Inn the Spirit of Legends

by Becki Willis

“Well, I get awful tired of you acting like one!” he shot back. “I couldn’t shoot the dog. He was inside the house.”

  “What house?”

  “The old hotel, you nitwit. Pay attention. And turn off that dad-blamed TV!”

  With a disgruntled snort, his brother complied. “Missed it by fifteen thousand, anyway,” he muttered. “Darned inflated prices. Can’t nobody afford to live in California these days.”

  “What in the tarnation are you mumbling about now?”

  “I said when I get my share of the money, I’m moving to California. I’ll be rich enough by then.”

  “Don’t pack your bags yet, you fool. We still have to find it.”

  “Was anybody there?”

  “I saw a fancy little sports car and a golf cart.”

  His brother perked up. “There’s a golf course there? It’s been a while since I’ve played a round of golf. Maybe we could—Hey! What’d ya hit me for?”

  “Use that bloated head of yours for something other than a toboggan holder. We didn’t drive thirteen hours from Kansas to Texas, just to play a round of golf. We came to get the gold that’s rightfully ours. Our great-granddaddy stole that gold, fair and square!”

  His brother balked at the choice of words. “Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair…”

  “Wasn’t fair! He was a member of that gang, same as ole Sam Bass. Smarter than the outlaw, too. Outlived him by a lifetime, he did. Never once got caught.”

  “And never found the hidden gold, neither,” his brother snorted.

  “You better watch that smart mouth of yours, Delroy. Show some respect. You remember how Big Daddy used to talk about his own daddy. He worshiped the ground that man walked on. If he said he was a good man, he was a good man, so I’ll charge you to show some respect for your ancestors! Big Daddy mourned his life away, trying to get justice for his old man. What better way could we show our respect than to be the ones to find that gold, once and for all? We could prove our great-granddaddy was as good an outlaw as any of the rest. Better, in fact, because he lived to brag about it!”

  Del knew better than to speak out, else he would get another cuff to the head. It went without saying that if their great-grandfather bragged too much, he would have spent his last days in prison, or at the hands of some greedy bounty hunter. Probably the only reason their great-granddaddy lived to the ripe old age of seventy was because he was timid as a church mouse, and poor as one, too. Least ways, that was what Granny Thelma always said. She said her father-in-law robbed that stage on accident, and then made the mistake of throwing in with the likes of Sam Bass and his friends. Got a reputation as an outlaw, when the only thing he was guilty of was being ugly. Having a patch over his eye and a deep scar on his cheek—both the result of an accident as a teenager—only made matters worse.

  Of course, there was one other thing he was guilty of. He lost the map. All because a pretty little German girl turned his head…

  “Are you listening to me?” his brother asked in disgust.

  “Sure, Bigs.”

  “No, you ain’t. I can tell by the look in your eye, you were off daydreaming again! Gather your thoughts, man. You’re a growed man, almost sixty years old, not some teenager. We have work to do. That gold has been hidden too long. The old woman had the map, and now she’s dead. She was the last of the bloodline, so the curse on our family died with her. Ain’t nothing standing between us and that gold now, little brother. It’s ours for the taking.”

  Del bit his tongue. His brother meant it was theirs for the searching.

  Like he said, they still had to find the treasure.

  Chapter Eight

  True to his word, Walker brought dinner with him that evening.

  After feeding the livestock, he and Hannah gorged themselves on the meal from Matousek’s. Hannah wasn’t a fan of beer in general, but the bottles of dark ale were a perfect accompaniment to the authentic German cuisine.

  “That was insanely good.” Hannah gave her mark of approval as she looked around the kitchen.

  Leftovers stored, dishes washed, kitchen spotless. Along with the ready-made meal, Walker brought in a few more groceries and several packages of meat, which were now stashed and waiting for future consumption.

  “Yes, it was.” He offered the whole-hearted agreement with an emphatic air.

  “Oh! I completely forgot to tell you,” Hannah said, quite out of the blue. “I was so blown away by that meal, I forgot to tell you about my strange visitor today.”

