The Roche Hotel: Season One

by Mysti Parker

  ****

  At 6:58PM, I arrive for the night shift yet again, preoccupied with thoughts of Henry, not to mention the hotel’s newest ghostly guest. First there’s a dead body on my shift, and now a ghost? Of course, it’s ridiculous, but I’m starting to think I better take a gander at the classifieds tonight.

  I’m rummaging through my purse, looking for my lipstick as I step through the door and run smack into someone.

  “Oh, sorry,” the someone says.

  “Yeah, sorry.” I look up into a camera lens two inches from my face. There’s a guy behind it, and another guy behind him with a fuzzy boom mike. “What’s going on?”

  “Better ask your boss.”

  Susan and Richard are in deep conversation with a woman who wears a Hawaiian print muumuu and mismatched costume jewelry. She also has this mole on the corner of her nose where it meets her upper lip. I’d recognize that mole anywhere—she’s a psychic from one of the local cable channels. Mystic Marie or something like that. I started watching her show on the little TV in the hotel office. Keeps me awake in the wee morning hours when I need a good laugh. Richard comes over as the camera and sound guys step aside.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Jane. We’re having an investigation,” he says, pulling at his already loose tie.

  “An investigation? You mean for ghosts?”

  “One ghost, we think.”

  “Sorry to be blunt, but that lady who claimed to see the ghost…” I left out the part where the broken music system had insulted her butt size. “…she was a little cranky and might have just wanted a free room.”

  “I gave her a refund,” Richard says, dabbing sweat from his forehead with a tissue.

  “What did she say happened?”

  “She said something jerked the covers off her bed and moved her watch.”

  “Uh huh.” Sarcasm drips off my tongue, but Richard doesn't notice.

  “As fortune would have it,” he said, puffing out his chest slightly, “Mrs. Roche isn’t here to interfere, so we thought it best to have the investigators out tonight and put an end to this ghost problem before we lose any more guests.”

  While I’m tempted to grab my boss and shake him, I figure it’s best to refrain until I have a better job prospect. I take my place behind the front desk and prepare for another weird night.

  I wait until Richard and Susan drift down the hall with the filming crew. Then, I text Henry:

  If you’re not busy, I could use some company. The ghost busters are here.

  A few seconds later, he responds:

  Wow, must be serious! I’ll be there soon. LOL

  All the lights are out when Henry arrives, except for the front desk computer casting its eerie glow on my face. The light coming in from the parking lot allows me to admire his silhouette—tight jeans, lean waist, and broad shoulders. Maybe this ghost thing wasn’t ridiculous after all.

  He sets our Chinese takeout on the counter and grins. “Never a dull moment, huh?”

  “Not at the Roche Hotel. Come on back with me.”

  I let him in through the office door. We sit at the sturdy desk. I open the brown paper bag and inhale the greasy goodness of Golden Wok’s egg rolls. We eat in silence for a while, listening to the muffled voices of the film crew roaming the halls.

  “How’s your grandpa?” I ask. “Any PTSD from the scooter mishap?”

  “No, he’s tough as a week-old donut. But he’s rather soft when it comes to your mom. I think she really likes him, too. He’s been without my grandma for twenty years now, so it’s good to see him enjoying a lady’s attention again. How do you feel about it?”

  “I’m not sure whether to be happy for them or give them a curfew.”

  Henry laughs. “I think it’s sweet. He’s a real gentleman, so you don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. I’m just a little overprotective.” The dim light gives me courage to ask the question that’s been nagging me all day. “You mentioned Anne this morning—what happened?”

  He takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth on a napkin. “She went back to her first boyfriend. They got married last year.”

  “I know this sounds paranoid, but when I called you the other night, I heard a woman’s voice in the background.”

  “Yeah, that was Anne.”

  “Oh.” Egg rolls somersault in my stomach. I should have known. Just like Nick. I can’t trust Henry. Stuffing my empty boxes back into the bag, I start to stand, but Henry takes my hand and holds it tightly. I freeze, staring at the blinking red light on the office phone.

  “They had a fight,” he said. “The guy’s a loser. I told her that a long time ago. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I let her sleep on the couch. She was up and gone the next morning. You have every right to be paranoid. I would be, too, if I heard a guy with you.”

  I dare to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know if I can-.” Trust you, I want to say, but the words won’t come.

  “I understand. But, I’m asking you to give me a chance. We can take it slow. I’m not in any hurry for commitment, but I care about you, Jane. A lot.”

  “Henry, I-”

  He stops whatever primordial thing I was about to say with a soft kiss. My God, his lips are like warm velvet. I feel like I’m submerged in a Calgon bath instead of sitting in a chilly air-conditioned hotel. I reach up to touch his face when the office door bursts open.

  We both jump back in our chairs. I add a scream for dramatic effect.

  It’s not a ghost, I realize, but Mrs. Gonsalves, the night housekeeper. “Mi fantasma. Ellos no pueden tomar mi fantasma. Me ayuda.”

  Henry looks at me and shrugs. Luckily I know enough Spanish to translate. “She says they can’t take her ghost. It…helps her.”

  “Beds, towels,” Mrs. Gonsalves says in her thick Spanish accent. “Not bad, must stay.”

  “You mean the ghost folds towels?” I ask.

  “Si. Must stay. Or I go.”

  I’m not sure why Mrs. Gonsalves needs help considering the lack of guests. She might also be crazy, but she’s a good housekeeper, and I don’t want her to go. She brings me homemade enchiladas. That alone is reason for action.

  Henry laughs. “Well, what are we going to do?”

  “There’s only one thing I can think of.”

  I flip through the rolodex, pick up the office phone, and dial Mrs. Roche’s number. Half an hour later, the ghost busters are running for their lives from the wrath of a little old lady, and I’m soaking up another kiss from Henry.

  I don’t need a psychic to know it won’t be the last.