by LAURA HARNER
Strange as it seemed in the cool light of morning, I hadn’t wanted to run out of the house screaming at the sight of Joanne’s…ghost…spirit…whatever you wanted to call her. I hadn’t been scared once Joanne appeared and started talking to me. I wonder why that was? Anyway, what’s the old adage? In for a penny, in for a pound. There was no way I would leave now. Not without knowing the secrets of the mysterious Honey House.
The front door opened and the approaching footsteps echoed through the quiet morning, eerily reminiscent of the previous evening. Once again, it was the sheriff. With an exaggerated sigh, he threw a stack of newspapers on the table near me. Without a word, he stalked straight into the kitchen. When he returned a minute later, it was with a mug of coffee and a deep scowl.
“You’re going to need Botox if you don’t stop frowning like that,” I said, a bit flippantly. “How did you get in here, anyway? Don’t you knock?”
“Funny, Miss Carmichael.” He grabbed the sports section and took it to a table near the large front window. He hooked a foot around a chair, pulled it back, and sat.
I stared holes in him, but he never even looked up. His arrogant assumption that he was welcome to drop in whenever he chose was more than my inner bitch could take at this hour of the morning.
“Excuse me, Sheriff; I don’t remember telling you to make yourself at home. Now how the hell did you get in here?”
“Told you,” he mumbled, not looking up. “Door was unlocked. Call me Quinn.” He turned the page.
Grrr…this was not going well. God, I hate mornings.
Quinn looked up, as if finally realizing I was staring at him.
“Where’s the bagels?” he asked.
My jaw dropped. “Bagels? You stroll in here at the crack of dawn, make yourself at home, and expect bagels?” I knew my voice was rising dangerously, but seriously, this was too much. “Tell me how you got in. If you have a key, I want it back. Now.”
Quinn pushed his chair back from the table and rocked onto the rear legs. He stared at me speculatively for a long moment, with those strange amber eyes. He began explaining, each word enunciated to within an inch of its life.
“First, it’s hardly the crack of dawn. When I did come by at the crack of dawn, the door wasn’t opened yet, even though the dining room opens at six. Second, your coffee tastes like shit and your hospitality isn’t much better. Third—”
The front door opened and a voice called out, “Hello. Anybody home?”
“In here,” Quinn and I shouted together, then turned and glared at each other. What the hell?
“Hi, I know it’s too early for check in, but I’m really hoping you have a room I can rent for a week. Every room in Sedona is booked for spring break, and I’m on deadline. My name’s Jason. Jason Brill. With the Arizona Chronicle.” His voice rose at the end like a question, but he continued, rapid fire. “I’m up here doing a story on the sweat lodge deaths. Glad to find you here, Sheriff. It will save me a trip to the station. Do you think I could get a cup of that coffee?” Jason finally wound down to wait for an answer.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Quinn. “It tastes like shit.”
Ignoring Quinn, I turned to the reporter. “Look, Mr. Brill,” I began, but he interrupted.
“Jason,” he repeated firmly, “and you are—”
“Katherine Carmichael, but please, call me KC. I’m sorry, but I just found out about—”
The door to the kitchen swung open behind me, and a tall, sultry-looking Latina woman pushed her way through with a tray of bagels and condiments in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other.
This place was Grand Central Station, and I didn’t have a ticket.
“Morning, Quinn,” she said in a rich contralto.
“Buenos días, Gabrielle,” Quinn answered, smiling at the woman.
I had a brief moment to wonder what it might be like to have the force of that smile turned in my direction. Wow. With a shake of my head at the absurdity of that random thought, I tried to catch up to what was happening around me.
Gabrielle settled the serving tray onto a buffet, turned to the reporter, and smiled. “Of course we have a room for you. Jason, was it? I’m afraid we’ve been closed due to a recent change in ownership, so bear with us. You just sit and enjoy your coffee and talk to Quinn. KC and I will get your room ready.”
