Grand Hotel Read online

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-59310-879-6

  Copyright © 2006 by Mary Davis. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version ® Niv ®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  One

  I’m almost there, Nonie.

  Aimee Mikkelson stood at the bow of the foot-passenger ferry’s top deck. The wind whipped at her green plaid capris and lime green T-shirt and pulled at her shoulder-length blond hair.

  Mackinac Island loomed closer with each passing minute.

  She had grown up with the romantic tales of when her great-great-grandfather Adam Wright helped build the island’s largest hotel. The size of the construction crew had matched the massive structure they were trying to build in the span of a few short months. Adam Wright had become smitten with the daughter of one of the crew chiefs, and though interested, Lacey had resisted his charms. . .for a while.

  Aimee’s breath caught, and her heart seemed to stop as she realized the large white structure that stretched against the green hillside of Mackinac Island was her destination—the Grand Hotel.

  Now she just needed to figure out how to get inside and search the hotel. She only had two days. She had found the cheapest room on the island, which wasn’t all that cheap but was of those available during the busy tourist season. Memorial Day weekend was not the time to book a last-minute trip. But she was afraid Nonie’s health couldn’t wait. Blind, diabetic, and now a broken hip. Aimee had heard of old people going into the hospital for something as simple as a broken bone and developing pneumonia, or worse, and dying. The realization that this could be the end for Nonie had broken Aimee’s heart and spurred her on in her quest. Nonie had said it was fine to let the secret die and only the two of them would believe it was really there. But she knew Nonie’s heart; Nonie had always wanted to find the treasure in the Grand Hotel but had given up on finding it because no one else believed in the family legend. Nonie had found a coconspirator in Aimee, and they had sat and dreamed about what treasure awaited them. The idea of the treasure seemed to grow over the years, to where now they would laugh about whether the two of them could carry it.

  Aimee had two goals after graduating from high school: find her prodigal older sister—which she did, along with a fourteen-year-old nephew, Justin—and help Nonie get to Mackinac Island. Even if they found no treasure, Nonie would at least get to experience the hotel. Now Aimee needed to find whatever Nonie’s grandfather had left his descendants. Even if Nonie couldn’t see it, she could hold it in her hands and feel the special connection to her ancestor Adam Wright who cared enough about his loved ones that he would leave behind a secret legacy.

  The ferry slowed and turned toward the pier that jutted out from the small town on the edge of the water. Aimee could no longer see the great white hotel, so she descended the two flights of stairs with the other passengers who were preparing to disembark.

  A group of women came up behind her talking. “Madison and Huey are so lucky to be getting married on Mackinac Island. It’s so romantic.”

  “And at the Grand Hotel, no less. That’s where I want to get married some day.”

  Adam and Lacey had been married on the island. Aimee thought it would be romantic to be married in the very place they said their vows. Nonie always remarked that Aimee had the same enthusiasm for life as her granddad Adam.

  The ferry docked, and Aimee stepped off with the other passengers. A surge of energy passed through her as her feet touched the island for the first time. She waited for her two rolling suitcases to be unloaded and looped her purse and camera case over one of the handles. She asked for directions from one of the ferry workers as to where the Island House was located and headed off the pier toward her hotel. She passed by the gals she had heard talking on the ferry as they climbed aboard a maroon, hard-shelled carriage with Grand Hotel embossed in gold on the side. She may not be taking a fancy horse-drawn coach, but she’d get inside the Grand just the same.

  After checking in at the Island House and dropping off her luggage, she changed into one of the three dresses she’d brought along, a short-sleeved red one with large white polka dots. She looked in the mirror and spun around. The full skirt fluttered like a flag in a strong breeze. After 6 p.m., a dress was required for all women in the Grand Hotel and a coat and tie for the men. And since it was already midafternoon, she could very well be there until after six. She didn’t want to chance getting kicked out for not following the rules. . .that was, if she managed to get inside.

  How she was going to get inside to look around was her first problem. The hotel had become such a tourist attraction that a fee was required for nonhotel guests, so the hotel guests could enjoy the accommodations they paid for. She could pay the entrance fee to walk on the premises but didn’t think that would afford her the freedom she needed to really look around inside. The porch and grounds were not of interest to her.

  Lord, like the woman who lost a coin and searched her house from top to bottom until she found it, I, too, will search for Nonie’s inheritance. I’m sure it is meant to be found. Help me find it. And please give me a way into the Grand Hotel that will allow me the latitude to look freely until I find it. Then I, too, will rejoice in finding what was lost.

  She looped her white cardigan over her arm and headed out for the Grand.

  ❧

  Dillon Thurough watched the perky blond conversing with the doorman. Was she one of those tourists who thought she could sweet-talk her way in without paying the entrance fee? Did she belong here? She looked like trouble to him. Not that he thought she was really trouble, but deep down he had a strange feeling she’d be trouble for him. As one of the assistant managers of the Grand Hotel, diverting or diffusing trouble was his job.

