Haunted

As Gloria continued to march item-by-item down the menu, Peyton shifted her attention to the other job applicants. A girl named Karly sat nearest to her. She had an awesome body― the kind of body her father’s third wife had paid Manhattan’s finest plastic surgeon big bucks for. But despite the abundant curves, Miss Hot Bod was in desperate need of help in the packaging department. She was a perfect candidate for one of those late-night makeover shows: tight, tacky clothes, hair the color of mouse fur ―imagine what a few a few strategically placed copper highlights could do― and horrible makeup. Whoever told her bubblegum pink lipstick and violet eye shadow worked on her was just plain cruel.

Karly shifted slightly to tug down her skirt and her gaze caught Peyton’s. She turned away without a hint of a smile. Peyton gave a mental shrug. Fine by her. She wasn’t there to make friends either.

Her focus moved to the other two applicants. The taller girl, named Tess, was genuinely stunning: flawless skin, luminous gray eyes, and silky dark hair. She had a touch of something foreign about her, like an exotic Snow White. In contrast, her friend Julie could have easily won the title of America’s Sweetheart. She was a cheerleader type with thick auburn hair pulled up in a bouncy ponytail and a smile that lit up the room.

“Now,” Gloria said, wrapping up her dissertation on how Mo’s grilled cheese sandwiches were produced —local Cabot cheddar, nine-grain bread from Wyndam Bakery in Pawlet, served with a side of purple cabbage slaw from Tellion Farms and homemade potato crisps sprinkled with organic sea salt— “does anyone have any questions?”

The girl named Julie actually raised her hand, like she was sitting in a classroom at school. “I’ve been trying to figure out who Mo is. If it’s not you, and it’s not either of the cooks, is it him?” She pointed to the sad-eyed Bassett hound who shuffled along behind Gloria, trailing her every step.

Gloria laughed. “Him? No. That’s Chester.” She hesitated for a moment, as though thinking it over, then gave a light shrug. “Mo. Well, why not? I guess now’s as good a time as any to meet her. C’mon, follow me.”

She led them up a wide staircase to the second floor hallway, from which branched four bedrooms and a bath. Two of the rooms had been converted into storage space, one into an office, and the fourth into what looked like a bedroom. It was attractive but sparse: double bed, nightstand, dresser and mirror. The only other item of note was a small wooden chest, which appeared to have once been painted red, but had faded over time to a dusty pink. On the top, in worn gold leaf, were the initials M O S.
“That’s Mo.”

Following the direction of Gloria’s finger, they turned toward the nightstand. An old-fashioned photograph of a dark-haired girl in a high-necked gown stared back at them. “Margaret Olivia Sanderling,” Gloria supplied. “I found that hope chest of hers in the basement and looked her up in the town records. She lived here back in the 1880’s.” She gave a light shrug. “I thought it was only fitting that I name the restaurant after her since she’s been here all this time.”

“Been here?” Peyton echoed. “You mean she’s buried somewhere on the property? Isn’t that illegal?”

“Oh, I don’t mean physically here. I mean spiritually here.” Gloria smiled and ran her fingers over her bare arms as though warding off goosebumps. “She’s with us right now. I recognized her presence the moment I entered this room. You see, she died in this very house, probably in this very room, shortly after her seventeenth birthday.”

“Wait a minute,” Karly said, looking alarmed. “You mean, this house is haunted? And you bought it anyway― for a restaurant?”

Gloria frowned. “Haunted is such a negative, judgmental term. If someone doesn’t move on after they die, the question you have to ask is why. In Mo’s case, her hope chest gave me the answer. Unfulfilled dreams. Her life ended before she could really live it.”

Peyton looked around the room, seeing the confusion and unease she felt
reflected on the faces of the other girls.

“Wait a minute…” Tess said. “Is this for real?”

“Real?” Gloria blinked in surprise. “Of course it is. Why would I joke about something like this? Here, look, she kept a journal,” She crossed the room, opened the lid of the hope chest and retrieved a small, yellowed notebook. “Feel free to look at it if you’d like. I don’t think she’d mind.” She lapsed into a thoughtful silence, her gaze focused on the old-fashioned photograph. “Times may have changed, but young women haven’t. You may be surprised by what you discover.”

And that was it. Gloria dumped the ghost bomb on them as casually as she’d described the house specialty ―chicken fried steak on a bed of field greens with gorgonzola, roasted pecans, and dried cranberries, served with a raspberry vinaigrette― tucked away the journal, turned and left the room.

Now, waiting tables Peyton could handle. Barely. But bonding with a dead girl wasn’t gonna happen. Not for minimum wage plus tips. She gave the photograph a glance, then looked around to see if anybody else was buying it. Karly looked genuinely spooked. Julie and Tess were holding back giggles and mouthing ‘crazy’ to one another.

Peyton wasn’t so sure. She could see the NY Times weekend getaway column now: Charming Vermont Victorian (painted such an audacious pink you truly can’t miss it), specializes in locally grown comfort food served by a staff of bright young waitresses. Of particular note is the ghost of a wistful seventeen-year-old turn-of-the-century beauty, who is rumored to drift through the dining rooms.

When you got right down to it, it was actually brilliant. All the elements were there for Gloria Reed to make a fortune. She shook her head and offered a silent piece of advice. Enjoy it while it lasted.