Snowbound
Book Four in the West Baden Murders Series
Patrick J. O’Brian
Smashwords.com Edition Published by Fideli Publishing Inc.
Copyright © 2012, Patrick J. O’Brian
All Rights Reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-60414-537-3
Acknowledgements
This is for all of the volunteers who have kept the West Baden Springs Hotel looking beautiful all these years. I appreciate you all putting up with me, and want you all to know we don’t take the hard work you do in the garden, giving tours, and behind the scenes for granted. Thank you all very much!
Thanks to Brad Wiemer, Carol Pyle, Mark Adams, Nannette Bell, Joy Winslow, Shane Buis, Jeff Lane, and Sandi Woodward, for their insight and contributions.
Thanks to Dave Blackford, Chi Baldwin, Bob Fergison, Bruce Steward, Mike Ritchie, John Craiger, Melissa Epping, and Rob Fedorchak for assistance of a different kind.
Special thanks to Kendrick Shadoan at KLS Digital for creating the cover, handling photography, and doing a great job as always.
Another special thanks to Amy Drake for the cover’s background photo and for the author photo.
Visit www.smalltownphotographs.com
Other novels by Patrick J. O’Brian include:
The Fallen
Reaper: Book One of the West Baden Murders Trilogy
The Brotherhood
Retribution: Book Two of the West Baden Murders Trilogy
Stolen Time
Sins of the Father: Book Three of the West Baden Murders Trilogy
Six Days
The Sleeping Phoenix
Ghosts of West Baden
Non-fiction books by Patrick J. O’Brian include:
Risen from the Ashes: The History of the West Baden Springs Hotel
Forward
Factual History of West Baden Springs
1855 — Dr. John A. Lane builds and opens the Mile Lick Inn a mile from French Lick, Indiana. He renames the inn to West Baden after Weisbaden, Germany and renames the hotel the West Baden Hotel.
1888 — Indiana banker Lee Wiley Sinclair gains controlling interest in the hotel, changing its name to the West Baden Springs Hotel. The hotel is transformed into a world-class resort, adding an opera house, bicycle and pony track, casino, and a regulation-size baseball diamond. Local mineral water is touted as a cure for many ailments.
1901 — On June 14 a fire breaks out at the hotel, consuming the entire wood-frame building. Sinclair vows to rebuild a better hotel that is fireproof within the year. West Virginia architect Harrison Albright designs and builds a freestanding 200-foot dome at a cost of $414,000. Construction begins on October 15.
1902 — Sinclair moves into his apartment at the hotel on the one-year anniversary of the fire. The hotel receives its first guests on September 15.
1916 — Sinclair passes away on September 7, then lay in state in the Grand Atrium before his burial in Salem, Indiana. His daughter Lillian and son-in-law Charles Rexford inherit the hotel.
1917 — The
couple makes significant changes to the hotel including:
Repainting
the fireplace in the atrium.
Adding a sunken garden with a
fountain centerpiece.
The Seal Fountain is moved from the atrium
to the driveway in front of the hotel.
A veranda is constructed
that wraps around one-quarter of the building.
Brick spring houses
replace the old wooden structures.
Over 12-million small tiles are
placed as the new atrium flooring.
Benches, statues, trees, and
urns are placed throughout the atrium for decoration.
1918 — The hotel is leased by the government, serving as a military hospital during World War I.
1919 — The hospital is closed, allowing the hotel to reopen for regular business once more.
1923 — After her divorce from Rexford is final, Lillian sells the hotel to Ed Ballard for $1 million. Ballard is an entrepreneur known for his ties with circuses and gambling. Half the money repays the debt the Rexfords owed Ballard for hotel renovations, while the other half allows Lillian and her new husband to live out their dreams.
1929 — The stock market crashes on October 29, leaving the hotel virtually empty within four days as the country entered the Great Depression.
1932 — Poor economy forces Ballard to close the hotel for good on June 30.
1934 — Ballard sells the hotel to the Jesuits for one dollar. The Catholic sect uses the hotel as a seminary called West Baden College. They remove many of the hotel’s elaborate decorations, opting for plain adornments.
1964 — Sometime in June the Jesuits closed the campus, moving to Chicago, Illinois.
1966 — On November 2, the hotel is purchased at auction by the Whitings from Midland, Michigan.
1967 — The Whitings donate the grounds to Northwood Institute for use as an Indiana campus.
1974 — The building is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
1983 — Rising maintenance costs and several other factors force Northwood Institute to close their Indiana campus. The hotel has remained vacant since that time.
1987 — The hotel is named a National Historic Landmark.
1991 — An ice buildup and construction flaws cause a portion of the exterior wall to collapse.
1992 — The Historic Landmarks Foundation of Indiana spends $200,000 for emergency repairs to repair and structurally stabilize the building.
1996 — Historic Landmarks purchases the grounds for $250,000, which came from an anonymous donor.
Forward II
Where the Trilogy Picked Up
In 1998, I took my first tour of the grounds on a weekend when I had nothing else better to do. Though my parents had visited the grounds when they were in disrepair, I passed on the opportunity.
Regrettably.
My first look at the hotel’s atrium awed me, and I still had the rest of the tour to finish. With the flash from my camera popping every several seconds, likely annoying those around me, I grew fascinated with the building in a heartbeat.
Immediately wheels spun inside my mind, telling me I had to write a novel centered around the West Baden Springs Hotel. Being a horror movie buff, this was my first attempt at a mystery novel with horror elements.
The story follows a professional firefighter who works part-time helping to restore WBS, when he discovers the gruesome murder of his wife may be pinned on him by local detectives. Making matters worse, more murders happen around the hotel, which makes him the prime suspect in everyone’s eyes.
The primary mystery behind the murders stems from the hotel’s factual past, which helped me create several colorful characters. Toward the end of Reaper, my first hotel novel, I decided to follow it up with a tale of revenge, keeping the same core characters.
