“Miriam Dodd. She didn’t have much information to share. I did get one of the women’s name. In the files I reviewed, I discovered that the July, 2002, register is missing. I assume the police took it. I was hoping you could request it along with a copy of their investigation file. Miriam said she gave a statement, and I’d like to read it and any others that were obtained.”
“That’s not a good idea. It will only raise suspicion. Why is it even necessary? What difference does it make? This isn’t a police investigation.”
“I’ve already explained that I need to determine whose spirit is doing the haunting and why. If one or more of the women are still here, they may object to leaving until their murderer is revealed. I know I would.”
I start to say more, but Boshears has already rolled her eyes so I switch gears. “We have an agreement regarding how I do my job. Your lack of cooperation isn’t part of the deal. I realize the cleaning women’s lawsuit has changed things for you, but it hasn’t changed anything for me or our agreement. This day could have been more productive. Tomorrow must be.”
“My decisions on how to handle this matter can’t revolve around whatever works for you.”
“You should have thought of that before you had me come here. If you can’t honor your agreement, I need to leave.”
Boshears’ face has turned white and she’s shaking. I’m irritated then realize she might not be okay. She looks to be on the verge of a panic attack. “Do you need something? A glass of water?” Her eyes jerk and she looks at me like she forgot I was in the room.
“I’m fine. You can go now.”
“Go? Where?”
“To your room. I’m sorry, I’m tired. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Did your attorney okay my staying on the thirteenth floor?”
“Yes, he did. I completely forgot. Please check with the front desk for the key. Thank you Ms. Raven. Good evening.”
I shut the door behind me and listen for a few seconds. I’m not sure what happened to the woman, but I don’t think she’s just tired. When I don’t hear anything, I go to the front desk to get the key cards.
“Room 1301,” the clerk says, with a smile.
“Which end is that on?”
“That would be the east end,” he says.
“I need the keys to the other rooms.”
The clerk is staring at the monitor. “I’m sorry, my only instructions are to give you the key to room 1301.”
“Thanks.”
He’s laughing as I walk to the elevator. I’m hoping it has nothing to do with me, but I don’t turn around to find out.
“Okay,” I tell Rita, “we’re moving up in the world. I want you to be nice to any spirits up there. We’re here to help, not to harm them. Understand?” I pick her up by her furry head and put her in her bag and plastic box.
The elevator opens and I step onto the thirteenth floor. The air is cool and there’s a hint of sweet lavender that I don’t think is from cleaning products. I close my eyes and try to sense the energy. I’m not sensing anything but an empty hotel floor.
What an uncomfortable coincidence that I’m in the room where Janet Onha was murdered. The thirteenth floor is definitely nicer; the room is twice the size as the one on the twelfth floor. These are not teacher salary accommodations.
“If you can behave yourself,” I tell Rita, “you can stay out of your box. But you’re going back in if you can’t.” I set her on the dresser and flop on the bed with my laptop. I need to see what I can find out about Janet Onha.
There are thousands of hits on the name, but all the women appear to be very much alive. I add the hotel name, date, and murder to my search. Janet Onha, the woman who died in this room, is not remembered in cyberspace. I search on the last name, which appears to be Chickasaw. I get that same chill I felt when Miriam said the woman’s name. Sadly, after the State of Tennessee relocated the Native Americans to Oklahoma, Janet found her way back.
Miriam said she didn’t know anything about the women. Seems to me information about them whether fact or fiction would have been flying in this town. And maybe people were more respectful of others’ privacy back then, but I doubt their names didn’t make it into the local gossip. I’m tempted to go to Aubrey’s office and retrieve the records to find out if I missed seeing them earlier.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I tell Mojo. “It’s cooler outside now.” I know he doesn’t believe me. He stops to snort at Rita before walking out the door.
