“Now? You’re all right now? What happened before? Did you lose your phone or something?”
“Look, Jo, something’s happened. I can’t really go into details…” His voice trailed off.
“Like what? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, well, sorta. I got a little hurt, just on my head, but it’s okay now. At least I think it is.” He gently massaged the injury and winced. “Anyway, the point is, I had some stuff happen and I couldn’t call you back, but I’m fine now. I’ll tell you all about it later.” This was a lie. No one would ever believe any of this. Hell, he didn’t know if he believed all of what had happened within the last twenty-four hours.
There’s a ghost typing messages to me, and she says she’s coming to visit?
“I gotta do some stuff today, and then we can talk.”
“You’re sure you’re okay? You don’t need to get your head checked out?”
“I’m peachy.”
“Peachy? Now I know something’s up. You never use words like ‘peachy.’ You’re sounding a little weird. You promise you’re okay? When I couldn’t get you on the phone—”
“Fine! I’m fine.”
Two female retirees exiting the grill hurried to get out of Gavin’s range. He covered the phone and explained, “It’s my mother. I have to yell so she can hear me.”
The elderly women nodded, offering fake smiles as they escaped to safety.
Gavin moved from the doorway threshold to the far corner of the log structure. “I’m okay. I just need to deal with something, but I’m okay. Sorry about the missed calls scare.”
He had to get her off the phone, grab a bite, get the box, and be done with this whole mess. Every minute that machine was in his possession was bad for him.
“I almost took a flight there, but I had the manager send somebody by your room instead. It took some arm-twisting, but I finally convinced them that I am who I said I was.”
“You almost came here?” he asked in a panic. “Don’t do that! Whatever you do, don’t come and see me. You can’t come, it’s not… “ He knew not to use the word “safe.” That would instantly trigger alarms, and she’d be on the next flight out.
“Gavin, you sound weird again. What’s going on? Is there something wrong there?”
He had to conceal his panic. Josephine wasn’t one to be left out of the loop. She considered anything on tour her responsibility. Any negative he encountered was her job to fix.
“No, everything is fine, but I need you to stay put.” He did his best to mask his anxiety, trying to sound warm. “Please do this for me—promise me that you won’t come out here. Promise.”
“Okay, you were supposed to check outta there today anyway. You’re due at The Book Mark at six, remember? It’s forty-five minutes on the turnpike from where you are now.”
“I need you to reschedule that. Tell them I have the flu or something.”
Though her words were fine, the tone of her voice betrayed that she felt defeated. “All right, we can reschedule. I’ll just tack that stop on the end of the tour.”
An awkward silence hung between them for a few seconds. Finally, Josephine said, “You sure are quiet. What are you thinking about over there? Tell me.”
He hesitated, attempting to frame what he wanted to say. “I need to ask you something—something crazy, something completely off the wall.”
“Yeah, what?”
Exhaling a deep breath, he attempted to ease into it. “If you had something, an artifact or something, that when you made a wish it came true, what would you do?”
“What do you mean? What would I wish for? Are you kidding? How hard did you hit your head?”
“What would you do? Just answer me.”
Her voice perked up. “Wait, is this for a new Damien Marksman story? The front desk told me they heard typing coming from your room. Is that why you’ve been dodging my calls? I’m going to call the other bookstore as soon as we get off the phone. I can even cancel the dates after that if you need me to in order to keep your muse going. Gavin, I’m so excited for you!”
“It’s not a story. Just tell me what you’d do.”
“Sure.” He could tell by her happy tone that she didn’t believe him. “I don’t know. Are we talking some genie-in-a-lamp kinda thing?”
He thought of the apparition of the woman in yellow. Had she given the bike boy a seizure? He hadn’t considered it until now. Is that what this was?
“Gavin, I asked if it’s like a genie.”
He recovered. “Uh, yeah, in a manner of speaking. What would you do with it?”
“Destroy it.”
