Dead Roots Page 5

  Dozens of well-dressed people stood chatting in clusters, their noise level competing with orchestral background music. Circulating waitresses wearing white gloves offered hot hors d’oeuvres, while Marla spotted a table with platters of raw vegetables, cheese, crackers, and other crudités. Two opposite corners held cash bars with lines of customers.

  Marla noticed gazes turning their way, along with looks of envy from her female kin. A swell of pride filled her. Who wouldn’t look at the smashing man in the charcoal gray suit?

  Rochelle might do more than look, given the chance. If Marla had to stick to his side like nail glue, she’d protect Vail from the teen…and anyone else’s flirtatious advances.

  Vail grabbed her hand for moral support when Anita veered in their direction.

  “Marla, come meet our Colorado cousins,” her mother said, pulling her toward a cluster of people. Gripping Vail’s hand, Marla steeled herself for the onslaught of introductions.

  “So is this the entire megillah?” Vail broadcast to the crowd after they’d made the rounds.

  Glances of benign humor passed among her relations. “I think you mean the whole mishpocheh. That’s family,” Marla whispered into his ear. “A megillah is a story.”

  Color suffused his cheeks. “I’m trying to learn.”

  She smiled gently. “I know, and I appreciate it.” Turning to Uncle Moishe, the eldest present, she said, “I’d like to hear the whole megillah about this hotel. I would have asked Aunt Polly, but she isn’t here yet. Has anyone seen her this afternoon? It’s unlike her to be late.” Anxiety churned her stomach. Polly had initiated this reunion. She wouldn’t miss their first function when it was so important to her.

  Uncle Moishe, ten years older than Anita, waved his hand dismissively. “She’ll show up when she’s ready to make an appearance. Polly never could let this place go. Even after Mama sold it, she kept coming back. I hear she takes the same room every year, like clockwork.”

  “Is it true our family used to own the hotel?” Marla asked.

  A hush fell over the room, and all eyes turned to Moishe. Her uncle, well into his seventies, nodded his head. “Polly spent her early years here, so this property represents her roots. Ours, too. Papa bought the place in 1924, the same year Polly was born.”

  “He came from Poland, didn’t he?” asked cousin Lori, Uncle William’s middle daughter.

  “That’s right,” Moishe replied. “My father’s original name was Andrzej Markowski. Papa changed it to Andrew Marks when he arrived in this country. A couple of years later, he met and married Ruth. That was 1923. They moved to Florida a year later when he bought this plantation from Tobias Rutfield. First they intended to work the fields, but when visitors started streaming south in the winter, they decided to turn the property into a resort. After remodeling the original plantation house, Papa constructed the main hotel. He’d studied architecture, you know, at the University of Warsaw.”

  “Where did grandfather get the money to buy the place?” Marla said. “Did he bring riches from the old country?”

  “Papa paid cash for the property, but I don’t believe he had a stitch when he immigrated. His source of wealth remains a mystery to this day. Polly may have more answers. My sister took care of Mama until she died.”

  “So Andrew established the resort,” Marla prompted, curious to hear the rest of the story. “Was he successful?”

  “You’d better believe it.” Moishe scratched his jaw. “They didn’t even have to advertise. People came on the recommendation of their friends. But then came the tragedy.” He surveyed the circle of eager relations, absorbing their history with the same alacrity as they downed their drinks. “Andrew died in 1943, and after that, everything changed.”

  Cynthia raised her hand as though they were in class. “Didn’t Andrew receive two visitors right before he croaked?”

  Moishe gave her a disapproving glare. “That’s true. I was only thirteen at the time, but I remember them. They were very somber, dressed in black, wearing Cossack hats like you see in old Russian movies. They spoke with heavy accents. Andrew met with them in Oleander Hall. One of his favorite rooms there was a parlor overlooking the gardens.”

  A distant look in his eyes, he continued. “He summoned Mulch to bring his humidor, then gave orders he was not to be disturbed. According to one of the maids, Andrew looked visibly shaken when he emerged more than two hours later to go straight to his penthouse suite at the top of the tower. The maid peeked inside the parlor and was startled to find an empty room. The two men were nowhere to be seen. My father died alone of an apoplectic attack that same evening.”