  Busy stuffing the takeout containers into the trash and gathering the bag for disposal, Walker tossed a distracted, “Oh, yeah?” over his shoulder.

  “I came in from exploring the other buildings and there was this random woman at the desk, trying to look through the guest ledger. The thing is, she was dressed really weird. Are there many neighbors living nearby? I think she walked here.”

  “There’s a house down the road about a half mile. Maybe it was Mrs. Knudson. She wears a lot of baggy clothes and is a bit nosy, but she’s a harmless little old lady. And you should taste her kolaches. Every bit as good, if not better, than the ones we just had, but still not as good as Sadie’s.”

  Hannah shook her head. “This wasn’t an old lady. She was young and very pretty, in a pale, china doll sort of way. She said her name was Caroline. And get this. When I turned my back, she snuck upstairs and somehow managed to get into one of the locked rooms.”

  Walker went perfectly still, his back to her. “You saw Caroline?” His voice sounded strained.

  “You know her?” Hannah gasped. “Is she… all right? Mentally, I mean? She seemed rather… I don’t know, disturbed. In a sad, tragic kind of way.”

  Walker cleared his throat and turned slowly around. “You met Caroline,” he repeated slowly. It wasn’t a question, it was a clarification. “You spoke to her.”

  “Yes. And then the weirdest thing happened. I still don’t know how she did it, but somehow, she got from the second floor down to the outside of the inn. Is there a hidden staircase I know nothing about? A secret passage of some sort?”

  Walker swallowed hard. “No hidden staircase.”

  “Then how did she do it? And why do you look so shaken up?” A thought suddenly occurred to her. Her eyes rounded into wide orbs. Her words came out breathless. “Is Caroline your wife?”

  “What? No! Of course not! Caroline is… no. Not my wife.” He shook his dark head in denial.

  Hannah frowned. The attorney acted so strange. Suspiciously strange, in her opinion.

  “What’s her story, then?” she asked. “Who is she, and where did she come from? And what’s with the costume?”

  “Costume?”

  “Yeah, some sort of hoop skirt, like a Southern belle might wear in Gone with the Wind.” She used her hands to indicate the width of the domed skirt. “Oh, is there a historical park around here somewhere?” she guessed. “Like a working farm, where they dress in period clothing and demonstrate the old way of doing things? One of the firm’s clients had a place like that.” Her face scrunched into a frown. “Turned out they were using it as an illegal tax shelter. All the historical documentation was forged.”

  “The firm or the client?”

  She shot him a dirty look but conceded. “Touché,” she granted. She supposed it was a legitimate question, given the firm’s notorious downfall. When he went back to tying up the garbage, Hannah persisted. “So? What’s Caroline’s story?”

  It took him a moment to answer. “I think it’s best to let her tell you that, herself.”

  Hannah huffed out her displeasure. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  “I’m surprised you saw her today,” was his only reply. He hefted the bag over his shoulder. “Any other garbage I need to take out?”

  She gave a dismissive wave. “None that I know of.”

  “If you’re ready to go up, I’ll lock up again tonight.”

  Apparently, the subject of Caroline was closed. She certainl
y wouldn’t tell him about the crazy ideas she entertained today, concerning the town’s future.

  “Very well,” she said, her voice stiff. “Good night, then.”

  “Good night.”

  At least there was a good internet connection. Hannah set up her laptop in the sitting room, atop the cozy little desk she discovered earlier in the day. Much to her surprise, the Spirits of Texas Inn was connected to the worldwide web. It made searching for information so much easier.

  The first thing she looked up was the inn, itself. Her eyes widened when a website popped up. It appeared professionally designed and functional. She scanned the opening page, reading the initial description. According to this, Hannah, Texas was the perfect place for summer gatherings. They catered to families and small groups, with tailored stays from two nights to two months. The property was currently closed for construction, the site claimed, but would open in time for summer.

  Hannah clicked on the booking calendar. Just as Walker promised, there were several rooms already spoken for in the near future. In amazement, Hannah clicked through the month of June. Already at half occupancy, and at a very fair price. Enough, she judged, to make a profit, but reasonable enough to attract guests.

