Free Chihuahua of the Baskervilles by Esri Allbritten Page B

notables who visited or lived in Manitou Springs at the time. They have photos online that they’ll probably let us use, but do you have a camera?”
    “Yeah, but where’s Suki going to be?”
    Angus turned to her. “Suki, I’d like you to go to the Regency. It’s supposed to be one of the most haunted restaurants in America. I set things up so they know you’re coming. There should be a packet of materials waiting for you.”
    Suki nodded. “So all you need from me is pictures?”
    “Yes, but I hope you’ll feel free to ask questions and take notes,” Angus said.
    Michael wiped his mouth with his napkin. “And where are you going, Angus?”
    “I’m going to talk to the Chamber of Commerce and see who might want to advertise in Tripping . I also think Manitou Springs is just the kind of place that might be interested in a festival to honor Petey.”
    *   *   *
    Michael walked from the restaurant to Miramont Castle, taking notes as he went. Manitou Springs’ downtown appeared to be thriving. He passed several of the natural springs. A well-muscled man in his sixties rode his bicycle up to one, leaned against the wall without dismounting, and filled up a bottle before riding on.
    Miramont Castle lay on a side street off Ruxton Avenue. It wasn’t a castle in the fortress style, but rather a three-storied, many-chimneyed mansion made of red stone. It did have one crenellated section. In fact, the general effect was of five or so imposing houses squeezed into one.
    Before going inside, Michael waited until a thin cloud covered the sun, and then squatted to take a picture of the castle’s face. The result looked properly imposing. “Not bad,” he murmured, pocketing the camera and trotting up the stairs to the entrance.
    A pretty brunette sat at the wooden reception desk, wearing a blazer over a purple satin blouse. “May I help you?”
    “I’m Michael Abernathy, from Tripping magazine. We write about travel destinations with paranormal aspects. I understand you have some ghosts?”
    The woman’s face lit up. “We certainly do!” She opened one of the desk drawers. “I’m Phoebe. You know, I don’t show these pictures to everyone.” She came around the desk with a small stack of photos in her hand.
    “Do you mind if I record our conversation, for the article?”
    “Go right ahead!”
    The first photo was grainy and looked as though it had been shot in a dark room with a flash. Two pale spots floated in the middle. They had been circled with a ballpoint pen.
    “Do you know what those are?” Phoebe asked, pointing to them.
    To Michael, the spots looked like they might be caused by water spots on the emulsion. He stopped himself from saying so. “What?”
    “Orbs. Energetic spirits.” She flipped to another photo. “There’s one hovering over one of the dolls in our collection. You have to wonder if it’s the spirit of the little girl who owned the doll, and she can’t bear to leave it.”
    Michael wondered if Mattel had heard about this, and if the company was working on a Dear Departed Barbie. “What about Emma Crawford? You have a wake for her here, right? Does her ghost ever appear?”
    “Emma died before the castle was completed, but the ghosts of other Victorian ladies and gentlemen have been seen.” She put the top photo behind the others. “Which brings me to this.”
    Michael looked at the new photo. “What?”
    “In the mirror. Do you see it? It’s a figure in a black dress, floating beside that dress mannequin. Only the dress is not there .”
    Michael took the photo from her hand and squinted at it, trying to make sense of the arrangement of items. The unoccupied black dress did appear to float in midair, and he could see a chair through it. “That’s quite a picture. Do you think I could get a copy?”
    “This one is on our Web site,” she said.
    “Great.” He handed the photo back. “Listen, my magazine is happy to pay admission, but we don’t have reservations