  “He had a stroke?” Vail said. He’d remained silent throughout Moishe’s tale, shifting his feet restlessly. Marla noticed how he perked up at the mention of an unattended death.

  “Yep.” Moishe glanced at his brother, William. “Mama got real funny toward her sister and brothers afterward, but don’t ask me why. Ownership fell to her, so Ruth took charge and ran the resort until she sold it years later. We grew up here listening to superstitions about how the land was cursed because the early plantation decimated an Indian burial ground. Some said this curse killed Papa in his early forties. I’ve heard tales of recent problems, too. Makes you wonder why the ghosts are still restless.”

  “It’s awfully strange that Andrew died right after those two visitors came. Didn’t anyone question them?” Cynthia queried.

  “They vanished, never to be seen again. If you ask me, I think my father’s past came back to haunt him. We never heard much about his childhood or how he got out of Poland. Or where he got the money to buy the plantation. Maybe he stole it, and those two guys traced him to Florida to recover their loot.”

  “If Andrew’s spirit inhabits the hotel, he’s guarding his secrets well,” Marla said.

  Her attention diverted to Rochelle, who had sashayed to Vail’s side. The young lady wore a rose sweater and short black skirt with outrageously high-heeled strappy sandals. Vail’s mouth quirked into a half-smile as he nodded a greeting to Marla’s second cousin. Or, wait a minute—was Rochelle a second cousin, or a first cousin once removed? She’d have to look up family relationships when she had spare time. What mattered now was reminding her fiancé why he’d come here: to meet her relatives, not be seduced by one of them.

  “Did anyone meet those paranormal researchers?” she asked in a loud tone. “The manager hired them to search for spooks. I heard the top floor of the tower has remained uninhabited since Andrew’s death. Maybe no one wants to stay there because it’s haunted. Where did Ruth live while she managed the hotel?”

  “Where did I live? Land’s sake, child, I stayed with Mama,” Polly said in a clear, cold voice. Hobbling into the room, the elderly lady, wearing a flowered blouse and a navy skirt, paused to survey their assembly. Her face was flushed, and her hair disheveled. Marla thought she looked as if she’d been outdoors in the wind.

  Polly waggled a finger at her brother. “Shame on you, Moishe, spreading rumors about the family. It isn’t ghosts I’d worry about, if I were you. Things here are worth investigating, but they have nothing to do with the spirit world.”

  “A painter fell off his ladder today. He’d been outside Oleander Hall,” Marla said, hoping Polly might shed light on the incident.

  “Whassat?” Polly’s face scrunched. “Y’all want to go outside to the pool? It’s too breezy.”

  “Didn’t you want help looking for something?” Marla asked, moving closer so she could shout into Polly’s ear. She’d rather avoid mentioning details with so many onlookers.

  “You’re looking fine, niece. Don’t worry so much about what you wear. It’s what’s in here that matters.” Polly patted her heart. “Who is this?” she said, regarding Vail quizzically from behind her spectacles.

  “Aunt Polly, I’d like you to meet Dalton Vail. We’re engaged.”

  The older woman caught those words without a problem because her expression brightened. “Mazel to
v! It’s about time you settled down. Getting long in the tooth, you are, so you should be grateful he’ll take you. Mind you, the fella had better treat you right. Come here, young man.”

  Marla grinned. Silver streaks glinted in Vail’s black hair, but she supposed Polly considered them both babes in the woods at her age. Her mother chose that moment to enter, followed by Marla’s brother, Michael, and his wife, Charlene, with their two children. More hugs, kisses, and murmured greetings.

  “What do you mean, you never had a bar mitzvah?” Polly said in a rising tone.

  Marla whirled around from where she’d been admiring her niece and nephew. Polly’s face looked as though she had sucked a lemon and swallowed the pits. Oh no. Marla strode to her beloved’s side, preparing to defend him. He stood rigid, an impassive mask freezing his features.

  “Marla, you’re marrying a goy? How could you betray us like this? Oy gevald, you’ll ruin the family.” Polly’s voice dissolved into a wail, an unintelligible stream of Yiddish words.