While in the early stages of writing Retribution it became painfully clear the characters needed even more development, so the trilogy was born with a major plot twist at the end of the second installment.
Everything ended on a happy note, closing the chapter of the hotel’s restoration era...at least fictionally.
In the real world, Bill and Gayle Cook have done an exceptional job stabilizing and renovating the grounds. I commend them on the beautiful work they and their teams have done restoring the building and garden to their previous splendor.
Orange County residents voted, though not overwhelmingly, to allow gambling in their county, which allowed the Cook Group to take bids from other companies. What looked like a sure thing with the corporation voted to lead the project ended in disaster when that group filed for bankruptcy.
Luckily, Bill Cook chose to finish the renovation himself, creating another chapter in the legacy of WBS. Now, with the atrium, the ground floor, and the grounds completely finished, work has begun on model rooms. Next, the remaining five floors will see finished rooms, allowing the building to function as a hotel for the first time in decades.
Perhaps even by the time this book is complete and printed, which brings me to the reason for a fourth book.
While the trilogy focused on the restoration era, the new book, and any following it, will deal with current events in Orange County. They will allude to the events in the trilogy, but more importantly, the hotel’s true past will be involved in solving any mysteries divulged by the characters.
Please keep in mind the events mentioned in this book from the restoration era through the present refer to my original trilogy, which is why the aforementioned time line stops abruptly in 1996. This is by no means an effort to diminish the rest of the hotel’s history, or the hard work of the Historic Landmarks employees, but rather my way of keeping the continuity from the trilogy carrying into this new project.
Hopefully you’ve enjoyed the trilogy because this new chapter in the West Baden saga will revisit the past while bringing up new questions. It is meant to be a great read for newcomers to the series, yet highly rewarding for those who have experienced the trilogy.
Chapter 1
Jana Privett’s life read like a harlequin novel with bittersweet twists and turns, but no happy romantic ending.
Over the course of the past year, she had ended a sham of a marriage, lost her job at a tax firm, and redefined herself as an independent woman.
Despite losing custody of her only child to her unfaithful husband before he moved to Georgia, Jana refused to lie down and die. She found new work with an understanding boss soon after the settlement. She literally had to blow the dust off her real estate license after being hired by a firm that dealt almost exclusively with upscale properties.
Working in a more private sector, Jana loved the absence of squabbling over commission, and the competition conventional real estate sales brought. She had quickly gained confidence about selling upscale property, including the grounds she currently stood upon.
Jana felt more than a little strange standing in the parking lot outside the West Baden Springs Hotel grounds in Southern Indiana. After all, the hotel a short walk up a red brick drive had a sordid past. Though rich in history, its floors had seen their share of spilled blood.
By all rights, she had permission to enter the grounds at her leisure from the man who owned them, but it seemed prudent to learn something about the hotel’s history.
When Paul Clouse asked her firm to sell the grounds she jumped at the chance to make a big sale for a major client. Of course, the hotel had a checkered history, but mostly from rumors that circulated after Clouse survived several attempts on his life.
She recalled his trouble occurring around the Halloween season several years in a row. Ironically, today was October 30th, but she felt safe considering the hotel and Clouse had led quiet lives the past several years.
Around her, people either sat on several benches, or paced along the brick lot beside the ticket booth. After buying a ticket, Jana was given a white bordered sticker with a “12” printed on it in black marker. The numeral indicated she was part of the noon tour, meant to keep her from trying to take the tour twice.
Taking a moment to observe the dozen or so people taking the tour with her, Jana noticed most of them appeared to be older couples. A glance at their license plates indicated most of them visited from other parts of Indiana. One Illinois plate caught her eye, but she focused more on the tour, wondering how her new boss convinced Clouse to let their firm find the hotel new ownership.
Jana’s position didn’t allow her to ask too many questions of her boss because she was still his newest hire. Being a former resident of Orange County gave her an edge over her colleagues when Bryan Bell made his decision about who would show the property.
Some of the agents wanted no part of the assignment, considering the hotel’s reported history.
Especially the murders.
She had one month to prepare herself for the first investment firms and casino companies wanting to make their bids on the property, so Jana simply focused on the task at hand.
Working with Bell, she formulated several ideas how to do more than simply show the hotel like a realtor might run prospective buyers through a regular home.
“We’re ready to go,” she heard a man’s voice say, causing everyone to look up like dogs being called inside for dinner.
Following her fellow tourists toward a man wearing a green shirt and tan baseball cap with West Baden Springs emblems on them, Jana stole a look at his nametag. She learned her tour guide’s name was Max as the older man motioned to the group to walk behind him.
Most of the tour guides at the hotel were retired, or worked jobs allowing them to dedicate time to giving tours. Jana guessed Max to be a retired man from the gray hair protruding from the ball cap. His skin looked somewhat weathered from years of outdoor activity, but Jana figured him to be in his mid-sixties.
He carried a large binder of some sort, which appeared to contain photos and documents in protective plastic sleeves.
Thunder rolled in the distance as gray clouds overtook the sunny sky several miles away, ominously rolling in their direction. Jana couldn’t recall the last time Southern Indiana had a rainy Halloween, but the forecast called for wet weather into early November.
“We should probably get started,” Max said in his deep voice. “We should be inside by the time the rain hits.”
Everyone huddled close together as they passed under the arch at the front of the grand hotel. Once through the opening they spread out along one of the brick paths leading up to the building. The two paths once served as drives up to the hotel, their red coloration unblemished by years of sunlight.
“Today we’re going to take a trip back in time. Imagine if you will that visitors a hundred years ago visited these grounds for simple pleasures. The West Baden Springs Hotel was a pleasure resort known as far away as Europe. As many as fourteen trains per day might have stopped in the valley, bringing visitors to any number of pleasure resorts in the area.”
