on the left. It boasted high ceilings and beautiful blue silk walls. Another couple dined at a corner table and, near the back wall, a gentleman sat reading the paper. She seated us at one of the remaining three tables, next to one of the big picture windows. "This is one of my favorite rooms. It used to be the parlor," Marjorie said, placing our menus on a table covered in a white linen cloth.
A fire burned in the white marble hearth. And, I realized with horror, my dog had followed us inside.
"I'm sorry. He's mine," I said, intending to go after him. Pirate had found a nice warm spot directly in front of the crackling logs and had begun to curl up and make himself at home.
Marjorie paused. "You know, if he's just going to lie down, it's okay." She gave a small, wistful smile. "We used to keep both a dog and a cat here when we operated the bed and breakfast."
Pirate planted his head on his paws and arched up his brows in that heartbreakingly hopeful way dogs do when they want to be completely manipulative.
It worked.
Marjorie let out a low cluck. "Aren't you precious?" She left us, to go pet him.
"You have to understand—" I began, before I realized I'd lost her attention.
I didn't want to make a commotion. Although the other diners didn't seem to notice, or care.
"We don't want to reward his behavior," Dimitri added.
"Nonsense." She scratched Pirate behind the ears, which started his tail wagging. "I could never say 'no' to a face like that." She ushered Dimitri and I back to our seats. "Now I'm going to get your sweet puppy a bowl of fried gizzards, on the house. You two look over the menus."
I could swear Pirate grinned as he watched her go. "A cute face and a wagging tail will get you a long way in life," he said happily.
No kidding.
I opened my menu. "They get a decent crowd in here for such a quiet road," I said.
Dimitri hummed a response as he studied the wine list. Soon, I forgot all about the other patrons, as well as my dog. We ordered wine. We gorged ourselves on lobster ravioli, steak, and fresh baked bread.
I was fawning overly a particularly delicious side of mushroom risotto when Dimitri leaned over the table, grinning at me. "Look," he said, glancing toward the fireplace. "Pirate found a friend."
I turned and saw the ghost of a matronly woman in an old fashioned dress, complete with a hoop skirt. She spoke to Pirate in soft tones while she rubbed at his ears. He licked at her pale fingers and she giggled.
"Always the charmer," I mused. Pirate had a particular affinity for spirits. And he could make friends with a doorknob, so I wasn't surprised at all when they began holding an animated conversation.
Dimitri reached for a slice of fresh bread. "I wonder what they have in common."
Pirate did have limited interests, seeing that he was a dog. "It's got to be food," I said, reaching for a sip of wine. "Or smelly things."
"Things that roll, things that make noise," Dimitri added.
"The mailman." I thought about it. "Did they even have mailmen back when women wore hoop skirts?" It didn't matter, I supposed. I was just glad Pirate had made a friend. The ghost seemed to need one as well.
Marjorie returned to re-fill our water glasses and slip us the check. "Whenever you're ready," she said, as if she were reluctant to interrupt.
I let Dimitri take the black folder. "You know this place is haunted," I said to our host.
"Very," she nodded, as if it were a grand secret. "Word has it that Hiram Peele himself has been seen upstairs.
I loved ghost stories. Even if most of the ghosts I'd encountered kept to themselves. "So you called it the Peele House after Hiram Peele?"
Marjorie stood a little straighter, obviously proud of the house's history. "Yes. He's our original owner. Hiram Peele was a wealthy planter and he built this house in 1830 for his bride, a local preacher's daughter named Eva Fawn." she said, with all the finesse of a storyteller. "Men didn't often marry below their station
A fire burned in the white marble hearth. And, I realized with horror, my dog had followed us inside.
"I'm sorry. He's mine," I said, intending to go after him. Pirate had found a nice warm spot directly in front of the crackling logs and had begun to curl up and make himself at home.
Marjorie paused. "You know, if he's just going to lie down, it's okay." She gave a small, wistful smile. "We used to keep both a dog and a cat here when we operated the bed and breakfast."
Pirate planted his head on his paws and arched up his brows in that heartbreakingly hopeful way dogs do when they want to be completely manipulative.
It worked.
Marjorie let out a low cluck. "Aren't you precious?" She left us, to go pet him.
"You have to understand—" I began, before I realized I'd lost her attention.
I didn't want to make a commotion. Although the other diners didn't seem to notice, or care.
"We don't want to reward his behavior," Dimitri added.
"Nonsense." She scratched Pirate behind the ears, which started his tail wagging. "I could never say 'no' to a face like that." She ushered Dimitri and I back to our seats. "Now I'm going to get your sweet puppy a bowl of fried gizzards, on the house. You two look over the menus."
I could swear Pirate grinned as he watched her go. "A cute face and a wagging tail will get you a long way in life," he said happily.
No kidding.
I opened my menu. "They get a decent crowd in here for such a quiet road," I said.
Dimitri hummed a response as he studied the wine list. Soon, I forgot all about the other patrons, as well as my dog. We ordered wine. We gorged ourselves on lobster ravioli, steak, and fresh baked bread.
I was fawning overly a particularly delicious side of mushroom risotto when Dimitri leaned over the table, grinning at me. "Look," he said, glancing toward the fireplace. "Pirate found a friend."
I turned and saw the ghost of a matronly woman in an old fashioned dress, complete with a hoop skirt. She spoke to Pirate in soft tones while she rubbed at his ears. He licked at her pale fingers and she giggled.
"Always the charmer," I mused. Pirate had a particular affinity for spirits. And he could make friends with a doorknob, so I wasn't surprised at all when they began holding an animated conversation.
Dimitri reached for a slice of fresh bread. "I wonder what they have in common."
Pirate did have limited interests, seeing that he was a dog. "It's got to be food," I said, reaching for a sip of wine. "Or smelly things."
"Things that roll, things that make noise," Dimitri added.
"The mailman." I thought about it. "Did they even have mailmen back when women wore hoop skirts?" It didn't matter, I supposed. I was just glad Pirate had made a friend. The ghost seemed to need one as well.
Marjorie returned to re-fill our water glasses and slip us the check. "Whenever you're ready," she said, as if she were reluctant to interrupt.
I let Dimitri take the black folder. "You know this place is haunted," I said to our host.
"Very," she nodded, as if it were a grand secret. "Word has it that Hiram Peele himself has been seen upstairs.
I loved ghost stories. Even if most of the ghosts I'd encountered kept to themselves. "So you called it the Peele House after Hiram Peele?"
Marjorie stood a little straighter, obviously proud of the house's history. "Yes. He's our original owner. Hiram Peele was a wealthy planter and he built this house in 1830 for his bride, a local preacher's daughter named Eva Fawn." she said, with all the finesse of a storyteller. "Men didn't often marry below their station
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