“Probably just one night,” Vic said.
I shot a glance at him, filled with venom. Did he hate me that bad?
“May I enquire as to your reasons for the visit?”
“I’m a journalist,” I said. “I work for Feedworthy’s Urban Legends department. This is my assistant, aide-de-camp Alsace. We intend on doing a little bit of a ghost hunt. You know. EVP recordings, setting up some infrared technology, cameras, the whole nine yards. Seeing if we can capture evidence on film of the afterlife.”
“Ah, yes, yes. You’re not the first and won’t be the last ghost hunters to come here. Are the two of you at all familiar with the history of the grounds? Or is silence part of your investigative protocol?”
“Normally, independent verification of historical details should occur after the fact, but this case is a little special,” Vic said. “We’ll be using some non-traditional techniques.”
“Forewarned is forearmed, eh?” the Curator asked. He laughed. “You have heard word of the powerful Richard Tremblay, then? A man of some wealth—an entrepreneur who came over from Europe and had established himself in Chicago nearabouts straight away. His vast fortune was said to be a result of his shrewd business tactics, though there were whispers of illicit foreign trade.”
“Sounds appropriate for a Gilded Age philanthropist,” I said.
Victor and the Curator both stared at me.
“What? I know my history,” I said. “The Gilded Age: where everything looked like it glittered. This was about when the Railroads were being built, right?”
“I seem to remember something like that,” Victor said. It looked like it hurt him to say it.
“Nevertheless,” the Curator continued. “Richard Tremblay had great fortune for most of his life. Until one fateful evening. It was the evening of a vast dinner party. All of the wealthy elite of Chicago were here, you see. On an evening quite like this, come to think of it. The truth of the matter is, Mr. Tremblay died a tragic death, locked in a room that could not be opened from the outside. A nearby maid heard a gunshot—and it took the fire brigade some time to hack down the door. By then, they had found his lifeless body slumped over his desk, his safe closed tight. The circumstances surrounding his death have never quite been explained.”
“That sounds like a great scoop,” I said.
“And, of course, we mustn’t forget the rumors,” the Curator continued. “Visitors to Tremblay Manor say that to this day his ghost can be seen trudging about the place in the dark suit he wore at the dinner party. He is known as the Brown Man of Tremblay Manor; it is said he manifests as a darkish cloud, wont to look pained, appearing in view during rare times as a way to forecast tragedy for the city.”
“Sounds interesting,” Victor said. “Tell me, have you had any sightings personally?”
The Curator shrugged.
“I cannot say I have been blessed with the presence of the Brown Man.”
“A real shame, that,” Vic said. “May we have the keys?”
The Curator blinked, perhaps at Vic’s brusqueness, and then patted his pockets down. He withdrew a glittering set of keys on an elaborate keyring.
“Ah, yes. Here they are. I’ll just let you in. I have to say, this is the only set we possess at the moment.”
“You only have one set of keys for the whole Manor?” I asked.
“Afraid so,” the Curator said. “I realize how inconvenient this timing is, but our spare was handed over to a locksmith to make some more duplicates. So you see, this is the only keyring and the only set of keys for the whole of the building.”
“There’s not a skeleton key?” Vic asked.
“I’m afraid not,” the Curator said. “As these are rather valuable, I believe the proper protocol is for me to allow you in and then lock the doors behind you.”
Vic and I met each other’s gaze.
“Hold on a second,” Vic said.
“I assure you, my residence is a mere two miles down the road. I shall keep my phone on as loudly as possible should any issues arise.”
We both got his number and keyed it in, Vic’s fingers dangling oddly over the keypad as he tapped like a chicken.
“I hate technology,” he said.
“Do you… require assistance?” the Curator asked. And that was some weird optics.