Between the two drives a thick column containing a variety of garden plants and Victorian-style lamps led up to the hotel. Jana noticed the lamps all had small dedication plaques attached about eye-level on their green posts.
Keeping his back to the hotel and his eyes on the tourists, Max began speaking about halfway up the path, continuing to walk backwards as he did so.
“Back in 1887, when the railroad came to West Baden and French Lick, Lee Wiley Sinclair, a textile mill owner and banker, stepped off the train finding opportunity abound. He saw the future of big business, and knew there was money to be made through tourism. He wanted to make significant changes to the hotel as a new shareholder, but the other investors bucked the idea.”
Max drew a crooked smile, pausing for effect. His eyes grazed over each member of the tour, drawing each of them into his story.
“He showed them by buying enough stocks to gain controlling interest of the hotel, and eventually changed the name to the West Baden Springs Hotel.”
Stopping just short of the hotel itself, Max pointed to his left, still facing the guests on his tour.
“On your right is the old golf course,” he began, prompting everyone to look to a mammoth yard beside them. “Guests could tee off from the hotel’s veranda if they so chose.”
A few trees and some sort of small gazebo were the only objects blocking their view to the highway in the distance.
“Boxer Joe Lewis often came to the valley to train for his fights,” Max commented, leading them a bit further down the path, glancing toward the ominous sky in the distance before continuing. “To your left, we have the footbridge that led to the Number 7 Spring, also known as Sprudel.”
Max paused for everyone to look as he pointed toward the bridge before leading them down some brick steps into the sunken garden.
Jana looked around the garden, still colorful from the summer season, undisturbed by any fall frosts. A sudden breeze beat down some of the taller plants, bringing a cool chill along with it. She folded her arms, returning her attention to Max’s presentation.
“Across the garden we have Hygeia, otherwise known as the Number 1 Spring in the day,” Max said, pointing across the grounds to a beige structure about the size of a residential garage.
“Why did they have names and numbers?” one of the tourists inquired.
“It’s believed the springs were all given odd numbers here because the French Lick Springs Hotel had springs with even numbers. The two hotels were rivals in the early 1900's with businessman Thomas Taggart owning the resort down the road. They were originally numbered, but with the 1917 renovation, Lillian Sinclair wanted a more personal touch, so she named each of the springs instead. The original wooden structures were replaced with new brick exteriors, only two of which remain today.”
Max took them over to Apollo, another of the named springs, leading them to the edge of the intricate concrete monument that once served as a source of mineral water.
“All of the springs were capped when the Jesuits took over the grounds,” Max explained, “but when renovation began in 1996 the springs were permanently sealed with concrete to keep them from bubbling up and disrupting the foundation of any buildings.”
Thunder grumbled and clapped in the distance, growing closer.
And louder.
“Let’s head across the garden,” Max suggested.
He stopped at the fountain centered in the sunken garden, talking about the original fountain being removed from the grounds years prior. Likely destroyed in the process, the fountain needed replacing because the garden appeared empty without it to the renovation crews.
Jana noticed concrete turtles and frogs spitting water streams at one another from rings inside the design element. Water continued to spurt upward from the centerpiece, surprising her that they left the fountain running so late in the season.
Max explained a bit more about the fountain to them, then led the group toward the small building he had identified as Hygeia. He led the way through the spring building’s two doors, pausing until everyone squeezed inside behind him. Jana discovered relatively new concrete flooring where the spring had been capped, with stained glass windows and a single light fixture above.
Outside, the spring building had acquired foliage in the form of vines and plants along either of its lengthy sides, but inside Jana heard an echo from Max when he next spoke within the confined space.
“This is one of two remaining springs on the grounds. You’ve seen the walkway and bridge that led to the Sprudel Spring. That spring was capped with rocks and concrete blocks during the Jesuit era, and subsequently torn down sometime during Northwood Institute’s tenure.”
Max went on to explain some of the eras of the hotel, including its service as a hospital, the Jesuit era after the stock market crash, and the Northwood Institute days when it served as a college. He spoke briefly about dollar amounts and the parties involved with each transaction.
“If we time this right, we can be inside the hotel by the time the thunderstorm reaches us,” Max commented. “You’re on your own after the tours ends.”
Everyone chuckled, including Jana, who suppressed urges to use her authorization to walk the grounds at her leisure.
She knew the tours were restricted, failing to cover every area of the grounds. If she planned to sell the hotel, she needed to know the building and the grounds like her own house. Grand ideas raced through her mind about how to present the property as the perfect business opportunity when the time came.
Bell actively sought investors who might want the property, thinking he already had five potential buyers, so Jana needed to formulate a plan somewhat quickly.
“I’d be remiss if I didn’t give you a look at the old bowling alley and the cemetery,” Max noted aloud, leading them toward a building with a front that looked like an old city hall.
Colored the same yellow as a freshly baked cake, the building had writing inscribed within several bricks used to construct the facility that identified it.
“This is the old bowling and billiards pavilion,” Max said, allowing people to peek through the front windows as they passed by. “Used for storage during the renovation, this building now sits empty until new ownership decides what to use it for. You can see the discoloration on the bricks from the flood waters that come once or twice a year.”
Jana noticed a slightly darker tone along the paint where stagnant water had left its dirty fingerprints from waist-level to the ground.
He led the way toward a cemetery visible across the brick road that served as an employee and volunteer entrance. It too was brick like the main walk from the highway to the hotel’s front entrance. No traffic passed by, but Max kept them at the edge of the garden, allowing only a distant view.
Jana took in the battered white crosses behind a series of winding brick steps with trimmed shrubs acting as borders. Perfectly mowed, the area sat partway up a hill with a full grove of trees behind it. She seemed to recall that the virtual forest behind the hotel grounds once served as a golf course for entertaining guests.
