Gates. Horatio isn’t causing too much trouble, I hope?”

“Oh, on the contrary.” Brian said, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“Oh. Good, good, then. I’ve just come back in from town, where I was discussing with the butcher.”

“I haven’t had much time to be about the town so far, to be honest.”

Obidiah hummed and shook his head. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard. That being said, though… I had a task I thought I would ask of you.”

“Anything, sir.” Brian said back, meeting eyes expectantly with the owner.

“This weekend.” Obidiah began. “I’d like to open up our dining room to the public. Generate some more interest in the hotel, especially considering that we now have something to help us stand out.”

Brian peered at his sauce and carefully adjusted the flame beneath it. “I appreciate that.” He said, glancing back.

“If you could, I would like to do a traditional Sunday roast. Meat, veg, oh… Yorkshire Pudding!”

“That’s easy enough.”

“Wonderful.” Obidiah clapped his hands together. “The butcher, as I was saying, can provide us with the roasts we would need. I’ll go and send a message now to the paper and advertise the event.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Brian said, his attention about to move to another dish.

“Oh, and Mr. Gates?” Obidiah stopped on his way out.

“Huh?”

“I’ll have your first week’s pay tomorrow. If I may recommend, a day off could do you some good.” He smiled.

Continue reading “The View from Below”

The Day to Day

The Washwater Hotel, Chapter 14

Thursday

Horatio’s day started at 5:50 a.m. in his little room up on the second floor of the hotel. He woke up to the rising sun through the window, and after a quick stretch, he put on both his robe and a pot of water to heat up. At 6, the water was ready for his instant coffee, which he always drank while watching one of the hotel’s two channels on the little TV in the corner of his room. At that time in the morning, it was either the news, or a rerun of one of the daytime programming from earlier in the week. That particular morning, he decided upon the Alaskan fishing boat documentary. He thought to himself that he would never be able to be upon any such exciting expeditions.

At 6:20, Horatio would begin to change into his work attire and slick his dark hair back into a neat wave to look his best for the day. At 6:30, he exited his room to took the back staircase from the private section of the hotel’s second floor, down to the short hallway that connected Mr. Wash’s office, the kitchen, and the second set of stairs that went down to the basement. In the kitchen, upon a footstool, he set a pot of water to boil upon one of the wide burners. Before the water got too hot, he introduced a dozen and a half eggs into the pot and set a timer.

During the summers, he would open the shades about the wide dining room windows which had been closed the night before for privacy. With the spare time left over, he would run the sweeper over the neat, short carpet among the tables. Somewhere back in the kitchen, the egg timer would ring and call him back. Melinda would be there about that time, 6:45, to help him bring down the heavy pot of eggs and their cooking water so that they would be ready and cool enough for the first diners coming down for breakfast. The helpful lady was always nice and took over the rest of the procedures for setting out breakfast. His own breakfast would be taken then, made up of a pair of the hard eggs and a slice of bread for himself.

While the air was still crisp, Horatio would venture outside around the circular drive. From behind the low red brick fence around the hotel’s property, he would drag out the ‘vacancy’ sign to place at the entrance so it would be visible from the public road. He also would check the mail and bring whatever he had found back to the front desk.

The cool fog of the morning would still often be hanging on the air as he went about the yard to water the thirsty plants. Mr. Wash seemed to take pride in all the neatly trimmed bushes and the colorful flowers about the planting beds in front of the hotel and the veranda. Just as he finished up with the plants, the gardener was pulling up and into one of the spaces at the north of the hotel. As Mr. Wash had the day off, Horatio was able to sneak a second cup of coffee from the breakfast bar and sit under the covered deck and watch while the gardener rode the mower about the lawn and later move to prune the boxwood at the far reaches of the landscaping. During his silent watch, he noticed that particular morning that two of the hotel’s guests, Mr. Yannison and Mr. Narrows, departing the front doors at the time.

Horatio returned to work at about 8, where he would take up any of the dishes from room service or the breakfast in the dining room and prepare them for the dish washer. Fueled by his second coffee that day, he made the trek up to the very top floor of the hotel. The rooms were all nice there, and yet, only one room was occupied: Room 411. The used dishes he expected were waiting outside the door on a tray. With a few more stops, he returned to the kitchen.

The new chef, Brian, was usually there about that time, chopping vegetables, or stirring some sort of simple yet enticing smelling sauce, or churning up a dough in the mixer. Chef Brian was a guy from the television, but not any more, as he seemed to have escaped. He seemed much happier than he was on the television shows, and was always in a good mood. “Oh, thank you for helping with the dishes, Horatio. Do you want to stir this sauce for me? It’s a Bèchamel for a dish called ‘Mac and Cheese’ – something popular over in the states. I’ll let you be my taste-tester later when it’s done.”

In the past, Horatio would make his own lunch, but after Brian’s arrival, it was something often shared between the two of them, if the time allowed. Brian was usually busy or had his mind on something else, and always looked over his shoulder when someone other than Horatio came through the kitchen doorway.

During days that Mr. Wash was on duty at the front desk, Horatio would make sure to be about and stay busy, whether that was shining bits of the stained wood about the lobby, removing dust from the fixtures, or organizing the books and magazines and newspapers on the tables and shelves. Later, after lunch times, he would help turn down the rooms with Melinda or Heather, or one of the part timers whom he could never remember the names of. They always enjoyed his company to make beds or fluff pillows.
As of recent, however, the number of people staying in the hotel had diminished. Horatio found himself unable to help out, often, with no more than a single room to help with most mornings. The short stay customers were few and far between, and those folks who had been there for a week or more seemed to prefer to stay cooped up in the rooms and take in no more than fresh towels and toiletries.

