The Haunting of Riley Watson

by Alexandria Clarke

  “You have no idea. How was the drive?”

  “Awful,” she said. “This storm is blowing in quick. Have you been watching the weather? It’s going to be one of the worst blizzards on record. You should have seen the gas stations. I’m glad I got out of town when I did.”

  I finally let go, brushing snow from her bangs. “Thankfully, King and Queens is well stocked. This is the best place we could be for a blizzard.”

  “Except for the ghosts,” she reminded me.

  “Do you still think I’m kidding?”

  Over the phone, as I pled for Jazmin to come stay the weekend at King and Queens, she first regarded my frantic desperation as an elaborate prank. It took a solid twenty minutes to convince her I wasn’t joking about the things I’d seen and felt at the resort.

  “No,” she said. “You convinced me, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to help if you and Riley are the only two people who can see and hear the ghosts.”

  I unloaded her overnight bag, ushered her from the Rover, and slammed the trunk shut. “I told you. We need a fresh perspective. Let’s go inside before we both freeze to death.”

  In the lobby, Trey rushed over as soon as he spotted Jazmin. “You’re back!” he said, beaming from ear to ear. “And you have bags with you! Can I book you a room? What would you like? Top floor suite? Something near the spa? I can put you anywhere. We’re very accommodating.”

  “She’s staying with me, Trey,” I announced. “Don’t bother her. We have work to do.”

  Jazmin blessed Trey with her signature dazzling smile. “Thank you though. You seem like you’re very good at your job.”

  Trey blushed a deep shade of currant-red. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Actually, Trey, can you take her bags up to my suite?” I dropped them into his grasp. His skinny shoulders collapsed with the weight. “Put them in the bedroom please.”

  “Sure thing!”

  As he rushed off to the elevators, Jazmin gazed around the massive lobby. “This place got bigger since the last time I saw it. Do you think that’s real gold on those columns?”

  “Probably.”

  I ushered her up the stairs to the Eagle’s View, though the view was less impressive than usual. The entire window was blanketed in white flurries. Snow piled up on the ground outside, creeping farther up the glass. The mountain was all but invisible. The ski lift looked like a pencil drawing, the faintest gray lines against stark white paper.

  “Swanky,” Jazmin said of the leather seating, lush carpets, and extensive liquor collection behind the bar. “You’ve been eating here for free all week?”

  “When the cooks aren’t mad at me,” I said. “I want you to meet someone.”

  Riley waited at our usual table by the window, sunk so low in her chair that her crimson hoodie camouflaged against the red carpet. I kicked the leg of her chair, and she straightened up.

  “Hi,” she said, waving shyly.

  Jazmin, who was good with everyone including children, replied brightly, “Hi! You must be Riley.”

  “Riley, I’d like you to meet Jazmin,” I said. “My best friend.”

  Riley surprised me by sticking her hand out of her sleeve to shake Jazmin’s. She already seemed more relaxed. Jazmin, like pure unfiltered essential oil, had that sort of effect on people.

  “You have a really pretty name,” Riley said. “Where does it come from?”

  “I think it’s Persian originally,” Jazmin replied. “But my family is from Argentina, so we pronounce it differently. Have you ever seen the flowers?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll bring you some,” Jazmin promised. “They’re beautiful like you.”

  Riley lit up like a candle as she beamed. The unexpected genuine quality of her smile caused a fissure in my heart. When was the last time someone told Riley something that made her feel like she actually mattered? She scrambled out of her chair and offered it to Jazmin.

  “You two should catch up,” she said. “You have a lot to talk about.”

  “Aren’t you staying?” Jazmin asked.

  “No, I think you should talk to Lucia first,” Riley said.

  I caught her by the hood and reined her in before she escaped. “I don’t know how I feel about you roaming around the hotel without me, especially now.”

  She ducked under my arm and twisted free. “Lucia, I’ve been roaming around this resort alone since I was born. Nothing’s killed me yet.”