Some of the graves stood to the right side of the shrubs leading the way up, but Jana noticed something strange about one of the plots, finding Max staring at it as well. He quickly regained his composure, turning to usher the group toward the hotel.
“What is it?” she decided to ask him before he said a word.
“Nothing that concerns you, dear,” he commented, forcing a thin smile.
Jana turned to look once again as he rounded the group up, saying something about them needing to beat the rain inside.
To the side of one tombstone a bit lighter in color than the others sat a mound of dirt. She immediately recalled something about Clouse’s trouble beginning when a Jesuit body was found inside the hotel basement after being dug up. This mound looked far too large to be the work of an animal.
It appeared deliberately dug, since part of the grave looked disturbed, but Jana had little time to take in the view as Max called for the rest of the group to join him.
She initially decided to exercise her right to roam the grounds, but when she saw Max lag behind the group to call in something on the portable radio he plucked from his belt, Jana changed her mind.
As she rejoined the group, her mind wandered to Paul Clouse and the rumors about his troubles with the property. Perhaps the stories were more than just urban legends after all.
Chapter 2
Two Weeks Later
Jana still couldn’t believe she was invited to dinner with Paul Clouse to discuss her plans about how to present the hotel to potential buyers.
Her concerns about the disturbed grave reached his ears, through security at the hotel, giving her an opening to address security at the grounds when she invited out-of-state groups. Bell had already extended invitations to four groups, promising them details by the end of the week, which brought Jana face to face with the hotel’s owner.
Seated at a corner booth in the back of the restaurant, Jana had a view of the entire place, including the maître d’ near the front door. A look at her watch indicated Clouse was fashionably late, causing her to wonder if he might cancel. The few wealthy clients she met through Bell seemed extremely full of themselves, caring little about anyone’s time except their own.
Pleasant smells of grilled beef and some sort of garlic seasoning entered her nostrils, making her wish she were ready to order. She occasionally looked to the door, having expectations of how Clouse might look after seeing only newspaper clippings of the man from years past.
When a tall, slender man approached her in blue jeans, a tan flannel shirt, and a cautious grin, she thought for certain a lumberjack was about to ask her out.
“Jana?” he asked, surprising her enough that she had to quickly withdraw the stunned look crossing her face.
“Mr. Clouse?” she stammered, half expecting the man to show up in a tuxedo or suit of some sort, especially since the restaurant came just short of requiring ties and sport coats.
Apparently inheriting riches did little to change Clouse’s lifestyle.
“I apologize,” he said, taking a seat across from her. “I’ve been running errands all day, and there was no time to change.”
He didn’t even give her time to stand or shake hands. She was about to offer a handshake when their waitress approached, then the notion completely left her mind.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving off the mistake airily.
A few minutes later, the two had placed their drink and dinner orders. Jana felt guilty about ordering a seafood platter, but he insisted she order whatever she wanted. She ordered a glass of domestic red wine while Clouse ordered an import beer with a name that escaped her.
She studied the man now named one of the wealthiest men in America by several magazines. Perhaps he chose to lay low, or maybe his fortune failed to change Clouse, but Jana noticed he probably hadn’t shaved in a day or two. His brown hair appeared well-kept, combed to one side, and the thick mustache he always sported in photos remained present.
His blue eyes occasionally met hers, but Jana fought to remind herself this was a business dinner. Flirting with a handsome billionaire served her in no way, except to put her career in harm’s way.
Besides, he was happily married with a son and a stepdaughter.
“I looked over your proposal to woo prospective buyers and it looks good,” Clouse said before sipping from his complimentary glass of ice water.
“Thank you.”
“Using the old mansion for lodging is a very nice touch.”
Jana nodded again, feeling her cheeks warm as she blushed. Being complimented by the owner came completely unexpected to her, but she quickly disguised her girlish feelings, deciding she needed answers to a few questions.
Their waitress returned, setting their drinks down before whisking herself away like the wind. Jana wondered how the woman learned the art of virtually being a ghost when passing by, ensuring she didn’t interrupt conversations.
“I know Bryan doesn’t want me prying, but I have to ask why you would want to sell the property.”
Clouse nodded, taking a swig from his beer this time.
“If you don’t want to answer, I understand,” she added quickly.
“No, no,” he insisted. “It’s fine. There are no taboo questions with me, Jana. I’m an old farm boy at heart and nothing is ever going to change that.”
He paused, thinking of how to formulate his answer.
“As much as I love the hotel, it just holds a lot of bad memories for me,” he answered finally. “I’m sure you heard about the murders there.”
She nodded, putting forth a compassionate appearance.
“I lost a lot of friends,” he continued. “Two of my best friends in fact. I just don’t have the ambition to carry out the casino plans, but the county desperately needs the revenue. Someone should take advantage of the opportunity, but it won’t be me.”
Jana could hardly blame him. He already had money, so he planned to do the right thing by letting others profit by allowing the hotel to become what it was meant to be.
And once had been.
“I absolutely love the place, but as long as I’m affiliated with it I think it’ll be cursed,” he confessed.
Clearing her throat, Jana let him know she had a question based on part of his statement.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“The grave disturbance last month. Is that something we need to be worried about?”
Clouse sat silently a moment, cupping his chin with his hands.
“I don’t think so. Nothing was removed, so I think it was some sort of prank.”
“It was Martin Smith’s grave.”
Clouse smirked uneasily, obviously already knowing that information.
“I’m aware of what it was, Miss Privett. The fact that Martin Smith’s body was exhumed and moved to that hill was a travesty.”
“Wasn’t that a legal battle of some sort?”
“Yes. And one I lost at that.”
Jana seemed to recall some strange circumstances about Smith’s death, or his two deaths that the newspapers hinted about. She decided not to press the issue, considering Clouse seemed somewhat testy about her probing into the sore parts of his past. Despite his earlier statement, perhaps there were some forbidden questions.