She looped her arm through mine. “Come with me,” she stage whispered. As we left the room, she said over her shoulder, “Get a fresh cup of coffee, Quinn, I made a new pot.”
With the sinking sensation that I was falling through a rabbit hole, I followed Gabrielle, taking two steps for everyone one of her long strides. She loped to the front desk and grabbed a stack of fresh linens and towels, from the antique armoire behind the bar that served as a counter. Without a word she led the way to a suite of rooms on the first floor, next to the library. As soon as we were inside and the door was closed she let loose with bubbling laughter. It was a rich, deep laugh, and I smiled automatically in response.
Shaking my head, I started. “Want to tell me who you are and exactly what is going on around here?”
“Sorry,” she gasped. “The expression on your face was priceless.” She dabbed at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
“Wait a minute. You mean this is all a hoax?” I hissed indignantly.
“No, no, not at all. I’m sorry. Let me start over. I’m Gabrielle Martinez. You can call me Gabi, if you like. I answer to either. I helped Joanne manage the place. I just assumed we’d open for business, now that you’re here. The House doesn’t like to be closed.”
“The House doesn’t like to be closed? What the hell does that mean? And where did you come from this morning? I didn’t hear you come in.” This laughing woman, so near my own age intrigued me. I was sure she could tell me what was going on around here.
“Didn’t Joanne explain? The Honey House has a mind of its own. Look, I know this is all very new to you, but you’re going to have to trust me on this. No one comes in the House that isn’t supposed to. Once someone comes through that door and asks for a room, we give it to him.
“Now help me make the bed, and I’ll tell you what I can.” Gabrielle put the stack of fresh linens on the chair and took the fitted sheet first. With a snap of her wrists, she billowed the sheet over the mattress and I quickly moved to the other side of the bed and caught the edge. We worked companionably while she talked.
“I came in through the kitchen door. You probably didn’t hear me when I came in because you had your hands full with Quinn. I wasn’t sure how much Joanne told you about our arrangement…”
Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the dining room, and I was more confused than ever. I’m not usually so slow on the uptake, but the things Gabi spoke of sounded like real haunted house stuff. Well, I guess I already knew that, since I’d seen Joanne, but still… No one ever showed up unless we had a room for them, the doors unlocked and locked themselves when the House wanted to be open. Furniture rearranged itself? Sheesh.
The doorbell rang before I got back to my coffee and a man in brown was waiting with a hand truck full of boxes.
“Where should I put this?” he asked.
I checked the paperwork and was surprised to see it was from the cruise line. A note from the bursar included my last paycheck and a thank you. I was officially unemployed. Or rather, self-employed. How in the hell had that happened since yesterday?
I led the way to the owner’s apartment and directed him to leave the stack of boxes just inside the door. Then we retraced our steps to the front of the building where he politely refused a tip. He gave a little wave as he wheeled his hand truck into the back of his truck, then climbed in and drove away. When I closed the door it was with the sensation that I had somehow closed the door on another chapter of my life.
No one looked up when I paused in the doorway of the dining room. Gabi was sitting at one of the small tables drinking coffee with Quinn. Jason and h
is cup were both absent, so I assumed he had taken his coffee to his room. It seemed like a good opportunity to be alone. I was still completely in the dark about why a woman I’d met briefly on a five-day cruise would bequeath me her business. Joanne-the-ghost had said the House selected me. When I’d asked Gabi, she’d backed Joanne, and said I was the “House choice”. It made me feel like a salad dressing. Funny woman, that Gabi.
Moving slowly through the empty hallway, past the closed doors of the vacant guestrooms, all the way to the back of the house, I thought about the whole woowoo aspect of the situation. Three years ago, I’d have scoffed at anyone who’d told me psychics were real. I’d been a “fortune teller” for a year by that time, and yes, it was an act. It was an act, because everything I knew about being a psychic came from the Paranormal for Idiots guidebook. Ask a lot of questions and then tell the clients what they want to hear.
