evading judgment for her sin of an unsanctioned union.
I learned I was not the first to receive her attention, and that the hotel was earning a reputation for her presence. Nothing to be discussed in polite society, thus I had to experience the presence of Sallie White before ever knowing her name. Little by little, over the course of several weeks (and by now, of course, years) I heard testimonies of sightings—mostly shadows and whispers and otherwise softness of apparitions. A twisting doorknob, a snuffed light in the hallway. A spoon dropped from an ice-cream dish. One maid told me of a time she went to deliver towels to a room only to find a stack, clean and neatly folded, waiting at the door. No one else on staff would attest to having left them.
Her scratches on my door (for I never sought any other explanation) recurred, sometimes multiple nights in a row, sometimes with more than a week in between. I would hear an occasional odd footstep in the hall during the hours when no one should be about, but I refused to open my door in the slightest. We had a silent agreement, Sallie and I. She stayed in the hall, I stayed in my room. From time to time I would awake to the sound of my name, Hedda Krause, floating through the keyhole. The first time (after that first time), I opened my eyes only to remain frozen in fear, even as a wave of heat rolled through my body. Oh, how she teased. How she beckoned with that broken throat. I’d reason that I must have been dreaming, since I heard nothing once I was fully awake and aware. Or perhaps it was merely the growing sounds of winter, bare branches and dead leaves scratching against the sidewalk beneath my window.
Once, when I awoke to hear her call me three times in succession, I clutched a pillow to my breast to break the fear-formed ice in my lungs and answered back, speaking, “Sallie White,” into the darkness. We went back and forth a few times, she and I, calling to each other until she emitted a sound so awful it could only be laughter.
I did not sleep again that night, nor did I tell Bert. The public might not doubt the sanity of one who claims to hear a ghost, but I’m not sure such grace would be extended if one admits to speaking back. Already I sensed a certain aura—a marked change in how the staff attended to me. Whispers, sidelong glances—I wasn’t sure if Sallie’s attentiveness made me a favorite or a pariah. Mr. Sylvan ceased to send my bill to my room; rather, he called me to his desk every Friday evening to present me with the charges for my meals and for the coming week of lodging, should I choose to stay. I felt myself becoming more and more withdrawn, preferring to dine alone, to keep my eyes trained to a novel or magazine as I sat in the lobby or along the second-floor landing. I still accepted the occasional invitation to the theater or to dinner, but those invitations became frustratingly infrequent.
Thus, a new fear. When I caught glimpses of myself in the glass, I saw a woman beginning to look her age. Beyond it, actually, her face pale and puffy, eyes dull, expression drawn. The spirit of Sallie White had stolen the spirit of Hedda Krause, and I was determined to reclaim it.
Chapter 6
The music of a mariachi trio underscored the Sunday morning sounds of conversation and clattering dishes. Waitresses bustled by with big sloshing bowls of menudo, and Dini’s stomach growled. Not for the traditional Mexican breakfast, not even really out of hunger. But nerves. There was a reason she glided through life alone—reasons like this. What if Quin didn’t show up? What if he thought it was a date? What if he didn’t?
When she finally spied him at the check-in stand, all questions were put to rest. He was here, and it wasn’t a date. Because, as out of touch as she might be with what the kids on the dating scene were doing these days, she was pretty sure they weren’t showing up in running gear.
For the moment, she had the advantage of the crowd while she assessed. Running pants, expensive shoes, and a close-fitting top that gave evidence to a regular upper-body workout. Thinking back to the picture on his driver’s license, the beard was