To get to the kitchen from the guest rooms, one had only to descend the main staircase, cross the grand hall, and go through the formal dining room. The staff slept in a different part of the castle and had to follow a more labyrinthine path. In view of recent events, the hallways all remained brightly lit and would throughout the night, the housekeeper had explained. 

As the two women approached the swinging door, they could hear hushed voices punctuated by squeals and laughter coming from the kitchen. Lydia pushed the door open a crack and peeked in, then opened it further to reveal the empty room. A matching door on the other side of the wide space batted back and forth gently against its frame. The voices faded away into the distance.

"I guess we just missed them," Lydia said.

"The romeo gardener and his Juliet, I'd wager," Eleanor guessed. 

"Ugh." Lydia rolled her eyes. "Give me Gomez and Morticia any day."

Goodness, but Eleanor did love this dark, dramatic child  more every minute. "I hope that makes me the crazy old granny in the attic."

Lydia laughed. 

The kitchen had everything you'd hope for in an old castle kitchen--interesting stone walls and bundles of herbs hanging from a rack, tied by bits of twine, pots and pans dangling from hooks above the counter and a little divided dish on the floor with water on one side and kibble on the other, presumably for the resident pest-control manager. Nothing old about the shining stainless steel appliances, though. Cook had kept the storybook feeling of Novak Manor but updated to include everything from side-by-side refrigerators with touch screens built into the front, to convection ovens with rows of buttons Eleanor would never dare presume to comprehend. On the long central island a buffet of sandwich fixings and fresh fruit, cakes, pies, and cookies had been laid out and covered with clear plastic domes. When Eleanor first stayed at Novak Manor the kitchen had been slightly less shiny, but the midnight nibbles had been just as wonderfully tempting. In this place, no one went hungry at any hour, even if the castle did operate with a mere fraction of the staff it had in the days when half-starved knights returned home from duty at all hours.

"Help yourself, dear," she told Lydia. "That's what it's there for."

Lydia turned in a slow circle, taking in every part of the room. "Look there." She pointed at a corner near the ceiling where an ivy plant in a terra cotta pot had spread its veil across the stones. Amidst the leaves, one tiny spot refracted the overhead lighting. "And there." In the opposite corner another little glass circle hid among a display of antique ceramic bowls. "And there." A third hid in the nook where the stove's hood met the stone wall.

"Cameras?" Eleanor asked.

"That's my guess."

"It doesn't surprise me that Lord Novak has modern security. The castle may be ancient, but the nation is quite progressive when it comes to technology," Eleanor said.

"Seems like he might have mentioned it. Maybe wanted us to watch the videos?" Lydia said.

Eleanor agreed. "I shall ask him about it first thing in the morning. Now, come, help yourself to food. You must be famished."

Lydia built herself an impressive roast beef sandwich with pickles, piled several pieces of fruit next to it and added a slice of chocolate cake to her plate.

Eleanor settled for a thick slice of bread spread with soft cheese and a slice of melon. In her younger days she'd eaten as heartily as her great-granddaughter, but anymore a meal like that would have her suffering from heartburn for days. She did take a peanut butter cookie, though. The day she could no longer enjoy a fresh-baked peanut butter cookie was the day she'd be ready to go home to her Lord. 

They took their dishes to the wooden booth tucked in the corner near the door that led to the chef's garden. A little rectangle of rubber had been fitted over a rectangular cut out at the bottom of the door. A well-fed marmalade cat nosed through it, eyed them warily, twitched its tail in their direction and set to enjoying the bowl of kibble.

"With whom should we speak tomorrow?" Eleanor asked. She had her own thoughts on the subject, but she was curious to see what her perceptive granddaughter had picked up on while appearing half asleep during that initial conversation with Lord Novak.

While she finished chewing the bite she'd just taken, Lydia produced her ever-present cell phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and swiped her thumb across the screen. "Definitely the eye witnesses, of course. Mr. Horvath, since he's the one who reported the ghost having spoken to him. And Mrs. Stojanovski. Probably her husband, too. If she was only steps from the door of their apartment he may have heard or seen something more than we know about. Same with the maintenance lady. And we should try to talk to Reny, if he's around." She nibbled a strawberry and moved her thumb in an upward stroke on the phone. "Lord Novak mentioned the cook, Mr. Teodoro. I'm curious if there is any other live-in help. The day people come and go, but I'd like to talk to anyone who's on the property all night long, since this ghost seems apparently prefers to keep late hours."