  “Fine, but come get me if anything happens,” I called after her as she left the lounge. She waved over her shoulder. I sighed, sat across from Jazmin, and signaled for Karli to bring us the menu. “Anyway, that’s Riley.”

  “You weren’t exaggerating,” she said. “There’s definitely something off about her.”

  “You get used to it after a while,” I replied. “Either that, or there’s something off about me too. I think Riley and I run on the same type of batteries.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Karli arrived with the menus and a fresh pitcher of water, putting the explanations on pause. We ordered drinks and a late lunch, then settled in to watch the storm dump more snow over the resort. Once Karli was out of earshot, I filled Jazmin in on everything that had happened at the lodge over the course of the last week, including Riley’s interview, my jaunt into the old wing, the levitating hot chocolate, and Stella’s disappearing act. To her credit, she didn’t interrupt or ask questions until I finished my story. She let it all sink in first.

  “So as far as you know, only you and Riley are affected by these spirits,” she clarified, stirring cream into her coffee. “No one else around King and Queens has claimed to see anything weird?”

  “The only thing the employees think is weird is Riley,” I said. “But they’re oblivious to everything else. Oliver, too. He never thought Madame Lucia was legitimate in the first place, so he clearly doesn’t see or hear what Riley does.”

  “I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this,” Jazmin said. “I can’t believe this is real.”

  “You can’t believe it?” I said. “Try having an entire conversation with a woman who doesn’t exist.”

  “Stella. What was the baby’s name again?”

  “Odette.”

  “Hmm. Kind of old school.”

  I ripped into a chocolate croissant and stuffed half of it in my mouth at once, as if the sugary flavors might stamp out the bitterness left from that morning’s paranormal experience. “Does it matter? They’re ghosts.”

  She sipped her coffee, leaving a perfect Betty Boop lipstick stain on the rim of the white mug. “Well, we’re trying to solve a bit of a mystery here, aren’t we? Stella and Odette stayed at King and Queens at some point. If we figure out how and when they died, we can get more backstory on the rest of the ghosts here. Can I be honest though? I don’t feel anything weird or out of place here.”

  “You don’t?” I asked, exasperated. “No chills or goosebumps? What about a prickle on the back of your neck? I get that all the time, especially in my room.”

  “Nada,” she said. “Which brings me back to my original questions. Why you and Riley?”

  “We’ve been trying to work that out ourselves, but we can’t think of anything,” I said. “Any ideas?”

  Karli arrived with the food. We ordered too much, but since Oliver was paying for it anyway, I figured Jazmin should try all of the lounge’s best meals. Xavier was cranky, but he sure as hell could cook a duck. Jazmin loaded her plate with shredded meat and vegetables.

  “Let’s rewind,” she said. “Riley told you she started hearing voices after her mother died, right? She was there when Thelma died.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You don’t think it’s a weird coincidence that both of you are missing a parent and both of you watched that parent pass away?”

  “I—”

  “Didn’t think of that?” she finished. “I know you, Lucia. You never talk about your dad’s d
eath, and I don’t think you ever got over it, especially with your mother breathing down your neck. What if that’s the connection here?”

  “Dad doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I huffed. My appetite waned. The duck wasn’t as appealing now. “I don’t know why you’d bring that up in the first place considering you supposedly know me so well.”

  Jazmin gave me a look. “Don’t try that passive-aggressive crap with me. I mentioned it because it seemed like a point of interest. We can drop it for now, but you should give it some thought on your own. Let’s go back to Riley’s mom. Thelma, right? All of this escalated after she died. Maybe her death is connected to the ghosts in the resort.”

  “The police are investigating it as a homicide,” I said. “But Riley said she doesn’t hear or see her mother.”

  “There’s gotta be something. We’ll check your room next. I want to experience these weird vibes you’re talking about.” She glanced at something over my shoulder. “Who’s the stud?”

  Daniel dragged his boots up the stairs and into the lounge, wearing his usual pair of dark-wash jeans, navy thermal, and leather shoulder holster.

  “That’s Daniel,” I said. “He’s the detective working on Thelma’s case.”