  He adjusted his navy blue suit coat and strode toward Henry at the entrance. Henry was in his early seventies with a white mustache. He wore a traditional red double-breasted beefeater uniform with a black top hat. Rumor had it he’d been with the hotel for over half a century. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, sir.” Henry gave him a slow dip of his head.

  The blond turned her bright smile on him and shoved out her hand. “Hi, I’m Aimee Mikkelson.”

  Now that was a great smile. Like sunshine. The kind of smile that could get a guy to do anything a gal wanted. But not this guy. He untangled his thoughts from her smile and shook her outstretched hand, her grip firm, her hand soft. He had a weakness for blonds, but he could control it and school his initial attraction. Knowing one’s weakness made temptation easier to resist.

  She went on. “Henry has been great. He was just telling me how to find the wedding festivities. I can’t tell you how excited I am to be here. This place is like a dream, like a fairy tale.”

  He forced himself to focus on the conversation and not the way her wavy golden hair framed her cute round face. “You’re with the Dodson-Whitehall party?”

  “I’m taking pictures for Madison and Huey.” She pointed to the black bag slung over her shoulder that looked like it could be a camera bag.

  That sounded fis
hy. “We have a hotel photographer who’ll be taking the wedding photos.”

  “Oh, I’m not doing any of the formal wedding pics. I’m taking candid shots of the bride and groom, family and friends, to give a broader perspective of Maddy’s special day.” Her hands moved back and forth as she spoke. “It’s one thing to have the beautiful portraits to remember this once-in-a-lifetime moment, but it’s another to have that unique shot of Aunt Millie not only talking to the colonel but actually laughing at one of his bad jokes. Or catching Tommy putting a frog in Julie’s purse. Those are once-in-a-lifetime treasures beyond measure. Something to show their grandchildren.”

  He believed her up to that last statement, but he had no cause to deny her access to the premises at this point. “Very well. There is a reception on the west lawn in half an hour, then a dinner at seven in the dining room.”

  Her smile broadened. “You’re a peach. Thanks. I’m just going to wander in here for a few until people start to gather outside.”

  He watched her sashay away, the hem of her red dress swishing back and forth below her knees.

  “That one’s a looker, she is.”

  He turned to Henry. “I’m not interested.”

  Henry smiled. “I never said you was. Only said she’s a looker.”

  And likely trouble. He turned and walked around behind the front desk. “Katie, can I squeeze in here a minute?”

  Katie stepped aside from the computer and continued to help a guest.

  He put his fingers to the keyboard. He could use the computer in his office, but then he couldn’t keep one eye on the perky blond with more words than a hurricane has wind. He typed in Amy Mickelson and every variation of its spelling he could think of. Ms. Mikkelson was not registered at the hotel. Although that fact, in and of itself, wasn’t necessarily a cause for concern. Many of the wedding guests weren’t staying at this hotel.

  But if Ms. Mikkelson was out to cause trouble, he wanted to be close by to deal with the problem. What if she was an ex-girlfriend or ex-fiancée of the groom? Things could only get ugly. If that were the case, her only reason for being here would be to cause trouble this weekend. He was definitely sticking close to her.

  ❧

  Aimee stood at the end of the lobby. Yes, Lord, I know, thou shalt not lie. I didn’t mean to. It just came out. My big mouth has gotten me into trouble again. But I promise I’ll do everything I can to make this right.

  She sighed and turned her attention to the window and gazed out to the west. Though the lawns looked beautiful, nothing out there held any interest for her. What she needed was inside these walls. . .in the floor, to be exact.

  “In a grand hall, walk west to the wall, you tread to the treasure, a gift without measure. Then north you must turn, for the prize you will earn, at the closet humble and low, a treasure in the wood below.”

  Family legend had it that Adam Wright hid something in the floor of the Grand Hotel for his grandchildren. And Nonie was the only living grandchild left. Aimee had planned to bring Nonie to the hotel, but she had broken her hip and was relegated to a bed for now, with words of these being her last days and regrets of not getting to the Grand Hotel before she died. But Nonie was never in a position to come on her own. Since the age of twenty-five, Aimee’s current age, Nonie had been blind. Granddad and her two children always put the story aside as a fairy tale.

  Maybe Aimee could sneak down the hall and find the answers to the riddle. If she found what she was looking for today, she could be back to Nonie with it tomorrow—after she took pictures for the bride and groom, of course. She turned to see if she could go find this great hall, but the handsome assistant manager was practically on top of her, and she almost stepped into him. “Oops.”

  “Ms. Mikkelson.” He took a step backward, straightening his navy suit jacket. His light brown hair was parted on the side and came down onto his forehead.

  She hated being called “Miz.” The salutation was so communal and remote. . .and formal. “It’s Aimee.”

  “Aimee.” His mouth spread into a nice smile, and his dimples tucked into each cheek.

  Not dimples. Dimples were so cute and irresistible. She just wanted to poke her finger into them. She would simply have to ignore them. “What does the D stand for?” She pointed to his nametag: D. Thurough.