He was shocked by the speed of her response. “Really?”
“Absolutely, I would. Those things always screw over the wisher. If you wish to live forever, the genie transports you to a tiny deserted island where you fall into a deep well and can’t get out for all eternity or something like that. Why? What’s your story plot?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
She scoffed. “Master storyteller, Gavin Curtis, doesn’t have a dozen ways to plot out the genie-with-three-wishes conundrum? It’s a red-letter day. Call your buddy, William Cavanaugh. Doesn’t he always help you when you’re painted into a corner?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s wrong? What did I say?”
“Nothing, I’m just trying to figure something out is all.”
“Okaaaay, but with ancient artifacts, it always ends with some Twilight Zone-ish twist that leaves the wisher in the lurch. The best thing is for the character not to wish for anything selfish. He or she should make a request from a pure heart. It’s even better if it’s for the benefit of someone else, something good for other people, for mankind or something. Then trap the genie or demon or whatever back in the bottle and bury it deep enough that no one will ever find it again.”
Gavin thought of the last line that he’d typed. “The woman laughed.” That had been good, something without malice like his fantasy about stabbing the Puma jacket man. It’d been pure, and nothing had happened. If the woman in yellow only responded things that were malicious in nature, he was set—no more typing. He’d get the box and go.
“Does that help any?” she asked.
“More than you know, Jo. More than you know.”
Her voice sounded sexy as she said, “Ahhh, so you are working on something.” Immediately, the tone changed back to business, and he heard her tapping computer keys in the background. “Listen, I could extend your stay at the resort for another few nights if you’d like. For that matter, I could book you there for another week if things are really flowing for you. Gavin, I’m so excited for you. It’s just like old times.”
“Speaking of, I heard you were done with the photographer.”
There was a long pause, and Gavin instantly regretted bringing the subject up so crassly. He was in the business of stringing words together, making millions of dollars out of putting sentences together in novel form. Why, then, was it so hard for him to hold conversations with her in real life?
Josephine’s reply was as sharp as barbed wire. “Beverly Cavanaugh should learn to keep her mouth shut and mind her own business.”
“Jo, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like… Maybe we can talk at Billy’s party next week. Look, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
The response was curt. “No, no. It’s fine. I’d rather not talk about it at the moment. Plus, you’ve got a story or whatever to write.”
Another silence.
“We’re good, right?” Gavin asked.
“Peachy.”
The sarcasm slapped him across the face. He waited a few seconds, hoping that the conversation would return to friendly territory. Still feeling the chill, he forced out, “Promise me that you won’t come out here.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Wow, it must have been a bad breakup between her and Ray.
“Okay, it’s just that you said before you
were going to hop a plane and—”
“Gavin, I said I wouldn’t. Do I have to swear to you that I’ll leave you alone?”
“Yes. I need to hear you say it. I need to know.”
“Fine. I promise that I won’t fly to Connecticut to check up on you. Now, bye, Gavin. Get back to work on your secret little project.”
“Okay, you can call me tomorrow. Everything should be sorted out by then. I just need some—”
Click.
The grill was considerably more crowded than when Gavin had visited the day before, when, if what Thad had reported was accurate, Gavin had taken up residency on a barstool for over six hours. He could mostly reconstruct the first two or three hours of watching the Dodgers game while he did his best to empty the bar’s scotch, but after that, his mind was paste, remembering only a blur of images.
A hostess who looked like she might still be in high school finally directed him to a booth. “Sorry for the wait. We’re a little shorthanded today.” She offered a glossy menu. “Your server will be right with you.”
As the girl turned away to tend to some other duty, Gavin stopped her. “Hey, why is this place named Hungry Waters?”
The girl’s eyebrows raised half an inch. “I dunno. Some urban legend or something. It has to do with the bridge suicides. Theo gives tours sometimes.”
“Theo, huh? His name is Theo? Does he work here?”
