Ahahahahahaha! Thompson Twins! I know, right?! Where are my Gen Xers at?
My teen years were spent in the 1980s and I knew all the songs of my youth, including most of the Thompson Twins songs such as Hold Me Now, Doctor! Doctor!, and Lay Your Hands on Me.
I do not have the dulcet tones of Adele, but I have enthusiasm. I’m sure Patrick loved all the ear worms I’d planted inside his head.
Hey, it could’ve been worse.
If we hadn’t been in a car, I would’ve supplemented my singing with awesome 1980s dance moves—including the robot and moonwalking. I would’ve broken out Madonna’s “Vogue,” too.
It’s a real pleasure being married to me, I tell you.
Patrick plopped our suitcases onto the carpeted foyer.
“I’m Gretta Thompson. My sister, Lilly, is tending to another guest. We have a full house this weekend, which is always fun. Don’t you love meeting new people?”
Gretta bustled off before we could answer the question and then returned with big, fluffy white towels. While we dried off, Gretta whisked away our suitcases.
The foyer was spacious, painted white with dark blue accents. To the left of where we stood was a wooden bench that looked hand-carved, and was presumably for people waiting to check into the B&B. Next to the bench was a metal umbrella holder with several colorful umbrellas sticking out of it.
On the other side of the bench was a door and since I’m the curious-type, I opened it and took a peek. I found a tiny half-bath with a toilet and sink. Given its size and the modern-day fixtures, I figured it used to be a coat closet. I shut the door and continued to look around.
To our right was the check-in counter. It was probably only five feet in length and held a call bell, an opened sign-in book, a vase of artfully arranged roses and a business card holder filled with the B&B’s cards.
On the wall behind the counter was a black-and-white photograph of the house. It looked pretty much the same except for the Ford Model T sitting in front of it.
“I had a Tin Lizzie,” mused Patrick as he studied the photo. “It was really fun to drive.”
I glanced at my husband. I could see him behind the wheel of the Model T, wind whipping through his shoulder-length hair, his grin wide as he shot down the road. Of course, that’s how he looked when he drove modern-day cars with the windows down, too.
Gretta suddenly reappeared behind the counter, reminding me she was a bloodsucker and could move faster than even my eyes could track. I figured she was careful around the human staff, but with us, she could go full vampire.
“Are you hungry?” asked Gretta. “We have some bagged blood. Not as appetizing as fresh, of course, but it does the trick.”
“Thanks, but we ate before we left,” said Patrick.
He doesn’t mean we attacked a couple of people in an alleyway and sucked them dry.
There’s a donor system in place for the modern-day vampire. Some humans know about our kind and volunteer their necks so we can feed. By volunteer, I mean they got payments and other perks for their donations.
Vampires didn’t need to drain anybody and honestly, trying to imbibe more than a pint didn’t really do much more than give a greedy vampire a massive stomachache.
“Tomorrow night, you’ll get breakfast delivered right to your room.” Gretta took our damp towels. “You two are in our luxury basement suite. Lilly and I have the room across from yours. No windows down there. And it’s soundproof. Not that vampires need it.” She lowered her voice. “We sleep like the dead.”
Her laughter tinkled at her silly joke.
Oh em gee. She was adorable. I very much liked Gretta Thompson.
“How does the whole parakind and human thing work?” I asked. “If you and your sister sleep all day, who watches out for the guests?”
“Ah. Well, we don’t usually host human guests, but we need mortals to fix things around the house or landscape for us. We recently hired a new day manager—Margaret Maple. She’s a human widow with no other family. Knows all about parakind, though, so that’s a plus. It was fortunate that we found her so quickly. Our previous manager stopped showing up to work a few days ago.” She shrugged, as though replacing day managers was something she did often.
“So does she live in Bar Harbor and take the ferry here?” I asked.
“Our previous day manager did, but Margaret lives here on the island—in the one of the cottages adjacent to the house. We have a two-bedroom cottage for a guests and a smaller one-bedroom that we gave to her. But even when she’s not working, she’s in the parlor crocheting.”
Maybe I was channeling Jessica Fletcher, but something Gretta said earlier bugged me. “What you do you mean you don’t usually host human guests?”
“Ah. Well. I still don’t know how it happened, but a man from New York booked a room with us. How a human found our website is something of a mystery. You know how the Paranormal Network operates, right? It’s bespelled so humans don’t stumble onto parakind’s websites and search engines. You can imagine our surprise when he arrived this evening to check-in. Of course, I informed the other paranormal guests right away so that we don’t give the poor man a heart attack.” She looked at us. “Is having a human here a problem for you?”
Patrick looked at me. “Jess?”
“I’m cool with it.”
He smiled, and wowzer, what a smile. I felt butterflies tickle my tummy. He turned to Gretta. "We're cool with it," he said.
