“That went well,” Viola says to me, tipping her witch’s hat. “Mind if I stick around for the ghost-hunting tour?”
“You’re absolutely welcome to,” I reply. “Once the kids are gone, will you stay and mingle with the bar crawl ghouls?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She cackles in character. Her face is painted green, and she sports a large mole. “I know I’ve been critical of the historical aspects of the bordello, but good old Halloween fun doesn’t have to be historically accurate.”
“Thanks.” I pat her shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
“However.” She waggles a thin finger at me. “There are questions about what this property is built on. I’m still digging in the county records and looking through old letters and deeds. I’m not sure Madam Goldilocks was a real person.”
“Why does it matter? As long as everyone’s entertained. Listen, I have to go back inside for the cocktail party. Thanks for doing the story hour.”
“Hey, Tami,” Corny says, coming toward us. He’s sucking on a swirly lollipop and popping candy corn like they’re nitroglycerin pills. “Everyone’s having a great time.”
“The kids sure did,” Viola says, picking up her crooked broomstick. She waves at me and cackles, pretending to ride off on her broom like it’s a stick pony.
“Did we have any problems? Incidents?” I ask Corny, who’s taken it upon himself to be the leader of the Vice Squad.
“Other than the kid who threw up after stuffing his mouth full of black licorice.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “A few torn costumes and a lost child who was found quickly. I’d say the Graveyard Party was a huge success. Hope it stays that way once the bar crowd shows up.”
“Did you check on all the deputies? Are they keeping busy?”
“Dillon and Al are patrolling the perimeter. Randy and Chad are inside. I haven’t seen Justin, but we probably don’t need him at this stage.”
“Maybe he went back to the town square.”
“They’ll need him over there,” Corny says. “I heard Todd is at the town square by himself. He could use some help.”
I don’t contradict him, because that’s what Todd wants everyone to believe. He’s hidden behind a disguise and incognito as far as the town’s concerned, although I’m sure his family knows he’s the huge and furry Sasquatch Sheriff hovering around the premises.
“Where’s Shane?” I ask, wondering why I haven’t seen his smirky face around. I’m sure not even a mask could hide his smarmy attitude.
“He’s at the station holding the fort. Have to have someone responding to calls,” Corny replies. “Guess you better get in there now that the hotel guests are starting to arrive.”
I thank him for the update and turn toward the check-in desk.
“Tami!” My sorority sister, Bonnie, and her fiancé, Clifton, stand next to their luggage. “This is awesome. So spooky, but tastefully done. I can’t wait for the ghost hunt.”
Bonnie is resplendent as a fairy princess. Jewels are embedded in her silvery gown, and a sparkling tiara crowns her golden-blond hair.
“So glad you could make it.” I hug her, bumping into her pregnant belly before shaking hands with Clifton.
His palm is sweaty and clammy, and he gives me the creeps, wearing a top hat and tails, with his face covered by a gaping ghoul mask.
“Let me show you to your room, the Baja Angel Studio.” I signal to an employee to pick up their suitcases. As soon as I open the basement door, I realize my mistake.
“We have to walk down those steps?” Bonnie asks, looking horrified.
“I, uh, well, thought …” There’s no way I can put her in the basement at this rate—not with her being so wobbly.
“Why not?” Clifton takes Bonnie’s elbow and propels her forward. “I’m betting there’s a ghost down there. Maybe a body in the coal bin. Didn’t you say you wanted to be terrified out of your mind?”
Bonnie nods stiffly. “Of course. I wanted to assess the investment potential, but is there no lift?”
“There’s a service elevator,” I mumble. “Let me ask the concierge if there’s another room available.”
I’m sure this is going to mess up the personalized haunts, but then again, Bonnie is a potential investor, and I can’t have her inconvenienced.
“Have my parents checked in yet?” I ask Neil Thompson, the concierge I hired away from a chain motel in Sacramento.
“Nope. I called earlier to confirm and didn’t get an answer,” he replies. “I know how overbooked we are.”