A waiter with a noisy, sizzling plate of beef fajitas moved quickly past her with a nod. The steaming meat smelled good.
She laughed. “Sort of. He’s supposed to be here now, but he claims he has ‘car trouble.’” The girl made air quotes while simultaneously rolling her eyes as if she’d practiced the gesture her entire life. “That’s partly the reason we’re so busy, because he didn’t show up.” The girl turned to leave again.
“Oh, one more thing. I need to see the manager, Christy.”
“Something wrong?”
Now Gavin had her full attention. “No, she’s supposed to be getting something for me.”
“Oh, okay.” The girl looked relieved. “She’s unloading the truck, but I’ll send her to you.” She didn’t wait for him to thank her or ask any more questions as she hurried from the booth area.
Growing antsy while he waited for his server to come, Gavin doodled on a paper napkin, writing the phrase “I’m coming through,” scribbling several question marks, and underlining it. He had to get back to his room, and quickly. Maybe coming to the restaurant had been a mistake.
After a few minutes, a waitress approached. “Hi, sorry for the wait. My name is Katelyn, and I’ll be serving you today.”
Gavin flipped the napkins over. “It’s because of Theo, right?”
He smirked with delight as the twenty-something gently tugged at her blond ponytail, looking astonished. “How did you—”
Before she finished the question, Gavin volunteered, “Never trust a guy named Theo. They’re always trouble.”
“Do you know him?” Her expression was like that of a six-year-old witnessing an unexplainable magic trick for the first time.
“No, but my first name is Theo. Actually, Theodore, but don’t hold it against me.” He let the woman off the hook. “The girl who seated me told me that this Theo guy is kind of a pain in the ass.”
“He’s all right, I guess, just not very punctual sometimes. What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee—black. And I already know what I want to eat. I’ll have the number seven.”
“Coming right up.”
“Hey, do you know anything about suicides around here?”
She tucked her pen into her shirt pocket. “I know what people say about the bridge, where jilted lovers go to jump in the Hungry Waters. Personally, I think the whole thing is sad, what happened and all, but I don’t believe all of what’s said around here.”
“You don’t believe what?”
“Anytime some woman or girl goes missing, there are stories that their heartbreak lures them here to end it all. I know it’s good for business and all, but I think it’s tacky.”
“How is that good for business?”
“You’d be surprised. Did you come in the front door or through the lobby entrance?”
“The lobby door. Why?”
“There’s an article in a frame above the coat rack by our front door. I’m told it used to be the only entrance back in the 90s, you know, before the hotel was built. Read all about it if you like.” Her smile returned. She was all business again. “I’ll be right back with your order.”
Gavin waited a moment and then slid out of the booth.
The framed article was just where Katelyn had said, posted above the wooden coatrack pegs. Standing on the wooden T-frame bench allowed Gavin to get a closer look at the dingy newspaper clipping. He gripped the empty pegs for balance. He’d have to be sure to thank Josephine for booking him there. She had to have known about this and probably hoped the local tales and urban legends would inspire him.
The article relayed how a young mother, Victoria “Torri” Barta, suspected to have suffered from depression, threw her infant daughter from the Thanatos Bridge and then committed suicide by leaping in herself. There was something about the picture of her, something about the black-and-white image that was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Even the jewelry around her neck seemed to ignite something far off in his memory, something just out of reach.
That necklace… Where have I seen a necklace shaped like a pear before?
“Pretty cool, huh?” a voice behind him asked.
He turned to see a fit man in his early twenties closing the front door. The man resembled a young Tom Cruise, if the actor had sandy-blond hair.
Gavin stepped down from the bench. “Why do you say it’s cool?”
“Well, I mean, not that part of the story, but everything else,” the man said, tucking a forest-green Hungry Waters Bar & Grill T-shirt into his jeans.
“I don’t know the story,” Gavin said.