  She read the descriptions of each room and studied their photos. Right off, she spotted several things that needed improvement. Room 4, for instance, was much prettier than it appeared in the picture. There was no mention of its corner advantage, with natural light streaming in from two sides. Wasn’t it Room 2 that had the pullout couch? Nothing about it in the description, just a nod to ‘comfortable seating after a day of rock climbing and exploration.’

  Clicking onto the cabins, Hannah was discouraged reading the lackluster descriptions. Why not play up the fact that the smaller of the two—the Hoffman Cabin, apparently—had impressive luxuries behind a rustic presentation? The Anheim Cabin was described as ‘Sleeps four comfortably, six in close quarters. Tub, no shower. Family friendly.’

  “Sounds absolutely forgettable,” Hannah concluded. She jotted down ideas for jazzing up the descriptions. Made a note to take and upload new photos.

  First, of course, she would need access to the website account.

  Another note, of things to ask Walker.

  Eventually, Hannah left the inn’s website and did another search, this one for other resorts in the area. Dozens, if not hundreds, of sites populated the screen. Theirs wasn’t even on the first two pages, she noted. She changed a few keywords, trying to narrow the offerings. By the time she requested wedding venues, significantly fewer came up. Adding words like ‘dance floor,’ ‘all-inclusive,’ ‘country setting,’ and ‘farm animals’ cut the number in half or less.

  The possibilities were mind-boggling. Head spinning, Hannah knew she couldn’t sleep, not until her mind slowed its frantic pace. A glass of iced water would help. A glass of wine might just provide the cure.

  Too bad both were downstairs. To score either, she had to brave the unknown territory of the first floor at night.

  She knew a light burned all night in the kitchen. Decent illumination spilled in from the porch lanterns. The space was far from pitch dark. But light casted shadows, and Hannah saw them everywhere she looked. They lingered behind every chair, hung from the rafters, gathered deep and murky in all the corners. Cell phone in hand, finger poised over the flashlight feature, Hannah hurried across the great room and into the kitchen. Shadows such as these definitely called for wine.

  While she was down here, she reasoned, she might as well snag another poppy seed kolache.

  She sank her teeth into the packy creation, savoring the sweet, yeasty roll. Some places tried to pass off an ordinary pig-in-a-blanket as a kolache. They wrapped a piece of link sausage in a bun and had the audacity to give it the same name as this melt-in-your-mouth delicacy. As pastries went, it wasn’t even on the same realm.

  Nothing compares to this, Hannah mooned, inhaling the very essence of the treat. It smelled almost as good as it tasted, and it tasted divine. This sweet-filled delight was Czech cuisine at its finest.

  Lost to the wonders of flavors currently exploding on her tongue, she didn’t notice the noise at first. She was halfway through the roll, washing it down with a sip of wine, when the sounds registered in her mind. Sitting aside her wine glass, she grabbed her phone and moved hesitantly forward. The noise seemed to be coming from the office, that small inner room behind the front desk.

  Hannah hovered with uncertainty. Should she ignore the noise, or call Walker down to investigate? It could be something as harmless as a mouse, in which case she could only imagine the attorney’s reaction. He would no doubt rib her unmercifully. Given the fact it was already after midnight, his response might very well be more angry than amused.

  She could just peek around the door. Not the front entry, where she would be confined to the small check-in area. She would look in through the side door, where she could make a run for it down the hall. Mouse or man, she might need a good running start.

  Armed with a half-eaten pastry, a cell phone, and a huge bluff of bravado, Hannah crept forward. This wasn’t like one of those teenage slasher movies, she assured herself, the ones where the girl goes outside to see where the eerie glow is coming from. Those scenes never ended well. No, this was nothing like that. For starters, she was still inside the safety of the inn. And Walker was just upstairs, a call—or a scream—away.

  She stopped long enough to scroll down to his number, ready to dial it if need be. Anything bigger than a mouse, and she was hitting that button.

  Plan of action intact, she proceeded down the hall and up to the door. She eased the panel open, peeking into the room’s dark depths. So far, so good. The desk looked normal. The chair was empty. From out here in the hall, nothing looked amiss.