“I’ll need to move my parents out of Weeping Widow and see if they’ll take Baja Angel.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting.” She presses her hand on her pregnant belly and winces. “Does she cry all night?”
Not any worse than the crying baby in Baja Angel, but I keep it to myself.
“I’m not sure I like the Widow part.” Clifton’s grimace makes his undertaker persona even grimmer.
“How about the Goldilocks Suite?” Neil taps on the screen. “You assigned it to Diana Van Dirk. She hasn’t checked in yet, and when I called earlier to confirm, I didn’t get an answer.”
“Oh, I can’t kick her out of Goldilocks.” I shudder at the tantrum she’ll throw.
“Why not? She might be a no-show,” Neil says. “Besides, isn’t she the one who won the raffle?”
I’m not going to admit I kowtowed to Diana, so I told my employees she won a free night. “Yes, but I …”
“The raffle says a free night, but didn’t specify a room,” Neil reminds me. “Best rooms should go to the people who pay.”
“Okay, then, Goldilocks it is.” I flash an assuring smile toward Bonnie and Clifton.
“Excellent choice,” Molly says from behind me. She’s wearing a witch’s peaked hat with plastic spiders dangling from her hair. One tooth is blackened to give her a gap-toothed smile. “I made sure it’s not too hot, not too cold, and just right. The only effects in there are holographic. Completely harmless. I can also switch out the personalized greetings.”
“Hey, you shouldn’t be telling me all your secrets,” Bonnie says. “I want to be surprised.”
“Not in your condition,” Clifton says in a foreboding voice. “Come on, Bon-Bon, let’s unpack and head for the cocktail party. I’ve had enough excitement for the evening.”
After Bonnie and Clifton walk off with the bellhop carrying their luggage, a werewolf sporting a red cape enters.
“I’m Diana Van Dirk,” the wolf says. Her mask covers her face, and her eyes glow red, although I can detect eyeholes where the wolf’s eyebrows are painted.
“We’re putting you in the basement,” Molly says, as if she has authority. “One of the hotel investors is pregnant and had to take the Goldilocks Suite.”
“I can switch you to Pickaxe Polly,” I suggest, but my voice is cut off by a growl from Diana.
“Beware, Miss King. I told you there will be a tragedy if I don’t assume my rightful place at the Bee Sting Bordello.”
It’s time I stand up for myself. I puff up my chest and put my hands on my hips.
“Ms. Van Dirk, I already provided you a free room courtesy of your winning the raffle, not because you threatened me. This is my hotel fair and square, and I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.”
“I’m warning you. If you care about your pregnant friend, you won’t put her in my room.”
“That’s it.” I grab the PE teacher’s arm. “I’m afraid we don’t have a room for you tonight.”
She jerks her muscular arm from my grasp. “Oh, I will be staying the night, one way or another. You can either let me sprinkle ashes across the thresholds to keep this place safe, or endure the wrath of my ancestors.”
“The basement is better than nothing,” Neil says in a conciliatory voice. “Perhaps we can allow you to do your sprinkling there.”
“Bring me ashes and rose petals.” Diana raises her wolf’s head mask back and howls as if the full moo
n is above her instead of the chandelier. “We shall rise again. My brothers and sisters. This is our destiny.”
The physical education teacher was always weird, chugging down protein drinks while walking around with a dumbbell, but now, I’m wondering if she’s also a raccoon killer.
“Okay, then,” Molly cackles and makes witchy fingers. “I’ll see you to your lair.”
Ignoring the warning voices inside me, I head back to the cocktail party to greet the rest of the guests. My HEX sisters, who are staying in Ma Belle’s Tearoom, are busily flirting with Todd.
“Tami, where’d you get this hairy guy?” Suzette asks. “He won’t tell us his name.”
“He won’t say much of anything.” Rosalie hooks her hand around his furry arm. “Just grunts like a Neanderthal.”
“That’s because he’s a bigfoot.” I play along and give Todd a wink.
“Big foot or big something else?” Larissa giggles and rubs her fox tail against him. “Where’d you find him?”
“Online.” I stick to the story we concocted. “Bad Boys for Hire, Bigfoot Edition.”