  Jazmin raised an eyebrow. “You’re on a first-name basis with the homicide detective?”

  I waved Daniel over but he shook his head, nodded an apology, and sat at the bar instead. Karli filled a beer stein with ice water, tossed a wedge of lime in it, and slid it across the bar along with a basket of peanuts. He hunched over the nuts, pinching the shells away and lining them up along the lip of the counter.

  “He seems nice,” Jazmin joked.

  “He’s a little gruff,” I agreed. “I can’t usually get more than a few monosyllables out of him at once.”

  “The perfect man.”

  I tossed my napkin across the table at her. “Finish your food. We can go up to my room after this.”

  The suite, of course, looked magical and glowy when we arrived. The snow blanketed the terrace like a winter wonderland. Turndown service arrived early, probably because of the weather, to fix the bed and turn on the lamps. There was an entire pile of chocolates on the pillow, which made me think that it wasn’t a maid who prepared the room every night, but Trey.

  “Wow,” Jazmin said, unwrapping a chocolate. “I wouldn’t mind sharing this place with a couple of ghosts.”

  “You say that, but wait until they show up,” I warned her.

  “I don’t feel anything.” She explored the room, checking the bathroom and the walk-in closet. I followed her into the kitchen. “Do you feel anything?”

  “Not right now,” I said. “It comes and goes.”

  “Whoa, what’s this?” She pulled out the leather-bound photo journal from the kitchen drawer. “Have you seen this thing?”

  “Yeah, I dripped blood all over it a few days ago.” I patted the stained cover. “See, it’s not only your things that I coat with my DNA.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good to know. God, look at these pictures. Some of these look really old.”

  “They’re all ruined though,” I said, reaching over Jazmin’s shoulder to point out the burnt edges of a photo. “You can’t see anyone’s faces.”

  She flipped through it anyway, handling the tender pages with a delicate touch. “It’s still pretty cool. There are dates on the back of these. Look, this one is from 1940. I wonder who this belonged to?”

  I wandered over to the balcony door, crossing my arms. I felt chilly and weird. “I wonder how it stayed up here for so long. You’d think one of the maids would have put it in Lost and Found.”

  “Maybe it’s a weird hotel tradition that got lost along the way,” she said. “Like everyone who stayed at the resort left a photo in it? Some of these are newer.”

  “Can you put it away? It gives me the creeps.”

  “You’re the one who spilled blood all over—whoa. Uh, Lucia? You should have a look at this.”

  It was one of the newer photographs from a film camera. The edges of it, like the others, were charred and black, but it was one of the few photos that had survived with its subjects’ faces intact. In it, a familiar brunette woman held a pretty baby with dark curls and blue eyes.

  “No way,” I said. “It can’t be.”

  “Check the back,” Jazmin said.

  I flipped the picture over. There, written in faded blue ink, was Stella and Odette, 1979.

  “No,” I said again. “Are you serious?”

  “You’ve never seen this picture?” Jazmin asked. “I know you said you weren’t pulling my leg, but—”

  “Jazmin, I swear this is the first time I’ve seen it,” I promised. “Where did you find it?”

  “Tucked between the badly burned ones.”

  “The fire,” I muttered. “The one in the old wing. It has to be connected to all of this.” I grabbed the entire photo album and rushed toward the door. Jazmin ran after me, catching up in the hallway.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  I jammed the elevator call button. “To ask Oliver if he knows anything about this.”

  Oliver was nowhere to be found, not in the Eagle’s View, the lobby, or his office. Trey didn’t know where he was, and it seemed inappropriate to go looking for Oliver in his room.

  “Now what?” Jazmin said, holding the photo album off her chest, as if coming into full contact with it might curse her with whatever affliction ailed me and Riley. “Should we wait?”

  The main doors to the lobby swung open, introducing a frigid gust and a swirl of snow from outside as a tall, athletic man with wavy black hair and dark eyes entered. He wore a tailored blue satin suit beneath his floor-length coat, but no tie. The collar of his white dress shirt remained casually unbuttoned, revealing a chiseled collarbone. He carried a gentleman’s walking cane, the staff of which was simple and black, though the handle appeared to be hand-carved from exquisite ebony wood.