  She stepped over the threshold. Was that the sound again? She stood still and listened. Her eyes burned as she stared into the dark cavern and tried to determine the location of the noise. If it was a mouse, it wasn’t scurrying around on the floor. It was more likely nibbling on paper, from the sounds of it.

  Great. I still haven’t looked through the ledgers or account books, and now a mouse is feasting on them. Another thing to ask Walker about. Pest control.

  Hannah didn’t see the mouse on the desk, but it had to be there. A large, leather-bound book lay open-faced on the side of the desk furtherest from her. It was too dark to decipher any details, but the pages of the book gave off that pale, eerie glow. Nothing like the movies, Hannah assured herself. No one is ever murdered by a book.

  Something ruffled the page. Must be a mouse, she decided. It looks like the page just turned, but that’s impossible, unless the little critter somehow crawled underneath, pushed… Nah. Impossible. It only looks like it turned. Tricks of the night shadows.

  Feeling more confident, Hannah kept her eyes trained on the desk as she flipped the light switch. Maybe she could see how big of a rodent they were dealing with, or where it ran and hid. She was more repulsed by the hairy little creatures than she was afraid of them. The sooner they got rid of them, the better.

  But even with her eyes steady on the book, she saw nothing scurry away with the sudden flood of light. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. Hannah moved forward, peering over the side of the desk. Still nothing. She made a complete circle, seeing no signs of an unwanted guest. Not even a nibbled-upon piece of paper.

  Chalking it up to her imagination, or perhaps exhaustion, Hannah shrugged her shoulders and reached for the light switch. As she plunged the room into darkness, she took a bite of her kolache. No need letting it go to waste.

  Was it her imagination, or did she hear a faint rustle? Not of paper, but of fabric? Her hand flew back to the switch, but nothing moved in the room, once again illuminated. She walked all the way through this time, exiting on the far side. Nothing moved behind the check-in counter, either, nor in the shadowed great room beyond.

  As she turned off the two-way switch, she thought she
caught a faint whiff of lavender.

  Forget the kolache and the wine. It was definitely time to go to bed.

  Chapter Nine

  “I have a contractor coming out today, to give us a bid on turning the old store into a third cabin.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Hannah said, looking up from the bowl of oatmeal she doctored with brown sugar and granola. She paused before stirring in the fresh cream.

  Walker had shown her how the cream rose to the top of the milk, just waiting to be scooped off and enjoyed. Fresh cream, she adored. The milk, not so much. It had been several days now, and she still hadn’t acquired a taste for it.

  Walker repeated his announcement as he dished out his plate of scrambled eggs and toast, next to his own bowl of oatmeal and a thick slice of country-style ham.

  “And you did this without consulting me first.”

  Something in the quiet timbre of her words snagged his attention. He jerked his head up, just in time to see the flash of fire in her blue stare. His voice remained calm. “That’s right.”

  “And why is that? As you are so fond of reminding me, I am the owner of this—this kingdom now!” She spread her arms wide, to indicate the whole of the outdated kitchen, wood stove and all. She waved toward the tiny town beyond. “Don’t you think that was my decision to make, and mine alone?”

  Not that she was opposed to the idea of another cabin. Ever since the crazy notion of improving and expanding had entered her mind, it was all she could think of. Truth be told, she was angry with herself for not thinking of this idea first. Turning the rundown old store into another rental cabin made perfect sense.

  Still, he should have consulted her first.

  Walker took his time, scraping out the last of the eggs and returning the skillet to the burner, making certain it was cool to the touch before doing so. “Perhaps your decision to make,” he conceded, sauntering across the room to join her at the table. He settled into the chair, added salt and pepper to his eggs, and continued, “But not alone, it’s not. I have a stake in this, too, you know. As executor of the trust, all major decisions and purchases have to go through me.” He stirred a spoonful of peanut butter into his oatmeal. “Keep in mind, I’m not ordering any work done yet, and certainly not without your input. I’m merely gathering bids, so that when the time comes, we can make an informed decision. Together.”