She blinks. “Like the song?” she asks.
“Song?”
“Chris de Burgh,” she says.
“Um, no. Like the ghost,” I say.
Grandma snorts. “There’s no such thing.”
“Yeah, well, she supposedly haunts the Belicourt.”
She resumes unloading the groceries. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I don’t either,” I say quickly.
Mostly.
Probably.
But the story is still intriguing.
“But apparently, a lot of people have reported seeing her over the last ninety years.”
Grandma places a carton of eggs into the refrigerator. “People see what they want to see. And believe what they want to believe.”
I grab an orange from the bag and roll it between my hands. “There are quite a few articles online. Eerily similar accounts of her and her shenanigans.”
“Reliable sources, I’m sure,” she says dryly.
“And a novelist wrote an entire book about her. That’s the one I’m reading now.”
Grandma shuts the refrigerator door. “A novelist?”
“Yeah. She was writing a travel book about the Teton mountains, and while she was doing research for that book, she became fascinated by the story of The Lady in Red.”
She leans against the counter, clearly humoring me. “And what did this novelist have to say?”
I start peeling the orange while I gather my thoughts. “Well, according to the story, the Belicourt hosts this huge Christmas gala every year.”
Grandma nods. “That part I know. It’s been a big society event for as long as I can remember.”
“Well, supposedly,” I continue, “the ghost is the spirit of a guest who was heading to the gala and fell to her death.”
Grandma winces. “That would certainly ruin a party.”
I nod. “Right? Since then,” I say, “she continues to roam the corridors of the hotel, looking for her lover.”
“Of course she does.”
“Oh, and sometimes, she throws things around in one of the rooms on the fifth floor.”
Grandma laughs outright now. “Well, that is quite a tale.”
“Maybe she does,” I say.
Grandma raises an eyebrow. “Harleigh.”
“You have to admit, it’s strange that so many people have spotted her over the decades.”
