At precisely eleven-thirty that morning, Travis' gray truck was at the curb in front of The Seven Gables. Valeria could see him from her hotel window and smiled at his promptness. She grabbed her sweater as a precaution against the unpredictable "June-gloom," and a shoulder-strapped purse with some money and her cell phone. She had on a pair of tight blue jeans, sandals, and a cotton top she had bought for the trip. Her hair was tied back for easy travel and sight-seeing.

Greeting her at his truck, Travis seemed in a good mood. Valeria's female intuition told her from his body language as he stepped from the vehicle and met her at the curb, that he was happy to be her guide, and maybe something more that day.

"You're going to like Carmel," he said, opening the door and watching her step up onto the chrome bar to get inside,

"I'm sure about that. I've already done my homework on the place."

Travis went around quickly and got inside himself, starting-up the vehicle and speeding away from Lover's Cove toward the Highway One interchange. He could smell her light perfume and realized it had been a while since he had sensed a female's scent in his truck. Since breaking up with a fiancé in November the year before, he had limited his social interaction to a few friends and faculty members with whom he trusted and enjoyed light company with.

"Well, did you read that the whole village of Carmel was inspired by a Danish architect and the little ginger-bread houses don't have numbers on them but rather names, like 'Driftwood,' and 'Elf's Corner?"

"Fabulous!"

"You'll also be inspired to know the little town proper is just one square mile. But has over one-hundred art galleries."

"I think I picked the right tour guide, Travis." She smiled at him.

Within minutes, they were cruising south on a forest-lined highway, passing the off ramp for Monterey, the guarded gate for Pebble Beach, and on to a highway sign that read 'Carmel-by-the-Sea.' As they entered the main drive into town, Valeria could see Travis was right about the beauty. Flowers were everywhere—on light posts hanging in baskets, and along the street. The little houses and shops he had referred to were indeed charming. 'Elf houses' and 'gingerbread' were excellent descriptions of the style seen on both sides of Ocean Avenue, as they descended toward the deep blue Pacific in the distance.

"Yes, it's really gorgeous," he suddenly added. "But living around here you have to tolerate the tourists in the summer. And they come in droves from everywhere."

"You mean like me? Now?"

Travis looked over at her and smiled warmly. "We'll there are some exceptions we make. Like for attractive professionals."

The compliment was a nice surprise, and unexpected.

At the corner of Ocean Ave, and San Carlos Street, seemingly the heart of what was more a village than a town, Travis could see someone—one of those tourists he referred to, who was just leaving his choice parking space, presenting the rare opportunity for them to park and begin their adventure in the middle of things.

"Our lucky day," Travis said. "Come on. Looks like you also brought the sunshine today from Arizona."

It was true. The blue sky was prominent now against the rich green pines. As they began walking along the fairy-book style wooden shops and galleries, Valeria took in the charm of the place with it's up-turned shingled roofs and fieldstone walls. Colorful flower boxes were everywhere.

"Wow. Why would anyone want to leave this place once they entered it?" she asked.

"Well, the rent, for one," he said sarcastically. "These little Carmel-charmers you see here?" He pointed up and down the street. "Quite small, really no bigger than cabins, But they sell for in the millions here."

"The price for living in fairyland, I guess."

"Actually, a lot of the Hollywood set have bungalows here as hideaways. And the wealthy from all over the world congregate here mostly seasonally. I guess you probably read that in the 1980's Clint Eastwood was the town's mayor?"

"Yeah. I did read that."

"Well, I've got a surprise for you," he said, walking more directly down a street closer to the sea.

"How did you know I love surprises, Travis?"

"You're a psychologist, aren't you?"

She smiled. "On my way to being one, I hope."

"You're definitely there now, Valeria," he said, with affection in his voice.

They soon came to a huge stone structure, classical looking. It was well-manicured with gardens and arched entryways leading to a large courtyard inside its walls. He led her up a wide set of steps to what appeared to be the entryway for a grand hotel. Passing through the doors into an airy foyer with palms and flower arrangements on antique tables, Valeria immediately felt the age and refinement of the vintage structure.

"This is a surprise," she said, walking over to a large window with a spectacular view of gardens below, white umbrellas and the ocean, seemingly endless in the distance.

"Welcome to the La Playa Hotel," Travis said.

"It's just spectacular!"

"And it reeks with history. A dark one."

"Really?"