“To answer your concern, I don’t anticipate any trouble with security on the grounds. We still have off-duty state police working there around the clock, so one of them will be there whenever you have guests.”
“So you approve of my ideas as a whole?”
“I think they’re fine. Having the guests stay at the mansion is a good idea because it would save me selling it separately if they liked the idea of a package deal.”
“Bryan thought the same thing. He went to college at the hotel when it was Northwood, but he lives just north of Bloomington now.”
Clouse nodded as she spoke, indicating he actually listened to what she had to say. She really expected a man in his position to be more callous and unconcerned with the lives of other people. Perhaps money didn’t change people after all.
“Is there anything I should know about the mansion?” Jana asked, receiving a curious look. “I mean does the building have any history behind it?”
“Smith built it shortly before renovation started,” Clouse answered. “He wanted to live near the grounds to monitor the construction himself. I found out later why he was so consumed with seeing daily progress. He kept to himself, but he observed what Dave Landamere and I dug up when we searched, because the items were important to him.”
“Have you ever stayed there before?”
“At the mansion? No. My wife said it gave her the creeps the one time she went through it to inventory Smith’s belongings.”
A road ran along the far side of the hotel grounds, giving access to another road for employees and volunteers on the grounds. An access code moved a gate aside for people to drive through, but the road also ran further up a hill. The second golf course and a Catholic church once comprised much of the hill directly behind the domed hotel, but they were long since gone.
Jana recalled her one visit to the mansion just one week prior. Every piece of furniture had some form of plastic or cloth covering it. Though the mansion remained in perfect condition because of climate control, it reminded her of old monster movies where white cloth and cobwebs overwhelmed the central settings.
“I’ll have a crew go through and clean the place before we entertain overnight guests,” Jana informed him.
Their waitress stopped by, informing them their meals would soon be ready. Clouse thanked her, immediately returning his attention to Jana.
“I think Bryan knows my terms better than anyone. When the hotel finds a new owner, I don’t want to be a deal stopper. My family doesn’t need VIP treatment, we don’t need our own personal room, and if I ever make my way to West Baden, it will be as a regular person. I relinquish all rights and privileges to the hotel when I sign on the dotted line.”
“It shouldn’t take long with the number of investment firms Bryan has invited.”
“I’m hoping to have it out of the way pretty soon. The courts have tied my hands long enough over Smith’s estate. With everything legally in my possession, I’m ready to move on with my life and cut some loose ends.”
“I see. Anything special you want me to know about before people begin arriving?”
Clouse sat back, thinking a moment.
“Whatever the public thinks happened a few years back, and whatever you think happened, is irrelevant. We need to put a positive spin on the grounds. Stick to the facts you know about. The history, the good times, and the future are what people want to hear about.”
He paused again, a hurt look crossing his face, then vanishing when she blinked. Whatever memories haunted the man, he kept them to himself, refusing to burden those around him.
“Think you can put a positive spin on all of this?” he asked, looking her in the eyes.
“Probably,” Jana said, putting forth her best business face. “It’s been a few years, so public fears should be subsided. I won’t lie to people, but I will skirt around the facts. People want a casino in this county. They want revenue. I’m not going to let them down, and I’m not going to let you down either.”
Raising his beer glass, Clouse waited until Jana tapped it with her wine glass.
“I’d say we’ll both be happy if this goes off without a hitch,” he said before taking a drink.
Jana put forth a smile, secretly wondering if selling the hotel was an opportunity for advancement or a death sentence.
Chapter 3
Two Months Later
Cloudy skies hovered over the West Baden Springs Hotel as Dan Duncan walked along the brick path between the front gate and the hotel itself. A special pass got him past the volunteers at the front gate after tours concluded for the day.
He prayed he wasn’t too late for an opportunity to purchase the hotel with his investment group. More than anyone else in the group, Duncan’s bloodline connected him with the grounds, making their two-day tour of the hotel personal to say the least.
Now splitting his time between Nashville, Tennessee and a residence just outside Salem, Indiana, Duncan owned riches passed down from three generations. His great-grandfather helped bring the railroad to West Baden, investing heavily in the market, and in local construction at the time.
Andrew Duncan made his millions, invested it wisely, and died before his fiftieth birthday. His son escaped the Great Depression with minimal financial casualties, leaving the family inheritance intact for future generations.
Duncan picked up his walk, heading toward the hotel. So far as he knew no one else from his group had arrived, leaving him some private time with the old grounds. After all, their official tour was the next day, but he wanted to arrive a day early to reminisce.
It took a great deal of figurative arm-twisting to convince his investment partners to simply look at the grounds. Getting a majority vote to buy the hotel and the grounds was the next battle, but he planned to win on both fronts.
Approaching the sunken garden, Duncan looked over the flower tops, observing the two remaining springs, along with the old bowling pavilion behind them. Where others saw history and local ties, he found possibility. He knew the current owner of the French Lick Springs Hotel down the road wanted to sell, despite the possibility of a casino drawing unlimited cash.
In need of upgrades and repairs, the resort needed several million dollars to make it a realistic luxury hotel. The owner seemed content to leave it running for convention business and tourism, but Duncan’s insider sources told him the man wanted to sell if the right offer came along.
Buying both hotels assured the group control of the grounds on which a casino could be built and run efficiently. Duncan worked during his teenage years for his father, eventually taking over several family businesses. No stranger to management, he knew casino ownership was significantly different from his own experience, but figured the group members had solid contacts that ran hotels and casinos.
Ordinarily Duncan rode his motorcycle everywhere until roads became slick or icy. Because of impending snowy weather, he brought his truck with a trailer attached to the hitch. He hauled his new Harley-Davidson Road King, which he rode from the resort down the road, leaving his truck behind.
