Sorry for the silence. I’m not mad, I promise. I just need time to work some stuff out. Talk soon.
While his texts were often short and to the point, they usually made sense. Not this one. What kind of “stuff” was he talking about? Did it pertain to the two of them? Was he trying to “work out” whether they should stay together? Maybe after Saturday’s debacle, he’d decided romantic relationships weren’t worth the trouble.
She wanted to ask him more but decided against it. Given that she’d already pushed him over the edge on Saturday night, demanding answers wouldn’t help her case. She needed to trust him and give him space. By next week, they’d have more breathing room to talk things over.
Being patient sucked. But it was better than forcing a confrontation that neither of them had the bandwidth to deal with right now.
On Friday afternoon, she waited at the front desk for the film crew fromCanada’s Most Haunted. When Logan had called her earlier to confirm the logistics, he’d mentioned they’d be arriving between three and four. The team planned to do a preliminary walk-through of the storage room and get baseline readings, followed by three in-person interviews: Charlie, Celia, and Gertrude. Charlie had already asked the two women to show up at seven.
When Preston stopped by, Charlie forced a courteous smile on her face. If dealing with needy guests wasn’t bad enough, her boss had also been more demanding than usual. Three times today, he’d reminded her to contact him the minute the film crew showed up.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hargreaves,” she said. “They’re not here yet.”
“I’m aware of that. While you’re waiting, I think you should visit the storage room one more time. I want to make certain it hasn’t been disturbed.”
“I don’t see how that would be possible. No one can get into that room without a key.”
Preston rocked back on his feet. “Well…I might have lent out a key to one of our guests. A VIP with important ties to the hotel’s owners.”
Charlie repressed a groan. “He went up there by himself? Did he get locked in?”
“No. He told me he took a stroll around the room but didn’t get stuck there. He was rather disappointed, even though I warned him it didn’t happen every time. Anyway, I made sure he returned the key.” He took it out of his suit jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Why don’t you go take a peek?”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Preston crossed his arms and stared her down. “It’s not a request, Charlotte. I need you to go up there and make sure everything is in order.”
Given that she’d been on edge all week, she had no desire to worsen her distress by getting locked in a haunted room. “Do you want to come with me? To make sure I don’t get trapped inside?”
“Are you seriously that worried about it?” His voice dripped with condescension. “Just prop the door open. At most, it’ll take you ten minutes.”
Easy for him to say. He’d never gotten stuck there before. But she knew better than to disobey a direct order. After asking the front desk clerk to watch out for the film crew, she took the elevator up to the third floor. She approached the storage room with trepidation, still remembering how tense she’d felt when she and Knox had gotten locked in. How her initial fear had morphed into despair and then into an abrupt burst of anger.
At least she wouldn’t erupt in another sneezing fit. In anticipation of escorting the ghost hunters up here, she’d taken a preemptive dose of allergy meds.
She unlocked the door and propped it open with an old wooden chair. While she would have preferred to leave it that way, a passing guest might decide to poke their head in. Instead, she found an old, musty hardcover and wedged it in the doorjamb before closing the door. This way, it couldn’t slam shut and lock her in.
Shaking off her nerves, she flicked on the light and made a slow circuit of the room. As far as she could tell, nothing had been disturbed. A layer of dust still covered the furniture and the cardboard boxes. Atop an antique dresser was the wind-up phonograph Knox had noticed before; beside it was a stack of vinyl records in faded brown paper sleeves. Like last time, the faint scent of rose-scented soap tickled her nose. But even if there was a stash of hotel soap somewhere in the room, by now, it would have faded. The scent had to be coming from Maeve.
A sudden bang made her pulse race. The door had slammed shut, sending the book flying across the room.
She froze in place, her heart hammering in a frantic rhythm. Was someone playing a prank on her? Or had the ghost trapped her in here again?
“Maeve, is that you?”
No response.
Approaching the door cautiously, she turned the knob. Like last time, it refused to budge. Nor did her key succeed in opening the door.
Damn you, Preston.What was he thinking, sending her up here alone?
Despite the warmth of the room, an icy sensation danced along her spine. She plopped down on the antique settee facing the door. Reaching into her blazer pocket for her phone, she braced herself for the worst.
Just as she suspected. No bars. No Wi-Fi.
“Joke’s on you, Maeve. This time, I’m prepared.” She unclipped the two-way radio from the waistband of her skirt. “I’ve been carrying this sucker around all day.”
She turned it on, but it didn’t light up.Shit. Was Maeve interfering with it? Or had she forgotten to replace the batteries? What with everything going on at the hotel, the second explanation was totally plausible.