  “Aunt Polly, don’t insult my fiancé. He’s a fine man, and we love each other. Isn’t that more important? You’re always saying you want me to be happy.”

  “Gai avek!” Polly shrieked, backing away.

  “Don’t you talk to my daughter like that,” Anita said, grabbing Polly’s arm. “I’m thrilled for her, and you should be, too. Dalton loves her, and that’s all that matters.”

  “What’s the matter? You know very well we can’t dilute the bloodline any further.” Shaking herself free from Anita, Polly raked her younger sister with a scornful look.

  “Interfaith marriages can work if both people respect each other’s traditions,” Anita insisted. ‘You’re the one who’s disrupted our reunion, just when we’re supposed to be making peace.”

  “You’re meshugeh if you accept an outsider into our midst, but then what else can I expect from you? You run around with that fresser, Roger, flaunting yourself like a tramp. My own sister! Feh, feh, feh. To think I considered letting you in on the secret.” Polly swayed like a sapling in a strong wind. ‘You’ve made me ill. I’m going to my room.” Snagging Marla with a rheumy glare, she said, ‘You come up later, Missy. I’ll want a few words with you, and he better not be there.”

  Polly teetered from the room, leaving stunned silence in her wake. Cynthia was the first to rush forward and grasp Vail’s hand. “Please forgive her outburst. Polly doesn’t reflect what the rest of us feel. We’re very happy to welcome you into the family. Aren’t we, everyone?”

  Polite murmurs of agreement followed. Mortified, Marla clung to Vail’s arm as they proceeded to chat individually with each of her relatives. She was conscious of a small cluster from the Colorado contingent gossiping in a corner. Knowing she wasn’t the only cousin who’d married outside her faith, Marla hadn’t thought anyone would care. They’d change their minds once they got to know Dalton, she reassured herself. Meanwhile, she needed to soothe his bruised ego.

  “I’m so sorry,” she told him later at dinner in the steakhouse restaurant, where they’d been seated at a quiet table for two. “Polly has her own views about religion. I should have warned you.”

  He regarded her from across the table, looking more handsome than ever. Her heart ached that he’d undergone such humiliation.

  “Don’t blame yourself; you did warn me that Polly was a character. Coming here, I realized we might have some hurdles to overcome. That’s another reason why I thought it best not to bring Brianna.” He spoke in a subdued tone, but then his intense gray eyes softened. “Besides, I’m marrying you, not your family.”

  Wrong. When you wed someone, you joined their whole mishpocheh. People didn’t live in isolation, although she supposed family feuds had begun for less. What about Ruth and her siblings? Why had her grandmother sectioned herself off from them after Andrew died? She’d hoped to ask Polly about the interrelationships, but now she might not get the chance. She’d go to her aunt later to smooth over their disagreement and learn what she could, Marla resolved.

  “You’re so wonderful,” Marla said to Vail, meaning it. That he could bypass his discomfort to focus on her meant a lot.

  He swirled the cabernet in his wineglass, studying her from beneath bushy brows. “And you’re so hot in that dress that maybe we should skip our meal and go upstairs.”

  “Nonsense. You have the appetite of a horse. Two appetizers, plus a salad and entree? I guess you didn’t eat much at the cocktail party after Polly raked you over the coals.”

  “I lost my appetite,” he agreed, “but I’ve regained it now…for other things.” The hunger in his eyes told her exactly what he referred to, and her body responded.

  Thank goodness he could overlook the foibles of her family. She only hoped when it came her turn to meet his side that she could behave with as much grace. From hints he’d let drop, it appeared his parents might have difficulty accepting a Jewish bride into the fold. Marla decided she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, dealing with her own family problems took precedence.

  Chapter Five

  On their way upstairs, Marla halted by the tower elevator. “If you don’t mind,” she said to Vail, “I’d like to have a word with Aunt Polly about her behavior tonight. I won’t tolerate her treating you so rudely.”

  “I expect we all have folks like her in our families. Don’t worry about it, sweetcakes. As long as we face things together, we’ll be fine.” Lifting a strand of her hair, Vail tucked it behind her ear.