Because of the cold conditions, Duncan wore full leather chaps and a thick black leather riding jacket. He left his skullcap and gloves with his bike at the entrance, not planning to stay long. His stomach grumbled because he had only eaten once since leaving Tennessee shortly after dawn.
Duncan had celebrated New Year’s Eve in Tennessee the previous week, drinking far more than usual. It took him several days to recover, but what he recalled of the lavish party he attended made his misery somewhat worth the sickness and suffering.
He strolled into the garden, thinking back to the photos of his great-grandfather around the hotel. Most of them showed Andrew Duncan posed with friends or clients atop what was known as the Water Wagon in the day.
In the early days, the hotel had numerous forms of entertainment aside from the bowling and billiards hall. An opera house stood near the pavilion, a bicycle and pony track was located a short walk from there, and an indoor pool was erected beside the grand building. Usually some sort of show or convention kept guests busy, and some came to West Baden simply to partake in the mineral water, which they believed had healing powers.
From what Duncan knew, the Water Wagon was built and owned by a man hired by the hotel to take water from one station to another along the hotel grounds. Constructed entirely of wood, the wagon looked like a giant keg lying horizontally along an axle, which served as the wagon, drawn by a single horse.
Many a photo opportunity occurred on or beside the wagon. Everything from couples to groups of a dozen men had been captured on film during the hotel’s heyday with the wagon. Duncan suspected photographs served as a form of entertainment on the hotel grounds, if not just another way for the ownership to line their pockets with extra funds.
Just a month over fifty-years-old, Duncan definitely felt his age, especially when he rode his motorcycle on long trips. He had never been married, had no children, and no significant other at the moment. His longest relationship went sour the year prior, after his girlfriend decided she wanted to see other people, officially breaking up after eight years.
They were off and on, living together sometimes, though usually just getting together for trips or events like normal couples. Duncan kept expecting her to call during the first few months, but when she didn’t, he gave up completely, throwing himself into his work.
Around that time, he heard rumors about the West Baden hotels possibly coming up for sale after the casino bill passed. Something sounded right about leaving Tennessee for a fresh start, so he convinced Red Sanders to look at the hotel with the group.
He knew some of the investment group members remained skeptical about the building’s potential versus the investment, but Red and his brother, Keith, created the Lone Star Investment Corporation. Their mission was simply to make sound investments, and though Duncan was biased in this particular scenario, he felt the hotel was a sound buy.
Split between Tennessee and Texas, the group typically worked as two separate teams, but this time they came together for an out-of-state venture. Red lived in Tennessee, making his millions from a prospering trucking business. Keith owned a dozen ranches in Texas, gaining his initial wealth from oil and cattle.
While Red had an interest in the hotel, several other group members remained skeptical about Duncan’s idea. Some didn’t trust Duncan, while a few thought the hotel needed too much work before becoming operational.
Putting any negative thoughts aside, Duncan moved toward the hotel, looking up to the top level.
“Needs work my ass,” he commented.
After taking several extended tours, he knew Clouse had fully finished the hotel, but tragic events prevented it from opening several years prior. The atrium, the basement, and each room were fully restored, but Duncan wondered if his fellow investors would approve of the changes Clouse made.
Deciding the chilly weather made it too miserable to stand still he walked toward the hotel itself, wanting a look inside before anyone else from his group arrived. He doubted many of them wanted to spend a night inside anything except the mansion, meaning he might be the only one in town at the moment. Some of them were pampered, not accustomed to working with anything except their minds.
Duncan looked at his hands, noticing calloused and rough skin. He worked, but he also found time to play around. Taking his time as he walked up the steps to the secondary entrance, he looked behind him, watching the garden fade as twilight engulfed it.
Turning around, he bumped into someone who had silently made his way behind the millionaire.
“Sorry about that,” the man immediately stated as Duncan noticed the gun at his hip. “I’m Brent Guthrie, one of the state police who’ll be watching over your group this weekend.”
Duncan let a quirky grin escape his lips.
“So, you know who I am?”
Guthrie appeared at least as old as Duncan, so the investor wondered if he might be a retired state trooper.
“They radio everything back to me, so I heard a member of the latest group to tour the grounds was on his way in.”
“Latest?”
“Two other groups have already done overnight stays.”
Duncan supposed the idea was competitive bids, which meant he had two hurdles to clear. Not only did he have to convince his group to seek the property, but he had to make certain they presented the nicest package to Clouse for his approval.
“You might find some of the locals unfriendly, since some of them didn’t like the casino bill passing,” Guthrie noted.
Duncan grunted to himself, knowing how religious the county remained. Despite having some of the worst employment figures in the entire state, Orange County seemed to put religious teachings above financial improvement.
“Some of them will tell you stories about screams and moans up the hill there,” the trooper said, nodding toward the wooded area behind the hotel. “They say late at night you sometimes hear things going on up there.”
Duncan grinned, though uncomfortably. Guthrie didn’t seem entirely convinced something wasn’t happening in the hills.
“Were you here when all of that stuff happened a few years ago?” he asked.
“Yeah. For all of it.”
Since the trooper wasn’t forthcoming, Duncan didn’t push the issue.
“I doubt you’ll have to worry much about the locals with this wintery front coming through tomorrow. You may want to get your tour in early.”
“I can’t believe we’re getting snow here at all,” Duncan commented. “I grew up around here, and it seemed every year we got an inch of snow maybe once or twice a year. And never at Christmas.”
“I’d say you’re going to more than make up for it this time around. Every so often we get a front that dumps a load on us, and this is one of those rare times.”
Duncan thought Guthrie seemed a bit too cheerful about a snowstorm heading their way. He couldn’t imagine worse possible circumstances for an overnight stay on the grounds. If his group had a bad experience, they might never vote to purchase the property. Bad weather would prohibit viewing some of the hotel’s greatest assets, which placed a sour feeling in the pit of Duncan’s stomach.
