By the time they and the other tourists leave, there’s an ache behind my eyes and my mouth is dry. This work makes me thirsty. I flip the sign on the door toClosedand walk through the moldering, eclectic rooms of the museum, making certain I didn’t miss any stragglers. When I’m certain I’m alone, I head to the front desk, grab my water bottle from behind the counter, and face the giant stone gargoyle behind me. Leaning back against the counter, I sip my water.
The gargoyle is one of Hopkins’ most interesting exhibits, and he welcomes everyone when they enter the museum.
“Until this job,” I tell him sarcastically, “I never knew how annoying dealing with skeptics was.”
And I’m one of those skeptics, sort of, I think. I can never tell anymore. I’ve become too good at pretending. It was inevitable, after spending countless hours in this place.
Rain begins to fall, pinging the dusty front windows. A light flickers, and the gargoyle seems to grow bigger as a shadow dances across his hulking form.
There’s a knock on the door, and I turn around. Through the glass top of the front door, I spot a shadowy figure on the other. “We’re closed!” I shout.
“I think I left my phone inside!”
The father. Of course, it’s the father. I put my water away, grab my keys, and head for the door.
“Thank you,” he huffs, hunkering from the rain. “Do you mind if I take a quick look?”
I do mind. I don’t like being alone with strange,annoyingly skepticalmen. Every day, I’m burned by one of them. Regardless, I usher him inside. “Sure. I’m just closing up for the night.”
“I’ll be quick.” He smiles and walks past me, his gaze streaking across the front room’s displays before heading deeper inside. “I promise.”
I follow behind him anyway, staying at the threshold of each room until he finds his phone near the dragon tooth display. He gives me another smile as he sighs with relief, and I lead him to the front.
“Thank you again,” he says, but instead of dashing back outside, he nears the counter.
I glance at the gargoyle like he’s a coworker who can hear my repressed sigh. Still, I head behind the counter, so at least the gargoyle has my back as I face the father. “Is there something else you need?”
Where’s your son?is what I’m really asking.
His lips tilt upward. “Do you really believe this stuff?”
“I do,” I lie easily. Too easily.
“It’s nonsense, though.” As he says it, the light flickers, and when his gaze streaks past me, landing on the gargoyle, his cocky smile slips.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
The father’s gaze returns to me, his smile less certain. “Doesn’t this place scare you?”
Sometimes. “Not at all,” I lie again. “I enjoy the mystery of it all.”
That last part wasn’t a fib.
“I like a good mystery too… What do you say about joining me for dinner and telling me a few more of your favorites?”
The light shudders again as a heavy boom of thunder sounds. I swallow shallowly as another, far more annoyed sigh threatens to escape. Except as the shadows expand and retract, the father’s eyes retreat to the gargoyle.
“That’s kind of you, but I can’t. I have plans already.”
His gaze drops back to me, his brow furrowed. “That’s too bad—”
“I’m sure your son doesn’t need any more of this place.”
“Don’t worry about the kid. He’ll be sleeping at the motel. What about a quick drink? Maybe you can show me the Watering Hole? It’s right across the street.”
Eww.I like this guy less and less the more he speaks. And that’s the problem with small towns. The good partners are all taken, and the bad ones… well, they often remain that way—even if they’re just a tourist passing through. “I am sorry, I do have plans,” I say, heading to the front door to show him out.
My plans include finishing my book and sleeping.
