Free Grimm by Mike Nicholson Page A

hall to greet visitors. What a thought, eh? I should maybe have one here!” he said nodding towards his front door.
    “But how could I not have known that you worked up there, Grandad?” said Rory, unable to believe that one of the sources for his background research on Hotel Grimm was in his own family.
    “Ach well, you know now,” said Grandad taking another glug of tea. “It’s been a long time since I was up there.”
    “What was it like in those days?” asked Rory settling down again after the surprise of Grandad’s revelations.
    “Well a bit different from what it’s like now, I imagine. I think it’s gone downhill a bit by all accounts,” said Grandad.
    “You could say that,” said Rory.
    “In those days it was a right classy place. It was like a palace inside.”
    “Who was the owner then?”
    “Gregory Grimm.
Sir
Gregory Grimm I should say. He was the reason the place was classy. Slicked back hair and a green velvet smoking jacket with a matching cravate. Dead posh but nicewith it. Met a sticky end unfortunately. One of the gargoyles was loosened in a storm and it squashed him flat as he set off for a walk one day. Nasty. Poor man deserved better. He would swan about chatting to us as we worked. Loaded with money so he was.”
    “Was there money in the family? How come he was so rich?” asked Rory.
    “A bit of both. Obviously they were a rich bunch to have that place built to begin with the century before, but Sir Gregory had made his money from tobacco and designing fancy cigarette holders. Smoking was quite the thing then you know. Not like now. It would need some help from a marketing genius to sell
that
as a healthy option these days. Fancy a wee challenge?” Grandad winked at Rory. “Unless you’re busy with other work?”
    “Grandad, it’s not funny. What am I going to do?” said Rory in despair. “I’m supposed to be back there in a week with a plan of what they should do. You know what happens to people who spend any time up at that place. I just want to disappear. Come to think of it they could probably arrange that for me.”
    “Well … I’ll help you as best I can but isn’t there anyone else that could lend a hand? It’s not a job you should have to do on your own.”
    Rory shrugged, slumping in his seat.
    “Your mum and dad?” asked Grandad. Rory gave him a look that said “are you serious?”
    “Well, I had to ask,” said Grandad.
    “You know as well as I do, Grandad,” said Rory. “Your daughter lives on Planet Disconnected-from-Reality these days. As for Dad, he
is
connected to reality but never emerges long enough to be any use.”
    “Aye, aye, fair point,” said Grandad with a sigh. “Well….what about your Zizz man. Mr Fankle, was it?”
    “Finkleman?” said Rory.
    “That’s him,” said Grandad. “He understands a thing or two about how to sell a product.”
    “Yeah … you’re right,” said Rory. “I could at least drop him an email for some ideas. I suppose I was hoping there was someone abit closer to home.”
    “Well what about that lassie at the library? Bonnie?” said Grandad. “She sounds interested and seems a bit of a bright button. What about getting her involved?”
    Rory knew that deep down he had wanted to tell Bonnie what he was doing when she approached him the other day. After talking things through a bit more, Rory was also reminded that his Grandad had rarely been wrong about things in the past. By the time he had left Boglehole Road, Rory had resolved that since disappearing was not an option, he would speak to Bonnie at the first opportunity.

13. The masked ball
    It took some tossing and turning overnight and a few false starts the next day at school before Rory managed to work up the confidence to approach Bonnie.
    “Thanks for these. They were great,” he said, holding out the box with the binoculars back inside. “It was really good of you to drop them off for me.”
    “I thought they’d be handy but I could see