“Where you staying tonight?” Guthrie inquired.
“Down the road at the resort.”
Giving a nod, the trooper seemed ready to lock up for the night as he began looking around. Most of the tourists had departed, leaving only volunteers and staff inside the building.
“Can I get a quick look around before you lock up?”
“Sure. We have someone here around the clock, so take your time.”
Duncan followed him inside, immediately seeing the grand atrium beyond the hallway. It teased him because the entrance obscured its full beauty, which he was unable to see until he stepped into the opening, seeing six stories of rooms looming above him. Literally a round atrium, it held several balconies from particular rooms, topped off by a drum and chandelier in the center of the roof.
From one end to the other was practically the length of a football field, and everything seemed to echo when less than a handful of people made any kind of noise within its confines.
He said nothing, but Duncan remained awed, as always, by the spectacle before him. He wondered how his great-grandfather felt about the grounds, considering the man visited the hotel almost daily to chat with friends and business partners.
Just looking at the atrium brought a tingle to Duncan’s spine because he knew of the hotel’s good history. He wanted to usher in a new, better era for the hotel to erase any ill-will toward the place from local residents. A sense of family pride urged him to purchase the grounds, no matter the cost in money or time.
If meeting Clouse in person became necessary to secure his wish, Duncan planned to make it so. Looking to his left, he thought he saw a shadow inside the old barbershop across the floor from the corner of his eye. By the time his blue eyes focused on the barber shop the shadow was gone.
Or never existed.
He stared harder, seeing no movement over the next few seconds.
Grunting to himself, he decided to get back to the resort. He planned to monitor the weather through the Weather Channel by the hour, praying against the impending snow.
Chapter 4
The front door made an eerie creaking sound when Maria Richards entered the mansion up the road from the hotel grounds.
Contracted to clean the house the day before the next batch of tourists visited, she still wondered why they chose her, a relative newcomer to the cleaning business, over more popular, professional cleaners. One of her competitors had cleaned the house the previous two times, which she heard about through local gossip.
Tired from a full day of work, she hated cleaning the mansion after dark, but she wasn’t about to disappoint her regular clients for a one-time job. Besides, there was no one around to criticize her, and no one staying in the large building until the next day.
Most of her equipment remained inside her van because Maria wanted to analyze exactly what needed cleaning the most. Since people had stayed there as recently as two weeks prior, she doubted the dust buildup was extensive.
Unfamiliar with the building, Maria stepped inside before closing the creaky metal door. Surprised that none of the three sets of deadbolt locks were in use, she looked around the mansion’s main lobby. Two sets of rooms on her left appeared to be living and entertaining space while two rooms on her right were possibly bedrooms or kitchens. The lobby ahead of her appeared more like a mammoth foyer the size of a sports field.
Before her, the main staircase, which was constructed completely from hardwood and stained to a shimmering caramel finish, stood as wide as most cars were long. It led to a second floor with a wraparound balcony and at least eight more rooms she readily counted.
“Wow,” she muttered, wondering where to begin.
During her conversation with Jana Privett she learned about a full restaurant-style cooking area in the basement, complete with dumbwaiter, industrial stoves and refrigerators, a large aluminum preparation table, and at least three sets of cooking wares and utensils.
Maria’s instructions made it clear that the bedrooms and living areas needed her full attention. Vacuuming, dusting, and if necessary, carpet shampooing were among the chores she needed to have completed by the next morning.
From outside, the mansion appeared to have three stories, but the stairs stopped at the second landing. She wondered what the third level held, or if it might simply be an aesthetic feature built to enhance the building’s luxurious appearance.
Starting her own business less than a year after her divorce took courage, but there were times she doubted it would work out. Her ex-husband’s money and the business knowledge he instilled upon her before sleeping around, allowed her enough success to keep the business open.
Only now were larger clients beginning to seek her services, apparently sensing she was a mainstay in the West Baden area.
Knowing she had a long night ahead of her, Maria took a peek in each of the downstairs rooms, finding them loaded with expensive furniture and decorations. Why no one resided in such a house escaped her, but her jaw remained agape throughout most of the personal tour.
Upstairs provided even more surprises because she found twelve separate bedrooms, each with its own full bathroom and walk-in closet. They looked practically immaculate already, so Maria wondered exactly why she was hired to clean the place. Shrugging as she left the last bedroom, she supposed rich people had outlandish standards so one hair out of place might throw them into a tizzy.
What impressed her most was how each bedroom contained a different theme, complete with various colors and accent pieces. The place seemed meant for entertaining and lavish parties, yet it remained vacant. Evidence of covered furniture and cobwebs disappeared with the previous cleaning jobs, leaving Maria the much simpler task of dusting.
Prepared to fetch her cleaning tools from the van, she started down the elegant stairway, watching the carpet that ran from top to bottom. Containing a red, black, and charcoal dotted pattern that virtually entranced her, Maria only looked up as she neared the bottom stair.
Her eyes widened at the sight of a man clad in a black robe blocking the front door. No face emerged from beneath the shrouded hood because some sort of dark mask covered it. Slowly, the face lifted from some deep stare at the floor, but what chilled Maria to the bone was the gleam from a sharpened knife in his right hand.
Shrieking, she turned to dash up the stairs, knowing the entire second floor wrapped around the staircase railings, meaning she couldn’t be cornered.
In an instant, the man clad in black gave pursuit, grabbing her ankle halfway up the stairs. She fell forward, instinctively kicking him in the face before he had a chance to use the knife on her. He fell back several steps, allowing her to reach the top of the stairs without injury.
Maria stared down, seeing him dart up the stairs with barely a moment’s hesitation. She had no doubt a man was chasing her, because he was tall, with a grip like that of a gorilla. Making her way around the banister atop the stairs, Maria watched him join her on the second floor, deciding that entering any of the rooms meant certain death.