He led her outside and down the steps to an outside bar area where the view of the grounds and environment was just as impressive. Sitting at a small table, they could look back up at the multi-leveled structure, seeming medieval and Renaissance-like as parts of its eclectic style.

"Oh. And it does have one more element, I thought you would appreciate. The real surprise, you might say."

"You mean something more than all this?"

"Exactly. The hotel happens to be famously . . . haunted."

"Haunted?"

"It definitely has that reputation . . . and apparently confirmed by many over the years."

"Well, this is a surprise. You must tell me the story."

"Over a beer?"

"Early for me. But I'd love a juice of some kind."

As if on cue, a waiter walked over to the two and took down their request for drinks. Travis a Corona, and Valeria an orange juice.

"So. Here's the essentials," he said. "You can dig deeper if you want later."

"Oh, believe me. I will."

"It was originally the home of Christopher Jorgensen, a world-renown artist who came to America to paint. You know, the great outdoors. His is paintings of Yosemite in the late 1800's made him a celebrity."

"I get the feeling Carmel is a real magnet for artists."

"Always was. Sensitive people in all endeavors have come here," he said. "I like to call it the Beauty-Energy Theory—the aesthetics of the environment bring in the talent."

"Definitely some truth to that theory."

"Well Christopher married a wealthy socialite. Angela Ghirardelli. Her family was heir to the San Francisco chocolate fortune. Her own father had founded it."

"Oh yes, those famous chocolates. Wow. Nice combination."

"Well, the artist must have loved her. He built this house as a gift in 1905."

"Sweet." Valaria took a taste of her orange juice while Travis poured his beer into a chilled class.

"The place later became a popular salon for artists . . . bohemians and wealthy patrons who descended on Carmel. Not long after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and fire. But it took a much more personal disaster for Jorgenson and his wife to move out of this place."

"Must have been horrific."

"They actually left for a forest estate in Pebble Beach. For their privacy and to heal from what had occurred here."

"Well now you have me intrigued, Travis . . . What was the tragedy? And the ghost?"

"Angela Ghirardelli's niece, a young budding artist herself, came from Paris to stay with Jorgensen and Angela here. She came to Carmel to study painting with her world-renowned uncle."

"Wow. Wouldn't you?"

Travis smiled. "Well, not long after moving in, the twenty-something debutante went for a swim out there in Carmel Bay, alone one day . . . and, well just disappeared. Her body was found months later. Washed up on the shore. It was never fully determined whether the tragedy was an accidental drowning or a possible suicide. There were rumors she had been rejected by a lover."

"And let me guess . . . Her presence has been detected here, many times over the years."

"Exactly!"

"Well she couldn't have picked a more beautiful place to hang around, if you ask me."

Travis smiled again. He was taking note of how animated and beautiful Valeria's young face looked in the bright light.

"So," she asked, sipping from her tall glass. "What would it cost me to stay here a night and. To get my bearings and maybe feel the vibes of this place?"

"About five to seven hundred minimum . . . with breakfast, of course."

"Well, that ghost is too expensive for me. But I am intrigued. Lots of loose ends to that story which I would love to research. You say the story is pretty well known?"

After the tragedy the Jorgensen's famously moved out. The place became a boarding school for a short while. But by 1922 it was purchased again and many rooms were added. That's when it morphed into a world-famous hotel. Because of its size and décor, it's still known as the Grande Dame of Carmel. I guess that's also about the time hauntings started."

"I love it!"

"Clients over the years have reported hearing a women's voice in their rooms, and sometimes seeing the shadowy figure of a young woman who stands at the foot of their bed . . . Possibly Angela's niece? The youngest chocolate heiress?"

"Good guess. Maybe she never really wanted to move out. In death, she got her wish."

"Nice theory."

"I'll leave my fee with the owners at the front desk."

They both laughed and looked longer into each other's eyes

"Well, whatever the details are, the old hotel is supposed to be listed on America's catalogue of seriously haunted homes and hotels."

"A Fact I will certainly check out."

"So . . . Valeria. Doing your research on these things . . . are you ever afraid?"

"As in . . . real fear of what I'm poking around with?"

"Yeah, that."

"All the time. Anyone who says they're not afraid of paranormal activity when their up close and personal with it, is just lying."

"So, this afternoon. In the presence of Natalia . . . you might be afraid of what you'll hear or learn?"

"Even though Natalia is a child, Travis, the presence of something that inexplicable within her is terrifying. But it comes with the territory. What I've chosen to take on . . . and wherever it leads me."

* * *