  His green eyes locked on her. “Dillon.”

  “May I call you Dillon?”

  “If you would like. I’m heading down to the west lawn. I’ll show you the way.”

  Ah yes, the west lawn. That was where she was supposed to be but not where she wanted to be. She had said she would take pictures so she suspected this was as good a time as any to take some, and then maybe Mr. Cute Dimples would leave her alone. He was suspicious, and though there was minor cause, she wasn’t going to harm anything at the hotel—lift an already loose board, find Nonie’s inheritance, and put the board back in place—so he really needn’t worry. If going down and taking a few pictures would put his fears to rest, then so be it. “I would love an escort.”

  They walked through the lobby and out onto the porch that stretched across the entire front of the building. White wicker rocking chairs lined the length of it, as well as dozens upon dozens of red geraniums potted along the front railing. “This is some porch.”

  “Six hundred and sixty feet. The world’s longest porch.”

  “Wow!” She marched down the steps with him. “The red of the geraniums really looks great against the white building.”

  “They are the hotel’s signature flower.”

  “Really. Has anyone ever counted them?”

  “Twenty-five hundred on the porch alone, and more around the grounds.”

  “Whoa. That’s a lot of potting soil.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  This guy was full of tidbits of hotel trivia. “How many chairs?”

  He greeted a man dressed in a red uniform like Henry’s standing behind a podium thing near the bottom of the stairs. “One hundred.”

  “Do you ever come out here and just sit or watch the sunset.”

  “No!”

  His swift, sharp word made her flinch.

  Dillon halted her with an arm swung out in front of her. A horse-drawn carriage rolled past them with a cloppity-clomp and their harnesses jingling. “The horses have the right-of-way on the island.” The curtness of his statement seemed to be a reflection of his harshly spoken no.

  “Why is that?”

  He paused a moment. “I suppose it is because it takes longer to stop a horse than it does a person. And in a collision, the horse would win.” He walked her across the narrow, paved road that ran in front of the hotel, then down the multitiered staircase to the lower grounds. An array of lilacs, honeysuckles, and spireas lined both sides. “Do you have a room at this hotel?”

  “I’m staying at a place in town. That’s not a problem, is it?”

  “Certainly not.” The staircase split halfway down. Dillon guided her to the right.

  She pondered his swift answer to her question about him sitting on the porch and watching the sunset. It was a sharp contrast to what seemed to be his habit of pausing for a second or two before he spoke—the time it took to draw in a breath. Why did he guard his words? And why did the sunset momentarily cause him to drop that guard? There was always more to a person than met the eye. There was certainly more to her—if people could get past the blond stereotype. What was behind his carefully chosen words and irresistible dimples?

  She stepped onto the velvet carpet of grass at the bottom of the stairs and turned around to look back up at the hotel. The hotel her great-great-grandfather had a hand in building. “It’s breathtaking.” Though the lawns were gorgeous and the sunshine divine, she just wanted to run back up the stairs and inside.

  “It was built in only three months.”

  She turned to him. “You’re kidding?” Adam had worked fast to win Lacey’s heart.

  Dillon showed her to the activity on t
he west lawn. “I hope you take many memories for the bride and groom.” He left her at the edge of the gathering, and she approached beautifully dressed, white linen–draped tables. The wait staff looked like cookie-cutter replicas of each other: all the women dressed in black dresses with white aprons, collars, and little hats; the men in black pants, coat, and tie, with a white shirt.

  What a life to live this way all the time—fine food and people waiting to serve you.

  Since she said she was here to take pictures for the bride and groom, she might as well get started. Telling Henry the doorman and then one of the managers that that was what she was here for was as good as a promise to her. But all she really needed to do was snap a few shots and get an e-mail address for either Madison or Huey so she could send them the pictures, and her obligation would be fulfilled. Then she could get on with her real work here.

  She glanced over at Dillon, who was speaking to one of the wait staff. In the sunlight, she could see natural reddish highlights in his light brown hair. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. She had to quit looking at his dimpled cheeks. She slipped her camera out of her bag and approached the first table. Most of the tables were still empty, but people were trickling toward them. At this table sat the three girls in their early twenties she had overheard talking on the ferry and a young man about their same age. “I’m taking pictures for the bride and groom. May I take yours so they can always remember this day and who was here to celebrate it with them?” The foursome scooted together, and she captured them in time. Somehow it seemed appropriate for her first picture to be of the girls who unknowingly gave her the opening to get inside the Grand Hotel.

  She moved to the next occupied table and did the same. Then she glanced over at Dillon. He was staring at her again. She smiled and waved. He gave her a nod and turned back to the plump, red-haired woman who was talking to him. She took shots of several more groups and some individuals who had begun to gather.

  Her attention was drawn to a man roaming from table to table. He couldn’t have been any taller than her at five-foot-six. He had short curly brown hair. She heard him say, “Have you seen my bride?”