  She smiled at his tender gesture. “You’re so special, you know that?” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him. “Come on, let’s go to our room. I’ll prove how much I enjoy being with you.”

  “Wait. Maybe you should go see Polly. The old lady knows more about this place than anyone else in your family. She might have an idea why people are dying. They may be poor laborers, but that’s no reason for the local boys to look the other way. Something is fishy here.”

  Marla nodded. “I get the feeling that if I just understood what happened in the past, it would clarify the present. I’d like to ask Polly about Andrew.”

  “What about him?” The elevator arrived, and Vail opened the inner grating for her. She didn’t step inside right away.

  “Andrew requested his humidor when those two strangers visited him. I’m wondering what happened to his possessions after he died. Did Ruth store them on-site, divide them among her children, or sell them?”

  Vail tilted his head. “Good luck getting your aunt to talk. And take your time,” he said with a wry twist to his lips. “I’ll catch the latest scores on TV while you’re gone.”

  Just like a man to be more eager to watch sports than to be romantic. “Aren’t you coming with me? You can get off on the fourth floor.”

  Closing the gate after she’d entered, he regarded her through the ironwork. “Are you kidding? This thing is haunted. Ask the ghost what he wants. Maybe he’ll reveal the hotel’s secrets.”

  Shuddering as the outer door sealed shut, Marla pushed the button for the twelfth floor. At least this time, she didn’t feel a chill or smell anything strange. Nonetheless, she gripped the inner rail as the car made its rattling ascent.

  The door opened onto a carpeted hallway just as Marla recalled Polly saying she kept a suite here but didn’t sleep in the tower. She wondered why Polly felt the need to revisit these rooms but didn’t feel comfortable enough to stay overnight. Her skin crawled as she proceeded through a series of dimly lit chambers consisting of formal parlors, a private dining area, a smoking room or library, depending on who inhabited it, and a master bedroom with separate his and her dressing rooms and baths. Most of the furniture, characteristic of the 1920s, remained in fairly decent condition, and the rooms were clean. Despite their vacancy, Marla didn’t notice any cobwebs or dust. Someone must be coming in regularly to clean.

  Wondering where to find Polly, Marla paused by a woman’s dressing table, inhaling a fragrance of lilacs in the small space while she admired
a silver hand mirror and hairbrush set. Something flashed in the glass, making her turn quickly, but no one stood behind her.

  The lamps dimmed briefly, then brightened. Footsteps, faint at first, sounded overhead before passing to the right. Polly must be upstairs, she thought with some relief, starting for the elevator shaft. Perhaps her aunt kept these rooms so she could explore Andrew’s suite on the top floor without interference.

  Glad to retrace her route, Marla had just pushed the button to call the lift when she heard a murmur of voices. Whipping around, she saw nothing but the empty corridor stretching into the distance. Portraits lined the silk-covered walls. Her ancestors? She felt their energy expanding, surrounding her.

  That elevator was taking too damn long. Marla turned back to push the button again when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She nearly leapt out of her skin. “Who’s there?” she cried, afraid to get an answer. A quick look affirmed her isolation. Still skeptical about the existence of spirits, she nevertheless had to admit the possibility of otherworldly phenomena. They weren’t something she cared to encounter, however.

  When the elevator arrived, she decided not to explore the tower penthouse until she ascertained Polly’s location. At the lobby desk, she got directions to the room where Polly spent her nights. Her aunt stayed in Jasmine Hall on the fourth floor, facing Oleander across an expanse of shrubbery. Sure enough, Polly was in her room when Marla showed up.

  “Marla, it’s about time.” Polly let her in, then shut the door. “You’re late.” She still wore the same skirt and blouse from earlier, although Marla noted she’d exchanged her shoes for scruffy slippers. It looked as though she’d kicked off her dress shoes under the luggage rack. A trail of sand marked their path. Sand?

  “I didn’t realize you were expecting me at a specific time,” Marla said.

  “I told you there was something you have to do for me.” It appeared Polly had forgotten her disapproval over Marla’s choice of a mate. “I need you to help me find it.”