“Wonderful! You’re our only vampire guests this weekend. We have werewolf newlyweds, two witches—mother and daughter, and a root doctor.”
“What’s a root doctor?” I imagined an individual in a white lab coat applying a stethoscope to a tree root and then sternly saying, “Take two fertilizer tablets and call me in the morning.”
“Root doctors make and dispense herbal ointments and potions,” said Gretta. “They can also create spells and lift curses.”
“So, like a witch doctor then?” This was a wild guess on my part. I didn’t know anything about witch doctors, though I did know a few witches. We had all kinds in Broken Heart and generally they were nice folks.
“Ah. Some witches are root doctors, but not all root doctors are witches.” Gretta gave her tinkling laugh again. She disappeared for three seconds, reappeared without the damp towels, and then tapped the sign-in book. I noticed Gretta’s silver filigree necklace with its oval-shaped medallion. It shone with four birthstones: two opals, one peridot, and one garnet.
“That’s a beautiful necklace,” I said.
“Oh.” Gretta gripped the medallion and tucked it under her dress. I wondered why she wanted to keep it out of sight. “Thank you. It was my mother’s.” She smiled. “To officially check-in, all you have to do is sign the guest registry. I already have your credit card on file—unless there’s a different one you’d like to use for additional amenities or other expenses.”
“The one on file is fine,” said Patrick. He signed us in and put the pen down. I found signing the guestbook a charming way to check in to the B&B. I could tell my husband liked it, too. Don’t get me wrong. He adored technology. But we all have emotional anchors that keep us connected to our pasts. Some are pleasant reminders—like hotel guest registries and Thompson Twins songs.
“I’ll give you the nickel tour.” She pointed to the staircase in front of us. “Up there are four bedrooms. Everyone upstairs shares the guest bathroom. See the hallway to the left of the stairs? If you keep going, you’ll find the enclosed sitting porch with rocking chairs, tables, and a couple of bookshelves filled with paperbacks and hardcovers. We also keep pillows and throw blankets out there because it gets chilly quickly on the island."
Gretta guided us a few steps to the left. "If you want to visit the back garden, go through the screen porch door. The path takes you straight to the fire pit area, where there’s seating for about ten people. From there, you can visit the flower garden or take a meander through our vegetable garden.”
Gretta gestured for us to follow her and led us into the doorway on the right side of the check-in counter. “Here’s the dining room. We serve our continental breakfast in the parlor, but guests eat lunches and dinners in here.”
The rectangular cherry wood dining table had enough room for five straightback chairs on both sides, plus chairs at either end. A large white vase filled with pink and white roses sat on the center of the table.
On the right side of the room, I saw a buffet with a white lace runner draped over it. Three different tea seats graced its countertop: on the left, a white ceramic with gold-rimmed cups and plates; the middle one was highly polished silver; and the set on the right was pale green ceramic dotted with tiny white flowers.
Above the buffet was an oval-shaped mirror set inside an elaborately carved wooden frame. On either side of the mirror were black and white photographs.
The left picture featured an unsmiling man and woman standing in front of the same Model T I’d seen in the foyer’s picture. The man wore a dark suit with a silk handkerchief sticking out of his top left pocket. He also wore a fedora pulled down low, which shadowed most of his face. The woman wore a cloche hat on top of her bobbed hair, elbow gloves, long strands of pearls, and an ankle-length dress with a drop waist.
The right picture was that of two teen girls picking flowers in a meadow. Behind them was a massive tree. In its center was a wide hollow big enough for me to fit inside. Above the hollow, I saw the deeply carved letters: L + S 4ever. I wondered who those two were—and what their story had been. I hoped it had a happy ending.
I found the pictures charming—moments in time framed and left for those who would come after the people in the photos were long gone.
Gretta pointed to a door on the left. “The kitchen’s through there. Guests are welcome to go anywhere in the house, except for the basement, of course.” She winked at us. “We vampires need our privacy.”
“How do you get to the basement?” asked Patrick.
Gretta shook her head. “Oh, my goodness. It would be nice for you to know how to find your room, wouldn’t it?” She took us out of the dining room, into the foyer, and down the narrow hallway that led to the back porch. Underneath the staircase was access to the basement stairs.
“It’s only about ten steps down. Your room is on the right. Oh, here. Let me give you the key.” We followed her to the sign-in desk. On a plaque with several tiny hooks were room keys. She grabbed an old-fashioned brass key with an oval tag that had #6 etched into it. Patrick accepted the key and stuck it into his back pocket.
“Your bed-and-breakfast is wonderful,” I said.
“Thank you. Lilly and I think so, too.” Once again, Gretta gestured at us to follow her. "Most of the guests are in the parlor. C'mon. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
It was intentional! *dance of victory*
I really like the hint of human and change in manager. All these little hints that something is afoot in the background.