“The part that the paper left out is the ‘why’ of the story.” Before Gavin could challenge this, the grinning man continued, “It says that she was all depressed and that’s why she did it—baby depression or whatever.”
“Postpartum,” Gavin offered.
“Right.” He paused, and his smile showed perfectly white teeth. “But what they don’t tell you is that her husband was boinking some of the hotel staff. One of the cleaning maids that worked there at the time, some Asian chick. That’s why she did it. She walked in on them, and thirty minutes later, splash. Now that bridge is like a Mecca to young girls who want to off themselves. A few dudes too, but mostly chicks. We call them Torries—named after the original one. When we see a girl sittin’ alone at the bar or in a booth, we always wonder if she’s a Torri trying to get her nerve up to take a plunge and feed the Hungry Waters.” He made a plopping sound and spread his hands in a slow motion splash. “The resort turns a blind eye to all of it because it generates a certain amount of business for them—you know, ghost chasers. Paranormal tourism. There’ve been claims of strange things happening in the room Torri found them in, people saying it’s haunted and whatnot. I kinda doubt it since nobody actually got killed or anything in there, but who knows? Weird, huh?”
He grabbed a menu from a shelf and flipped to the beverage section in the back. “They even allow us to market it. Check it out. We have a drink called ‘The Plunge.’”
Gavin took the menu that was thrust at him before realizing it.
“It has an olive in it, for the baby. It’s like the baby she threw in, the olive.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Gavin said, closing the menu. “Pretty gruesome stuff, but that still doesn’t explain why this is here.” Tapping the small frame of the article with the menu, he asked, “Why would someone want to post this?”
“Guilt, I guess. She was the owner’s wife, Mrs. Barta was.”
“Torri Barta is married”—Gavin corrected himself—”was married to th
e guy who owns this place?”
“The original owner,” the man explained. “But he hasn’t been heard from in ten or fifteen years or so. He just up and disappeared when all the suicides and rumors of suicides started. Some even think he might’ve even jumped in the Hungry Waters himself.”
“You knew him?”
“Nah, I’ve only been here about three years. I give tours. I can take you to the room on the seventh floor where she caught ‘em, then go the spot where she jumped. They’ve got the bridge barricaded off temporarily for that whole Bridge Fest thing for next weekend, but I know a way through. Then we come back here to drink to them. The price of The Plunge drink is included, so the tour works out to only be twenty-two bucks or so.”
“You do tours? You must be Theo.”
“In the flesh. Hey, if you’re staying at the resort, you can charge it all to your room. Are you staying at the resort?”
“Yeah, for a day or so. You said Barta had a room set up for his mistress, like a love nest?”
“I don’t think it was much of a romance, just a quickie with one of the maids, an Asian chick named Kawaguchi. I looked it all up from the police report—for the tour, you know.”
Gavin suspected that Kawaguchi was not a common name, at least not in Connecticut. There had to be a connection to the murdered dancer.
Theo sped up the tale, enthused to have a listener. “Anyway, they didn’t rent a room or anything, but you know how a maid has access to all the rooms to straighten them and whatnot? They just found an empty one that she was supposed to clean, and wham-o.”
“You said it happened on the seventh floor?”
Theo was chomping at the bit. “Yeah, Room 719. It’s one of the larger suites. I can take you by it, and if the guests have already checked out, I know this girl that can let us in for a few minutes before housekeeping comes by. It’s not really a part of the official tour, but I do it from time to time. We’d have to give Tammy, the girl I know, twenty bucks or so, but she’ll do it. Hey, what floor are you on?”
Gavin’s heart had skipped a beat when he heard the boy say room 719—his room. Surely, Jo hadn’t booked him in there intentionally. No, that would have been in bad taste. He played it cool and lied. “Uh, I’m in Room 412—you know, on the fourth floor. Listen, I think I’ll pass on the tour and your little macabre drink.” He handed the menu back.
Cruel Devices Page 13