“Oh, darn, I should have hired me one of those bad boys—Sheikh Edition.” Dark-haired Suzette, who’s dressed like a gaudy belly dancer, shakes her girdle full of bells.
“Hook me up with a Viking Bad Boy.” Rosalie flexes her biceps and pulls out a fake sword from underneath her fur-trimmed Valkyrie cape. The horned helmet bobbles down and covers her eyes for a moment, causing us to dissolve in giggles.
“Hey, I want this Sasquatch for the evening. I’m a distant relative. I’ll show you my private fur if you show me yours.” Larissa in her Robin Hood fox costume grabs Todd’s paw. Her green eyes shimmer underneath her red bangs, and she twitches her black grease-painted fox nose.
Someone pops a champagne bottle nearby, and my parents flap their bat wings into the dining room. My mother wears a black velvet flared dress, and my father is in a tuxedo. Blood-red lips, white makeup on their faces, and fangs fitted on their teeth gives them a fresh-from-Transylvania look.
More guests arrive, including my bestie, Linx, and her sisters, Joey, Vivi, and Becca—all dressed in a variety of witch-like attire. I haven’t seen their brother, Scott, since the summer when we had all those fires, but Chad shows up as a zombie cowboy, wearing a bloodstained ten-gallon hat and a wig tangled with bits of bone and strips of plastic flesh.
He gives me a thumbs up and points to his Zombie Sheriff badge. Randy Sutter, Molly’s brother, is also in place as the other security guard. He’s some kind of trapper, wearing strips of fur over a buckskin jacket and pants. His face is grease-painted brown, and he has a hunting knife sheathed to his waist.
I spot Evan Graves with a glowing alien mask over a Victorian steampunk costume full of gears, goggles, and other contraptions.
The last guest of note is Mayor Chip Colson. Wearing a skeleton clown suit, he staggers in from the bar with his arm around Diana Van Dirk who towers over him.
Strange. I didn’t know they were buddies, and I wonder if she has an ulterior motive in hooking up with him.
“To the King family of Colson’s Corner,” he proclaims. “We hereby declare the official start to Spooky Fest. May this night be full of horrifying and hair-raising haunts.”
Twenty
~ X ~
Well, well, well, he thinks to himself as he watches the fancy guests check into Princess Kingpin Puff’s Harrowing Haunts Hotel.
So smug and upper crust—all of them. Driving to the parking circle in their Mercedes, BMWs, Porsches, Audis and one ancient Datsun 280ZX.
That would be Poppyboob’s tin can. It must cost her a mint to keep that old Japanese import running.
Then again, she has to be the center of attention, especially tonight. There she goes, strutting around like she owns the place.
On paper, she does. But not on ash, dust, or dirt.
She can never own the blood that soaked deep into the ground, the sweat that watered the earth, and the rivers of tears tunneling underneath.
Neither does she own the broken spirits and crushed bones. Her money can’t buy the misery that cries to the heavens, demanding revenge and retribution.
She owes me.
He spits on the brown earth and shoves his hands into his pockets. He’ll keep watch all right, and he’ll watch the deputies who are also watching.
The four old guys are of no account.
They call themselves the Vice Squad, but the only vices they indulge in are gossip, cards, and the circle jerk while watching porn.
Pathetic.
Their eyes are weak, and they can barely breathe.
They’ll cause more trouble than help. Think heart attacks, strokes, and trick knees.
The other guys are jerks, but they’ll be roaring drunk before the end of the night. Typical small-town losers. Drink too much, drive too fast, hate their jobs, and hard up for pussy and hoping for a freebie.
The only man he has to worry about is cowboy Chad Colson. He’s the sheriff’s brother, and he’s one mean motherfucker. He works on the ranch, breaks in their father’s horses, and hauls giant fieldstones around to build walls. Luckily, he’s beneath Chad’s notice and hasn’t done anything to attract his ire.
He circles the hotel and nods to the deputies. Some are directing traffic while others stand around shooting the breeze. They like to impress the women, and there are a lot of party girls from that fancy college Princess Puffbutt went to.