  “Evening, ladies,” the man said, dusting snow off the shoulders of his jacket. Behind him, the last bit of sunlight disappeared toward the horizon, and the moon rose in its place. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. Would either of you know where I might be able to find a Mr. Oliver Watson?”

  His princely appearance, a halo of snow glistening on his dark hair like a crown, stunned me into silence. As he approached, I noticed his eyes weren’t brown but the same dark blue as his suit jacket, deep and mysterious like the ocean’s depths. He walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg, which explained the cane.

  “I’m afraid not,” Jazmin said. “We’ve been looking for him too.”

  “Mm, that’s too bad,” the man mused. “I was rather hoping we could solve this matter quickly.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, more brusquely than I intended. “I’ve been staying at King and Queens for almost a week, and I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Yes, excuse me for my sour introduction.” He swept off his coat, swirled it over his shoulder like a king’s cape, and extended his hand. “I’m Nick Porter.”

  “Oh.”

  His dark eyes twinkled. “You’ve heard of me.”

  “In passing,” I admitted.

  Jazmin shook his hand first. “Are we supposed to have heard of you?”

  “He owns White Oak,” I told her. “The other lodge on the mountain.”

  “That place is beautiful,” she gushed, hanging onto Nick Porter’s hand a little longer than necessary. “I’d love to see it.”

  “I’d love to show it to you,” Nick said. “The more, the merrier. Though your friend here might have heard some rather unsavory details about me, if that look on her face is any indication. I suppose you’ve spoken with Mr. Watson, Miss—?”

  “Star,” I said. “Lucia Star. This is Jazmin. I haven’t heard much about you at all other than something about a stolen ski run?”

  He rapped his cane against the floor as if testing the marble for cracks. “Ah, yes. I�
�m afraid that was a misunderstanding. You see, for years, King and Queens has stepped over the boundaries of its properties. It’s why none of the previous resorts on this mountain have survived more than a few years each. I’m afraid I had to put my foot down regarding Mr. Watson’s claim on this land. I would like my resort to succeed where the others did not. For it to do so, we must have access to the best runs on the mountain. After all, they belong to us anyway.”

  “You’re here about the runs?” I asked him.

  “Not exactly,” he replied. “I’m here to apologize. Things got out of hand between Mr. Watson and my trail officials the other day. In addition, I’d like to buy King and Queens Ski Lodge and Resort.”

  “You want to what?” I said.

  Nick motioned for Trey to take his coat. The young concierge hurried over to relieve him of it then tripped over the hem as he took it to the coat room.

  “Mr. Watson is out of his depth,” Nick said. “The resort business is changing—one might even say blossoming—but Mr. Watson adheres to the traditional practices of a family establishment, practices that are no longer relevant. The proof is in the pudding, or this lobby. Look around, ladies. It’s peak skiing season. This place should be teeming with guests, but you’re the only ones here.”

  “There was an accident,” I interjected.

  “With Thelma and the ski lift,” he confirmed. “I’m aware, and it is unfortunate, but with the right public relations team, it would not have affected the lodge’s performance. Let me be clear. My intention is not to take King and Queens from Mr. Watson, but to help him rebuild it. He would stay on as a manager, and the resort would still be his.”

  “This resort has been in his family since it was built in the 1930s,” I said. “I don’t think Mr. Watson is going to feel the same way about this as you are.”

  “All the more reason for us to have a face to face discussion,” Nick said. “But it appears I have a wait ahead of me before we can engage in such a conversation. Would you ladies like to join me for dinner at the Eagle’s View? I hear the chef is divine, and I hate to eat alone.”

  “We had a late lunch,” Jazmin said, almost mournfully. Both of us were oddly mesmerized by Nick’s old-fashioned chivalry. I longed to watch this man eat a steak without getting A1 sauce all over his fancy satin suit.