I head to the Dirty Dog for dinner. I’m not a tavern sort of person, but I feel drawn to this one. It’s a little after seven and the place is getting crowded. There’s a different bartender on duty, and for that I feel lucky. Even more so when I see that he’s friendly.
I order potato skins and a beer. He winks and smiles like he’s got a secret. I hope it’s one I want to hear.
“Tartar sauce?”
“Definitely.”
“Dog want a sausage?” He laughs. Mojo is at my feet, and I was thinking the guy had missed seeing him when we came in.
“Sure,” I say. I take the bill and lay an extra five on top. He stays close by to see what I want. “I’m staying at the Herman Hotel.” I chuckle, realizing that sounds like an offer. The bartender’s probably in his early twenties. He’s got a cute little dimple and happy eyes. I’m thinking he actually likes his job.
“How is it?”
“Comfortable,” I say. “I’m more interested in its history though.”
He’s wiping the counter and keeps glancing up at me. “Been closed for as long as I’ve known of the place.”
“Why’s that?”
He shrugs. “You don’t want to know.”
“Wouldn’t ask unless I did.”
The microwave buzzes. He leans towards me while holding the plate of potato skins. “Murder and mayhem.” He winks again as he sets the plate in front of me.
He could drag this conversation out all night, and I don’t intend to take that long. “What do you know about the women who were murdered?” I ask in my fake detective voice.
He smiles wide. “I was just a kid when it happened. I didn’t know anything about them. I stay on the light side of life.” He winks again. It’s getting annoying.
“Jason.” A waitress is behind me who wants the bartender’s full attention and then some. She’s standing too close while ignoring me.
The place is getting louder and the cigarette smoke is closing in. Jason is busy filling mugs and having a good time. I finish my food and beer and head to the restroom. When I’m on my way out, the same waitress is standing in the hallway. She’s young with long blonde dreadlocks, a large and ornate lip cuff, and is amply endowed by the creator or the plastic surgeon.
I nod my head at her as I go to pass and she grabs my arm.
“I heard you talking to Jason about the hotel. You shouldn’t stay there,” she says.
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe.” She’s looking down the hallway like she’s afraid someone is going to hear her.
“Because of what happened fifteen years ago?”
“Not then, now. The one running the place is crazy. The whole family’s crazy.”
“Are you talking about Ellen Boshears?”
“Shhh. Don’t tell anyone I said anything or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else you’ll end up like the women who were murdered.” Someone has turned up the music and it’s drowning out her words. She’s shaking her finger at me.
“Who are you talking about? Do you know who murdered the women in the hotel?”
She leans in and shouts, “Sooner or later she’s going to snap again. She’s all lies. Leave now before it’s too late.” She turns around and staggers then practically runs away.
“Wait, who?” I’m just standing there when she goes around a corner. I follow and don’t see the woman anywhere. Mojo is getting too much attention in my absence. I go to the bar and ask Jason wh
ere the waitress went. He tells me she went on break. I don’t believe him for a second.
I take a business card from my wallet and hand it to him with another five. “Give this to her, will you?”
He looks at it and turns it over. I have two business cards. One for my ghost eradication services, and one for people I don’t want to know I offer ghost services. That one only has my name and number, and it’s the one Jason is looking at. He’s looking like he thinks it’s all very suspicious.
“Will do,” he says, and slips it into his shirt pocket. I figure I have a fifty-fifty chance of him giving it to the woman.
I start to walk away then turn back. “What’s her name again?”
He grins and his dimple nearly sparkles. “What was it again?” He’s rubbing his chin and laughing. I have less than a five percent chance of him giving her the card.
I head to the door and hear my name called. Jason is waving his hand. I take a few steps back and he says, “If she gave you some advice, you might be smart to take it.”
“If who gave me some advice?”
He laughs too loud and turns away.