One day I’d been holding an old man’s hand, preparing to tell his fortune. I’d started asking questions, gently probing about his circumstances, just as I always did. Then I’d felt something I’d never experienced before. It was as if some great darkness washed over me, leaving me cold and clammy. There was a horrible taste in my mouth and I fought against my gag reflex. The man was sick. I couldn’t explain how I knew, but I did. He didn’t.
His wife was waiting when he’d come out. He’d looked a little sheepish and told her nothing much had happened. I’d interrupted and told her to take him to the doctor as soon as possible, and everything would be all right. Six months later, I’d received a note of thanks and a check for two thousand dollars. Apparently, on a full physical, his doctor had discovered a previously undiagnosed medical condition, and the early intervention saved his life.
Soon other things had started to come to me during these sessions. Not every time, but enough to make me wonder. I’d started buying more books and reading up on psychic ability and my popularity on the cruises increased exponentially. I still wasn’t completely ready to call myself a psychic, but it was getting harder to argue against it.
A shiver passed through me and pulled me back to the present. I rubbed my arms against the chill of the morning. I needed warmer clothes if I was going to stay in Juniper Springs. Stay? The thought surprised me. It seemed as though I would be staying, at least for a while. I made a mental list: clothes, food, and a better understanding of the House rules.
First order of business, go back and find Gabrielle to get answers to my questions. I looked down at my sleep-rumpled capris and ran a hand through my tangled black hair. Okay, maybe the first order of business was a shower and clean clothes, but then I would find Gabrielle.
Once inside, I leaned against the door and sighed deeply. Although I’d taken a brief look around last night, my thoughts had been scattered…certainly not focused on the layout of my new apartment. A secret thrill ran through me at those words. My new apartment. I’d never owned anything before. Okay, sure I owned a laptop, an iPod, things like that, but nothing solid. Nothing I wouldn’t be willing to leave behind. It had been one of my foster parent’s first lessons. Never leave them enough rope to hang you. I’d learned early to travel light.
It was why the gig on the ship had been so perfect. Most of my co-workers went on three or four cruises a month, returning to their own homes and families in between. I’d taken every cruise I could get, often leaving one ship and boarding the other in the same morning. I’d hated when the cruises overlapped and I was forced to miss one. I would hole up in the employee bunkroom and wait for the next ship to be readied. Fortunately, even in winter the cruise line offered a near-continuous schedule.
My new place had a bedroom, with a king-sized bed, a study, a living room, and combination eating and cooking area. It was as well-appointed as the finest of the first class cabins, only roomier. The bedroom and study shared a large, private balcony on the second floor. The view was spectacular, with soaring red rock formations layered against a sky so blue it made my throat tight.
This could be bad. I could begin to care for this place, which would break the second rule my parents taught me. Don’t get attached; you can’t lose what you don’t love.
Steeling my heart, I realized I needed to treat this like any other gig. It still could be a scam. Everyone’s story was consistent, every piece looked real, but great cons always started that way. I’d worked hard at staying out of the cheat, but if I was somehow back in the middle of it, then I would play the game.
Chapter Three
It had been two busy weeks since I first came to the Honey House. It turned out Gabi only worked part-time. It was up to me to make the breakfast part of the Bed and Breakfast. I’d learned to make better coffee, and breakfast consisted of bagels, fruit, and yogurt delivered by the local grocers. That was gourmet by my standards.
The sheriff continued to show up for breakfast every morning, complaining because the House apparently had made a concession to my dislike of early mornings by opening its doors an hour later than it previously had. He rarely spoke and never paid, but he had become part of my morning routine. I’d say it was comforting, but that would be a lie. Quinn just wasn’t a comfortable person to be around.
On the bright side, Jason, the good-looking reporter from Phoenix had returned today. He was excited because the newspaper had decided to run his story on the sweat lodges as a part of a series on the paranormal tourism industry. Juniper Springs had long been a hot spot for paranormal groupies. Jason had been a bit evasive when I’d asked if his article was an exposé or a tourism feature.