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Eleanor asked her.

"I believe in Occam's razor," Lydia said.

"Ah, yes. The simplest answer is usually the right one. What, then, is the simple answer?" Eleanor asked.

"Probably not a ghost," Lydia said.

"But you never answered the question," Eleanor pointed out.

Lydia lifted one shoulder. "I don't know what I believe. I believe only fools would say that a thing is impossible, but if they're real, they're outside of my experience."

"That's a lot of wisdom for a youngster like yourself."

"I hang out with wise people." 

For a few moments, the two of them focused on their food in companionable silence. When her sandwich had been reduced to bread crumbs, Lydia asked the question Eleanor had been waiting for. "Why did you agree to come out of retirement for this job?"

Eleanor dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a white linen napkin. "General Gruber was a terrible man, Lydia. The worst I ever personally encountered. If he's back, even as a memory, I need to do my part to stop him."

"You already stopped him once, didn't you?"

The food churned uncomfortably in Eleanor's belly. "I helped."

"Then why not let someone else deal with it?" Lydia asked. 

Oh, how easy it would be to let someone else deal with it! The infinite luxury! "In the immortal words of the fabulous Lily Tomlin, 'I always wondered why somebody didn't do something about that. Then I realized I was somebody.'" She blinked back the tears that threatened. "I am old and the Good Lord alone knows how many days I have left. I've made terrible mistakes, but I like to think I've done some good as well. If I have this one last chance to add to the good and make up for the bad... well... perhaps that is why I've been allowed to live this long." 

As sure as a Swiss clock will strike on the hour, Lydia asked the next predictable question. "What is the castle treasure, exactly?"

"It is the stuff of fairy tales and nightmares--a thing that should never have been placed in human hands to begin with. But it is the curse of the living to atone for the sins of the dead, and so we must do our best to keep it safe."

Lydia's dark brows furrowed. "But I mean--"

"Let us not speak of that any more now. Castles have ears, my dear."

Lydia's gaze darted toward the cameras and she said no more. 

Eleanor rose from the table. "Shall we?"

The two of them placed their dirty dishes in the sink and dropped their napkins in a little basket marked for that purpose. Eleanor stood near one end of the long central island and gave a tiny nod to her chosen assistant. "Well, then, I suppose we should try to sleep through some part of the night so we can conduct our business tomorrow."

From her place near the swinging door, Lydia flipped the light switch to the off position and the two of them made as if to go. 

"Leave here!" A booming male voice demanded. An erie blue glow illuminated the dark room. Eleanor spun toward it. General Gruber stood next to the table they'd just vacated. As in life, he stood with his shoulders square, his spine straight, and his chin lowered. He glared at her with deathly malice. "Leave this castle. You don't belong here."

Eleanor clutched the edge of the island with her sweaty hand and prayed she wouldn't faint. Her heart fluttered against her rib bones like a frightened bird in a cage. "I'm an invited guest. You're dead and buried and mourned by no one. It is you who has no place here. Go back to your home in Hell."

A moment of darkness left her blinking and disoriented when the light appeared again, directly in front of Lydia. "The castle treasure is mine."

Lydia glared at the apparition. "In what pretend world is that the case?" With her left hand, she reached up and flicked the light switch. The bulbs overhead sprang to life and General Gruber disappeared. 

"Turn them off again," Eleanor said.

In the darkness, they remained alone. 

"May I take your arm?" Eleanor asked. 

Lydia drew close and offered her elbow and Eleanor clung to it all the way back to their quarters, not fully trusting her trembling legs to carry her. Inside the luxurious room she allowed herself to sink into a sturdy chair and press a hand to her heart. 

"Are you okay?" Lydia asked. 

"I'm a superstitious old fool with bones made of Jell-O," Eleanor answered.

"He's not a real ghost. I'm sure of it."

"Hmm," said Eleanor. 

"Are you okay?" Lydia asked again.

Eleanor answered her by squeezing her hand. No lies could exist in a simple, genuine display of affection. "Do you believe in ghosts?" She asked again.

Lydia pressed her cheek to her great-grandmother's old hand. "I believe in you, Nana."