Chapter Seventeen
§
Mojo walks to the back of the hotel like he knew that’s where we were going. He disappears through the bushes while I go to the fountain and watch the windows on the thirteenth floor, waiting for the lights to come on. This time though I’m sitting on the side of the fountain in case the old man shows up again. The old man who may be Butch Seggren, who maybe likes to check on the ladies. I should have asked Miriam what he looks like.
If it’s true that the lights come on at the same time each night, I expect them to come on any second now. I’d be upstairs waiting for them if I wasn’t wanting to see the old man again. I want to know who he is and what he knows. Somehow I think he will be as unforthcoming with information as Jason the bartender.
I’m taking with a grain of salt the waitress’s warning. She came off a little flakey and a lot paranoid. It’s hard to believe that she was talking about Boshears, who I doubt has ever stepped a foot in the Dirty Dog.
I’m getting bored just sitting and staring at the windows so I check my phone. Levi’s left me a message. I have mixed feelings about that. I average six or seven jobs a year and when I’m working, the dead get a hundred percent of my focus. With the problems on my home turf, my thoughts are scattered. I don’t need any news that will distract me.
“What took you so long to call me back?”
“I’m working?” I can tell the man’s pacing. “What happened?”
“The cops arrested Guzzleman for breaking into your house. I’m checking all the locks right now.”
“Mateo?” Mateo Guzman’s a few years older than me and Levi. He’s a hardy partier and a frequent troublemaker when he drinks too much. Otherwise, he’s a good enough guy for a deadbeat.
“He’s in jail right now.”
“What’d he do?”
“I just told you. He broke into your hou—
“Would you calm down, already? I heard that much. Did he damage anything? Steal anything? Did he confess to putting the skunk pig in the dining room?” I can hear Levi flop down and exhale a breath he’s been holding too long.
“He drank some of my beer.”
“Wow. No wonder you’re so upset.”
“I’m having the locks changed on the doors.”
“Were you going to ask if that’s okay with me?”
“No. I’ve got my hands full here with work and your security cameras and old locks and an airport mystery box and that dang skunk pig buried in the backyard.”
“You sound whiny. Go home. I’ll deal with things when I get back. Mateo was probably drunk. He needs rehab not jail. I’ll talk to him when I get home. Tell whoever arrested him that I won’t press charges. If he’s responsible for that skunk pig being in my house though, he’s going to be praying for a jail cell.”
“It was my beer.”
“What’s really going on? Anna’s not acting up is she?”
Levi ignores me. “How’s it going on your job?”
After I tell him about Boshears and Aubrey and all the others, he agrees that he’s being whiny. Then he tells me that Maybelle had him take her to the shop that she wants me to rent so I can do tarot card readings full time. I start to tell him I’m sorry about that when he says it’s in a location with a lot of foot traffic.
We talk another ten minutes, and Levi tells me his dinner is ready. I think he’s making himself right at home in my house.
Mojo has come back to stand in the middle of the fountain. “Looks like nobody’s checking on the rooms tonight,” I tell him. That’s very disappointing, to me anyway. It appears that the old man isn’t going to show up either. Seems nobody wants me to figure out what’s going on.
I coax the wolfdog out of the fountain. We walk down the street so he’ll dry off before we go back inside. Except for the Dirty Dog, the businesses are closed and the road down the center of town is empty. I turn back to look at the hotel.
So how did the person who killed the women get inside? Good question. A guest would have had the easiest access to them. Maybe he saw them in the lobby, waited, then took the elevator up. Probably not. Going room to room to kill three people had to require some planning. The killer had to realize they would scream and wake one another. He had to prepare for that little problem.
If it was an employee, he had time to prepare, but no time to clean up after his deadly deed. Unless he was already off work. But how did someone who had to be soaked in blood get out of the hotel without being seen? Or without leaving a trail?
I walk to the back of the hotel. There’s a service area that’s next to an alley. If it was there fifteen years ago, it would have been an easy escape route. There are two big but very dim lights that are casting a yellow glow over the dock and the back entrance. I try the door and am shocked to find that it opens. I haven’t seen a single security guard since I’ve been here. Boshears was an idiot to fire them.