She had to lure him away from the stairs before attempting any kind of escape, but any rational thoughts were drowned out by the thumping of her heart. She was absolutely terrified by the urban legends concerning the hotel; she suspected they held some merit because no one she knew would play such a sick joke on her.
“What do you want?” she demanded loudly, trying to stall for time as she carefully walked, touching the railing with shaky fingers.
In response, he slowly rotated the knife with his right hand, indicating he wanted to twist it once it plunged through her soft skin.
She waited until he began making his way around the railing before dashing in the opposite direction. Like a cheetah, he gained ground on his prey with amazing speed and skill. Knowing there was no way to outrun him, she turned to backhand his face, which felt soft beneath the mask. The move registered no pain or sound from her attacker, so she launched a foot into his groin.
He doubled over, giving her time to dash down the stairs toward freedom.
Reaching the bottom stair, Maria stumbled, but kept her balance long enough to use the door as a backstop. She twisted and yanked the doorknob to no avail because the deadbolts were all locked.
“Damn it,” she muttered, ducking just quickly enough to avoid the blade that clanked harmlessly against the door.
Her informal tour of the mansion had informed Maria of several other exits and the location of the catering area in the basement. Though she hadn’t visited the industrial kitchen, she decided it might be the safest area for her because it would likely offer some cover.
She dashed toward the kitchen, finding nothing in her path to throw down as a form of hindrance for her pursuer, and no time to lock the door at the kitchen entrance. Once inside, however, Maria discovered the basement door. She yanked it open, expecting to be knifed from behind at any moment, but managed to close it behind her. Her assailant entered the main doorway too late to attack her as she shut him out.
A stairway led down to the basement with occasional bulbs to light the way. Maria didn’t question why the bulbs were on, simply thankful not to be in complete darkness. She reached the bottom step, desperately looking around for cover, despite hearing no one behind her.
It appeared very much like she envisioned it based on Jana Privett’s description and the floor plans Maria had viewed before taking the job. Along one of the other walls, she heard a strange clunking noise, like something being dragged by a chain.
She cursed under her breath, suspecting the dumbwaiter was being lowered toward her.
But why?
Hesitantly drawing closer to the contraption, Maria found a small elevator that had an up button only fixed upon the wall. She never saw an elevator on the second floor, meaning it likely went exclusively to the third floor.
Was there some sort of grand dining room or ballroom up there? She couldn’t picture guests being ushered through the basement toward the dining area. No, she thought, something far more sinister or dark waited for her on the other end of that elevator shaft.
Slowly backing away from the single elevator door, Maria chose to risk confronting the killer instead of trapping herself on the third floor. As she made her way around the stainless steel worktable, she heard footsteps hurriedly marching down the main stairs, instantly changing her mind for her.
“Shit.”
Returning to the elevator in a run just short of a sprint, she pushed the elevator button several times in desperation. As she waited, listening to her nervous breathing, Maria looked around her, finding several covered tables nearby. An idea came to her, so she peeked around the corner, but no one was visible.
Her plans changed in a blink.
Swallowing hard, she decided to approach the main stairwell, wanting nothing to do with the elevator. Suddenly it felt as though the entire mansion was possessed entirely by some form of evil. The person chasing her was somehow a minion of the building, tied in with whatever secret it harbored.
Listening intently, Maria drew closer to the stairs, hearing a creak from the end of the table that reached her ears too late for an appropriate reaction.
As she turned to run for the elevator, her attacker sprung from behind the table’s end, dashing after her with ill intent. Knowing she couldn’t outrun him, Maria snatched a wooden rolling pin from the table, swinging it at his head while she spun around.
Instead of connecting, however, the makeshift weapon missed completely as the cloaked attacker ducked, scooping Maria into his arms as the rolling pin fell from her hand.
“No!” she screamed, resisting with kicks and flailing arms. “No!”
Suspecting her life was about to end, she continued to fight as he carried her in a modified bear hug toward the elevator. Now her suspicions of the third floor felt verified, but she wanted nothing to do with its mystery.
As the elevator door opened with a ding, Maria fought against her attacker’s grip in futility. He carried her inside the elevator car as she let out a bloodcurdling scream that ceased when the door sealed behind them, swallowing them whole.
Chapter 5
Jana woke up early the next morning, making the trip to French Lick hours before the arranged time of noon when she planned to meet the investment group.
With the impending snow, her plans had changed slightly. Putting off the tour of the West Baden Springs Hotel grounds could no longer wait until after lunch and an initial meeting. She felt as though she might be cheating the group of the tour’s full effect by altering the itinerary given to the other groups.
Carrying a personal planner with her, Jana entered the French Lick Springs Hotel expecting to meet at least a few of the investment group members. She stepped inside the main lobby, finding very few guests up and about.
A look at her watch revealed it was barely past eight o’clock, but even if she failed to locate anyone from the group, Jana had plenty of things to accomplish by noon.
Including a rewrite of her planned tour and lodging schedule.
A look at the group’s website gave her short biographies and photos of each member, since it felt somewhat inappropriate asking Red Sanders for additional information. His secretary had already forwarded paperwork about the group’s mission and formal accomplishments. The additional materials simply gave her an opportunity to familiarize herself with the members before they arrived.
In business, nothing felt more embarrassing than not knowing the people one met by name. Clients tended to want special treatment, and in her business, bad first impressions usually meant a failed property closing.
Walking through the lobby, Jana made her way to the restaurant housed within the resort where a buffet breakfast was being served. Doing her best not to appear snoopy, Jana’s gaze panned from one end of the seating area to the other.
Despite a packed dining area, she found two of her guests seated in the far corner. They sat across from one another, speaking casually with their plates in front of them. Thinking she might be interrupting as she drew closer, Jana noticed napkins and silverware atop their plates, indicating they were finished eating.