Horatio took a second break around 1 in the afternoon when all the obvious work had been finished. The lunch service was not running that particular day, and as expected, the lobby was empty. Horatio pushed past the short, swinging gate to the front desk. The neat boxes used to accept mail and messages for the rooms were devoid of any contents. The ledgers and pens around the desk were neatly arranged behind the short shelf facing the front of the hotel. Tucked under the corner of the desk was a tall stool that was rarely used. Horatio dragged it across the carpet and placed it in the spot Mr. Wash always stood when checking in a new guest. He hoisted himself up the foot rail and onto the cushion to astutely watch over the domain.

Continue reading “The Day to Day”

Drip, Drop

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 13

The room below Steven Narrows’, number 311, was, luckily, uninhabited. To the left of that particular room was the Guislain’s- Marianne and Anna’s- lodgings, who were still down eating in the dining room. To the right of 311 was where Joel Yannison had been staying. While he had been in the room at the time of the tub crashing partially through into the neighboring room from the floor above, he was too distracted in writing up his findings from the basement he had experienced earlier that morning to fully notice the sound. To him, it could have been someone dropping a suitcase inside the hall outside.

Marianne, upon her arrival to the dining room just a little bit earlier, found dismay in seeing Mr. Wash still present. “This should be the codger’s day off.” She said to herself.
“Hein, maman?” Anna asked her, tilting her head.

“Oh, nothing, Anna.” Her mother responded, a new plan of action forming in her mind.

Marianna had found the lunch quite pleasant, despite the situation. Anna had been reluctant in the fishy main course, and was offered instead a plate of pasta, seasoned with butter and salt, from the chef by way of Melinda. The little girl happily accepted and later consumed the simple dish.

Marianne’s secondary plans then went south as her gaze found Mr. Wash retreating to his office, instead of leaving the hotel as expected. Somewhere between the waitress taking away the lunch plates and bringing out the mousse to a happily awaiting Anna, she concocted something new.

Melinda bowed her head at the mother and daughter as she was finishing the service. “Just leave any dishes on the table, and myself or Horatio will be by to clean up later. I’ve got a bit of things to take care of about, so I will see you another day.”

“Bonne Journée, Melinda.” Marianne responded, watching her retreat from the dining hall. “Anna, it seems like getting into Mr. Wash’s room will have to wait for another day.”

“Oh-” Anna mumbled absentmindedly as she scraped up bits of the mousse with her spoon. “Okay.”

“Do you still have that drawing somewhere, maybe?”

“Euh…”

“The one of the fish.”

“Yes!”

Steven had managed to stabilize a single corner of the tub with the bar from the closet, potentially keeping it from collapsing any further into the floor below. The fish had just enough water to stay submerged in the low corner of the fixture. He had considered taking it up into its original, smaller container, but the creature’s comportment at the time would likely make the task detrimental to his fingers.

A knock at the door turned the racing of his mind to an uncontrolled spin-out into the barrier. “I’m completely undone. They’re going to find the fish, and this ruin, and I’m going to end up paying for it all. I’m going to lose my scholarship, and get kicked out, have to move back in with the folks…”

The knock came again. “Mr. Narrows?” The light accent came through the door.

Steven swiped his messy hair to one side and offered a smack to his cheeks. He picked up the key from beside the door and carefully unlocked it, only opening it a crack. Marianne stared at him from the other side. “Is everything alright, Mrs. Guislain?” He said, adjusting his glasses.

Marianne leaned back slightly upon seeing Steven’s reddened face. “I should ask the same of you, Mr. Narrows.”

“Salut, Steven.” Anna called out from beside the door.

Steven let out a loud breath. “Oh, me, I’m just out of shape and all tired from climbing all the stairs up here. Hello, Anna. Can I… help you with something?”

Marianne stepped forward slightly and attempted a glance into the room. Steven shifted upward to block her sight. She put on a fake smile and spoke up again. “Well, little Anna here reminded me after we saw you heading back here after lunch.”

“Oh?” Steven hummed, trying to hurry along the conversation.

“I drew you a picture! Of a fishy!” Anna said, holding up a sheet of paper up against the door jamb.

“She wanted to give it to you.” Marianne added. “Obviously, we don’t want to take up too much of your time, but perhaps we can hang it on your refrigerator or something?”
“You can add it to your school book!” Anna added.

“Oh, well.” Steven nodded. “I’d love to have you in, but the room is just a mess, especially after moving. Papers everywhere, unorganized. Can’t have them getting mixed up.

“We won’t be but just a bit, Steven.” Marianne insisted. “Anna was really looking forward to it.”

Steven cleared his throat loudly. “You know, I was actually just going to go back downstairs and turn in my dishes. We don’t need Melinda coming up all this way just for me.”

Marianne placed her hand on the edge of the door, knowing that the young man wouldn’t have the gall to close it on her fingers. “Anna is going to pester me, you know, Steven.”

Steven placed his foot at the back of the door. “Uh, well, another time? I’m going to the fish marker tomorrow morning, after I get back, we may.” With a swipe at Marianne’s fingers, the door clacked back closed, and he locked it with a swift turn of his wrist.

Marianne stepped back with a sigh. She crouched down and attempted to look through the door’s keyhole, getting only a slight glance of the light coming through the window. “Come, Anna. We’ll be sure to be back again.”

Continue reading “Drip, Drop”