I lean inside and find a switch on the wall. Fluorescent lights flicker on and off before staying on. First, I scan the walls and ceiling for cameras. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t already watching me. I pull a garbage can to the door to hold it open then go farther inside.
The interior looks old. I suspect that the dock was added years after the hotel was built. There’s a wide open area that’s stocked with supplies and cleaning equipment. On the far end is the staircase. The concrete steps are encased by concrete walls. It’s around four feet wide and probably wouldn’t pass a building inspection these days. It’s too dark to see anywhere near the top step.
I don’t want to go up those steps, but I’d sure like to find out where in the hotel the door opens. Three minutes tops, and I can find out. I just hope I don’t set off an alarm when I open the door. I might get away with telling the locals and even Boshears’ employees that I’m doing private security work, but it’s unwise to tell the police that story.
“Keep a look out,” I tell Mojo. I get about five steps up and he pushes past me. “Or lead the way. Whatever works for you.”
The toe of my boot hits the back of each step. When I’m what I hope is halfway up, it’s still too dark to see the door that I hope to find soon.
I’m watching my steps and trailing my hand against the cold wall. I can feel the dirt collecting on my skin, and my face is clearing out the cobwebs. When I look up, I see too big amber eyes and nothing else. I nearly fall back. Mojo’s big paw scrapes against a door. I reach out in the darkness to find the knob. It’s old cast iron and turns freely but does nothing else. “Pray we don’t set off an alarm,” I say, as I jiggle the knob and push the door with all my strength. The door is definitely locked.
It’s nice to know that the few guests in the hotel are safe even though thousands of dollars in supplies are available for the taking.
“Okay, let’s go back to the room.” As soon as the word
s are out of my mouth, the door downstairs slams so hard it rattles things below and the lights go out. Great. If it was windy outside, I would assume the garbage can blew away from the door. There’s no wind. Could have been an animal. I’m sure there are plenty of those in the field next door. Or it could be the old man who is the murderer and who is waiting for me to come down. Luckily, Mojo wants to go first.
“Don’t take off,” I whisper. I’m unsteady with each step I take, none of which I can see since there isn’t so much as a sliver of light in the place. My foot keeps reaching for the bottom landing, but all I’m finding is another step, and the wolfdog is long gone and totally silent.
Just when I think there’s no bottom step anymore, the door slams again, the light comes on, a man screams what sounds to be his last, and I slip on a step and go the rest of the way down on my rear end.
Chapter Eighteen
§
Lucky for me, my tailbone absorbed all the impact on the stairs. I sure don’t want to walk, but I’ve got to find out who met Mojo. When I hobble around the staircase wall, I find out and it’s not good.
One of Tennessee’s finest is flat on his back. The wolfdog is standing on the man’s chest and other parts with his mouth clamped around the guy’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and wince. Dear Great Spirit, don’t let him arrest me or be dead. I’m in no shape for a strip search or a murder charge. I pull Mojo off the man. He gets up and goes into panic mode looking for what I suspect is his handgun. Thank the gods it isn’t in his holster or his hand, yet.
“I’m really sorry. He thought you were a murderer.” I’m talking nonsense.
“Freeze,” he yells, but he looks like he’s about to cry.
“Okay. We will. Really, he was just protecting me. I’m here working for Ellen Boshears, the hotel’s owner. I’m private security. We both are.” Now I’m lying to a cop.
“Is that a wolf?” He’s got his gun, but he isn’t pointing it at either of us.
“Tamaskan,” I say. “Wolf hybrid.” I’ve just realized that I’m not standing upright, and I don’t want to. The cop is still staring at Mojo, who isn’t interested in the man anymore. “I was checking the doors. The outside one was open, but the one at the top of the stairs is locked.”
The Taw Ridge Haunting Page 9