Dripping with jewels. Fake as saccharine. Boob jobs and plastic smiles. Sipping wine and swirling the glasses like they’re at some fancy tasting in a Napa Valley wine cave.
Pffft. Would be so much fun to terrify them. Would serve them right, too. Isn’t that what they paid for? To be scared shitless?
He rubs the nightstick he was given to enforce the law while his real enforcer stick hardens inside his pants. High society chicks scream the loudest. He’ll make a note of the rooms they’re assigned to, and he’ll have to save them for later.
He crosses through the parking area and unlatches the gate to the service area where deliveries and trash are dropped off and picked up.
The dumpsters are empty, for now, and he tries the door to the storeroom. It’s locked, but he knows the kitchen staff will prop it open later on to throw out the trash.
The aroma of roasted meats fills the air near the open windows of the kitchen, and a curl of wood smoke ascends from the chimney. He closes in near the dining room window and listens.
The tinkling of silverware and drone of conversation mingle with laughter and the clink of glasses.
They’re having a grand ol’ time in there, he thinks. But they won’t be laughing when the spooks begin.
He’d lurked around often enough to be friendly with the workers. They’d shown him the contraptions they were building, and he’d tested some of the flying objects and reset the targets for them.
He moves behind a bush and peers into the lighted dining room.
There she is.
Princess Powder Butt dressed as Madam Goldilocks.
Her blond hair is piled high like a beehive underneath a monstrous hat, and her bounteous bosom is barely covered by the gaudy ruffles of her whorish dress.
How dare she impersonate Madam Goldilocks, as if she were the rightful heiress of the Bee Sting Bordello?
He pounds his fist into the thick stone wall and grunts, his eyes narrowing at the beastlike creature sitting next to her.
Tami’s date drapes a fur-covered arm over her chair, and his face is covered with a gorilla-like mask dripping with long and tangled hair. He’s wearing a vest with a fake sheriff’s star and a pair of raggedy breeches, but his feet are encased in huge plastic shoes that look like big bare feet.
Who is he, and where did Princess Pussyfoot find Bigfoot?
He hopes Tami’s date is as stupid as he looks. Probably one of those degenerate one-percenters, a fraternity douchebag she met at the fancy university.
He moves away
from the dining room and circles the back of the Bee Sting. Most of the guest rooms are dark, but a few have shadows of their occupants. Madam Goldilocks’s Boudoir is dark.
Eh, heh, heh.
He laughs evilly, as tests the window, prying the pane with a knife.
It doesn’t budge.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” a male voice snaps from behind the beam of a flashlight.
“I’m one of the deputies,” he replies easily. “What are you doing?”
“Same thing. Quite a party they have going in there, eh?” The voice is one of the old guys.
“You seen the sheriff around?” He’s glad he’s undercover, literally, and he’s good at disguising his voice.
“Nope,” the old guy says. “Heard he’s at the town square. We’re the ones in charge here.”
“Yep. You better get back to the parking area. Heard there are drunks trick or treating there. Got to make sure they’re safe.”
“Come with me,” the old man says. “I don’t think there’s any danger lurking out back unless it’s one of the ghosts.”
He walks partway with the old guy who he now recognizes as Donnie. When Corny greets them, slapping his nightstick like he’s some kind of Keystone cop, he retreats silently into the shadows.
Hushed voices whisper behind the building, and he spots the meddlesome witch who’s been a thorn in his side.
The person she’s talking to is covered with a black bedsheet. The only thing visible are his white-gloved hands.
He stays back until they’re done, exchanging envelopes. Mr. Black Sheet leaves, and the witch’s mouth elongates with a sneaky smile as she counts the money inside her envelope.
His grip tightens around the nightstick, but he doesn’t strike. She’s a distraction.
He has bigger fish to fry.
Twenty-One
~ Todd ~
Tami’s sorority sisters pass me around like a cheap suit, but I don’t mind. They try to get me to speak, but I’m really good at grunting and saying nothing.
All You Want Page 15
