Two arctic glares settled on him. Stone had encountered the men’s type before: the hard gazes, the flashy clothes, the confidence. These were not drunken idiots arguing over whose turn it was to buy the beer.
“You better go back in your room, man,” one said, his low, steady voice conveying subtle menace. Colorful tattoos covered a muscular torso in a white tank top. The other one, shorter and thinner, tweaked his denim vest aside to reveal the butt of a gun sticking out of his waistband. Neither blinked.
The display intrigued Stone more than frightened him, but he had no wish to cause trouble that might delay his exit from this hellhole. He assumed an appropriately fearful expression and raised placating hands. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just be on my way.” Mindful of their eyes still on him, he hurried back to his room. The old-fashioned lock chose that moment to stick—because of course it did. Good thing popping locks with magic was easy. Inside, he immediately peeked through a tiny opening in the curtains.
The two guys had already lost interest in him. They stopped talking and opened the door to the room on the far side of the gated alcove. A moment later it slammed shut.
Well. That was interesting.
Even more interesting: the ghostly maid was back.
This time she was on the far side of the room, and she wasn’t looking at Stone.
She was looking at the door.
“Do you know those two?”
She didn’t reply.
Stone waited several more moments to make sure the men were going to stay in their room. The echo remained where she was, clearly annoyed she wasn’t getting through to him.
“Let’s see if I can get some more information, shall we?” he muttered to her. “If you can’t tell me, maybe somebody else can.”
He still didn’t see the two men as he headed downstairs to the front desk. The clerk looked up in surprise when he appeared.
“Whaddya want now? We ain’t got any extra towels, and you missed teatime.” He snorted at his joke.
“Just a bit of information.”
That thoroughly flummoxed the man, who probably didn’t get too many inquisitive Brits around his sterling establishment. “Huh?”
“Has anyone died around here?”
The guy gave him a look. “What the fuck?”
“It’s a simple question. Has anyone died here at the motel?”
“Why?”
In Stone’s experience, the easiest way to get cooperation incases like this was by monetary incentive. He pulled out a couple of twenties and laid them on the counter next to a small nameplate that readFrank—Night Manager.“I’m doing research.”
Frank the Night Manager didn’t miss a beat. The twenties disappeared so fast Stone almost couldn’t follow the motion. “We had a few, I guess. Couple ODs…some guy shot some other guy a couple years back…I told you it ain’t that safe around here, specially after dark. Surprised some fancy-ass dude like you would even wanna stay here.”
“What about the maids?”
“What about ’em?”
“Was one ever killed here?”
Frank glared. “Listen, dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. Ain’t no maids ever got killed here. Why you even askin’?”
Stone had been watching Frank with magical sight as he answered. Auras weren’t foolproof lie detectors, but he was good enough he could usually pick up deception. This time, he saw none. Frank wasn’t lying. “Just curious. Never mind. You have a good evening.”
He was about to turn away and exit the office when Frank called, “Hey.”
“What?”
“Gimme another twenty and I’ll tell you somethin’ about a maid.”
