Ronan dropped Ten’s hand. “Gee, Ten tell me how you really feel!” He stomped back toward Fitz and Jude, mumbling to himself.
So far, the trip was off to a roaring start. Ronan couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
4
Tennyson
Hours, andseveralapologies to Ronan later, Ten sat in the Taproom with Cope. The bar had been a Prohibition speakeasy back in the day. Prior to that, it had been an ice room and storage area for dry and canned goods. Ten and Cope were sitting at the bar nursing glasses of white wine, while Ronan and Jude played darts across the room. Fitz and Jace had the kids rounded up in their room to watch movies. So far, there hadn’t been any sightings of the mobbed up beach master, whoever the hell he was.
“I’m glad things with you and Ronan are back to normal,” Cope said on a giggle. “It was pretty pitiful when he was going around asking everyone on the beach if they thought he was old and leathery.”
Despite trying to hold it in, Ten laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I should never have said that. Ronan isn’t tough or leathery, I just needed to say something that would stop him from dragging me out into deeper water.”
“Deeper water?” Cope snorted. “Jesus, Ten, you were barely past your ankles.”
“Yeah, well a shark attack can happen at any depth.” Ten flagged down the bartender for a refill. Her name was Lainie. She was from Boston and working at the hotel for the summer.
“Which one of you belongs to the little rain cloud of doom?” Lainie asked, refilling Ten and Cope’s glasses.
Ten felt his shoulders slump. Was there really any chance Lainiewasn’ttalking about Ronan? “Dirty blond hair?”
“Yup, that’s him. He’s a handsome guy. Why did he keep asking me if he was old and leathery? And why was his friend laughing like a hyena?”
“Welcome to our world!” Cope said. “The hyena is mine. The rain cloud is Ten’s.” Cope patted Ten’s shoulder. “My good friend here made an ill-advised comment to his surprisingly thin-skinned husband, which said husband took the wrong way.” Cope laughed. “Although, come to think of it, I can’t really see a right way to take being called old and leathery. Ronan’s having a bit of a sulk, but experience tells me he should be fine in about five or sixmonths.”
Ten slapped a hand down on the bar. Poor Ronan. He was going to have find a way to make this up to him. He turned toward the back of the bar where Ronan was playing darts. He was staring at Ten. Ronan absolutely knew they were laughing at him. All Ten could do at this point to mitigate the damage was try to change the subject. “We read this hotel was built in 1854. Does it have any ghosts?”
Cope’s eyes widened.
Shit!Ten probably should have found a better way to phrase the question. He and Cope had thoroughly enjoyed the last six hours, which had been blessedly ghost free.
“It’s interesting you ask,” Lainie said, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the bar. “We’re coming up on the anniversary of the Great New England Hurricane of 1933.”
“Wow, that’s a mouthful,” Ten said.
“Finally! A compliment from my husband,” Ronan wrapped his arms around Ten from behind.
“Lainie was telling us about a hurricane that hit New England almost a hundred years ago.” Ten turned back to the bartender. “Please continue.”
“The hurricane missed Florida. The Carolinas had some wind damage, but the real problems started when the storm came ashore on Long Island. The winds were over one hundred miles per hour and there was a storm surge of ten feet.”
“That sounds awful,” Jude said, joining the group.
“Unfortunately, Rhode Island took a worse hit,” Lainie continued “The natural bay here at Sakonnet Point acted like a funnel, bringing a fifteen foot storm surge ashore. Nearly a hundred and fifty people died in Rhode Island alone. Providence, which is about forty miles north of here, was under ten feet of water.”
“Devastating.” Cope shook his head. “Was there any damage to this hotel?”
Lainie nodded sadly. “The hotel and barn were severely damaged. One member of the staff was killed here.”
Ten exchanged a silent look with Cope. Maybe that spirit had already moved on. “What happened?”
“A woman named Vivienne LaRue worked as a chambermaid by day and in the speakeasy every night. She’d take drink orders and would occasionally sing for the rowdy crowds. There weren’t a lot of gin joints around this part of Rhode Island, so the Taproom was always hopping. Vivienne and her boyfriend, a guy named Walter Todd, were here from Boston for the summer. The Great Depression was in full swing and they knew they stood a better chance of making tips in a hotel that catered to rich people from New York City. The hurricane hit with one week left in the summer season.”
“They both had so much to live for,” Ronan said. “Which one of them died?”
“Vivienne,” Lainie said. “According to what I read, the hotel staff was asked to stay on until the hotel was boarded up and sandbags had been used to shore up the foundation. The last of the sandbags was being laid as the storm started to come ashore. Walter and Vivienne were running for their car when she remembered she’d left something in the Taproom and went back to get it. She never returned. Walter looked for her, but with the way the water was rising so fast, knew he had to get away before it was too late.”
“That poor girl,” Ten whispered. “Was she ever found?”
