“…there was that haunted hotel in Salem. Bobby Rocket’s team was just there and they had some activity.”
“Ugh.” I groan at the mention of my competition. “I don’t want to copy Rocket.”
“You’d do a much better job, though,” Wren insists. “They were screaming at every single noise and swirl of dust in the air. You’d do a much more professional and thorough investigation.”
“What are their numbers?”
“High. Really high. So, if people are looking for more content about the hotel, you could ride that wave.”
“I’ll think about it. Let’s see what I come up with here, first.”
“All right.” Her voice rises to an excited pitch. “I’ll keep looking.”
“What about our comment sections?” I ask. “Any more tips from subscribers?”
“No.” She pauses for so long, I almost ask if the signal dropped. “It’s weird. No more comments about Crowsbridge Hollow, either.”
“Interesting,” I mutter. “I’ve run into a few people here who recognized me from the channel. I wonder if any of them sent in the tips,” I muse.
“Could be.”
“Mason was found,” I say. “No spooky mysteries there.”
“The news is saying it was just a ‘miscommunication’ with his parents. Have you heard different?” she asks.
“Just that he took off to meet his online girlfriend.” I shrug. “He’s a minor and he’s home safe. No reason for me to poke around and bother the family.”
“Good call,” she agrees.
“Thanks, Wren.”
We say goodbye, then disconnect.
I toss the phone on the comforter and lay there, staring at the ceiling. The memory of Declan’s big hands worshiping my body overrides the nagging anxiety in my stomach.
Live in the moment for once.
I roll over and sit up. I have a channel to run, and despite my brief detour to pierced dick nirvana, the “investigator” part of my brain is itching to learn more about the town and the curse.
I dress quickly—jeans, boots, and a dry coat. Something simple to help me blend in with the other tourists. I grab my bag, making sure my favorite gel pens are clipped to the inside pocket and my camera is fully charged, and pop a piece of cinnamon gum in my mouth. The familiar, spicy flavor motivates me to move my ass.
Mrs. Applewood’s at the front desk when I reach the first floor.
“Good morning, Emery.” A sly smile spreads over her wrinkled face, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Late night?”
Heat flashes over my cheeks but I swallow my embarrassment and ignore her question. “Is breakfast still on?”
She sweeps a hand toward the dining room. “Hot and ready.”
“Thanks.”
I study a map of the cemetery while scarfing down an obscene amount of eggs and bacon.
One name jumps out at me.Sterling Hill.
How’d I miss that?
Easy. Declan scared me away from the cemetery my first night here and I haven’t had a chance to return.