Interest in the small community had really heated up in the past year, once pictures had shown up on the Internet that purported to be of a real werewolf at a local ranch. Now both Juniper Springs and her much larger neighbor Sedona had thousands of annual visitors seeking to purchase crystals, have their aura’s read, or even take jeep rides into the desert in order to sit in spiritual vortexes. Apparently, one paranormal craze fed all the others. So far, the Honey House wasn’t on any paranormal radar, but it would certainly fit right in there.
If seeing Jason again was on the upside, there was definitely a downside to the day, as well. I was looking forward to the evening about as much as a trip to the dentist.
Gabi stood in the doorway to my bedroom and didn’t bother to hide her smile when I pouted as I slipped on my heels.
“Come on, KC, it’s just a small dinner party,” Gabi coaxed. “This will be fun. You’ve been working too hard since you arrived. This way you get to meet the other locals on your own turf. Let me look at you,” she said, and cocked her head to the side. “Ah, black and blue. This is what you are wearing to a party?” Her soft accent lilted and soothed the insult.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I asked, feeling put out.
“Actually, nothing. It’s just a bit more business-like than I expected.” She smoothed her hands over my waist and across my hips. “Chica, you have the best figure in town. Not all the women will be happy, so maybe the muted colors are a good choice for tonight. Come, let me put your hair up for you.”
We stood together, Gabrielle behind me, and looked in the mirror. With a few twists and the help of a large clip, Gabrielle created a casual upsweep of hair that left plenty of lose strands curling around my face and neck. She planted a kiss on my cheek. “KC, I take it all back. The blue is a perfect complement to your eyes. You look lovely. Now let’s go down and get this party started!”
Gabrielle had arranged the catered event and seating was under the twinkle lights on the courtyard patio. All I had to do was show up and be sociable. Not exactly my best skill. Gabrielle took it upon herself to introduce me to everyone, and she kept one arm looped through mine for comfort.
Two men casually walked toward us, smiling. “KC,” Gabrielle said, “let me introduce you to Owen and Gregory, owners of the G&O. It’s the organic grocery where all the breakfast supplies come from.”
“KC,” the one called Owen said, offering his hand with a
grin. Gregory pushed his hand aside and swept me into a bone-crunching hug that lifted me off my feet.
“Welcome, girl! It’s high time we got to meet you. You are gorgeous,” he said. “Let me see.” He twirled me around, looking admiringly at the long expanse of bare leg showing below my short black skirt. “Oh very nice, très chic. I see you’ll give our Susan a run for her money.” Then he leaned in conspiratorially, and stage-whispered, “Are those breasts real?”
I laughed, as Owen blushed and tried to shush the outrageous Gregory. These were two seriously fine-looking men. Owen was tall, with the solid build of a lumberjack, glossy brown hair, and smoky gray eyes a lover could get lost in for hours. Gregory was slightly shorter and not quite as broad across the chest. His blue eyes, darker than my own, danced with merriment. I took no offense to the senseless flirtation. In fact, I loved it! Of course, I needed to give a little dish back.
I sighed theatrically and rolled my eyes to glance over at Gabi. “Why, oh why, are all the good-looking men either already taken or gay?”
Gregory’s eyes went wide just for a second, before Owen’s laughter rang out. “Welcome, KC.” Owen smiled, extending his hand again. “I see Susan may not be the only one you challenge,” he said, looking at his partner’s grinning face.
I was definitely going to enjoy getting to know these two beautiful men. The night was looking up. I’d missed the admiring looks I used to get on the cruises, and even though Gregory and Owen were clearly a couple, they would spare me some appreciative glances. I was pretty sure I’d get one from Jason, too.
As Gabrielle had observed, the clingy, deep-blue sweater was the perfect shade to highlight my eyes, which I thought were my best feature. As Gregory pointed out, though, I did have nice breasts. Most men commented on my breasts before they ever said anything about my eyes, so it could be that I was wrong about my best feature.
