The Haunting of Riley Watson

by Alexandria Clarke

  I stayed quiet, watching Riley as she dozed. Jazmin turned her gaze back to me.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked for the dozenth time. “I feel like you’re not telling me everything.”

  I closed the photo application on the laptop. I’d had enough of those pictures. “This feels too familiar. Like I’m thirteen again. I keep thinking about things I haven’t worried about in almost twenty years.”

  “Oh, honey,” Jazmin said. “I hate to break it to you, but actively avoiding those things is different from not thinking about them. I know what happened to you when you were younger bothers you every day.”

  “I didn’t expect to have to deal with it like this,” I said. “All those years you insisted I see a therapist. I’m finally wishing I’d followed through on that suggestion.”

  “This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Shh.”

  Nick Porter approached our table and set two cappuccinos in front of us, a perfect heart drawn in the foam of each one. He hobbled a little as he did so, his cane tucked under his arm so he could carry both coffees.

  “I thought you girls could use a little pick me up,” he said. “Do you take sugar?”

  “I do,” I said.

  He produced a handful of sugar packets from the pocket of his suit jacket. “For the lady.”

  As I stirred the crystals into my coffee, ruining the foam heart, Jazmin inhaled the sharp scent of the dark roast before taking a sip.

  “Tell me, Nick,” she said. “How does the owner of a destination ski resort know how to make the perfect cappuccino? I can’t imagine you have much time to practice between all your business meetings and charity luncheons.”

  Nick chuckled. “I’ve been in the hotel business my entire life. Sometimes, the barista doesn’t show up and you have to fill in. Do you ladies mind if I join you? My leg isn’t cooperating with me this morning.”

  Jazmin gestured to the empty booth across from ours, and he lowered himself into it with a muted groan.

  “Thank you,” he said, massaging his thigh through his satin pants. “It’s this terrible weather. Every time a storm comes through, this old injury flares up. I swear it’s more accurate than ninety-five percent of the meteorologists on the news.”

  I itched to ask Nick about his injury, but I’d known the man for less than twenty-four hours, and he was less prone to forgive my rabid curiosity than Jazmin was. Still, it was worth a vague shot.

  “Does it keep you from getting around?” I asked, hoping my feigned worry was sufficient in concealing my nosiness.

  “It would if I was less determined,” Nick said. “But I’ve dealt with it for almost my entire life. If I don’t think about it, the pain goes away. Days like this are hard though. It’s the stress. Mental pain manifests physically as well. Such an awful situation we’re all in, don’t you think?”

  “More than awful,” Jazmin said.

  “Of course,” Nick replied. “I didn’t mean to minimize its severity, but it’s hard to believe something like this could happen. You hear about it on the news, but you never expect to be a part of it. I—” A tinkling tune rang out, and Nick took his smart phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Excuse me for a moment, ladies. This is a call from White Oak. Hello?”

  He didn’t take the call away from the table, unconcerned with being overheard. Jazmin and I enjoyed our coffee, pretending not to listen in as Nick spoke with his employee.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, nodding emphatically. “What’s the situation with the roads over there? Has anyone managed to make it through? I see. Thank you for the update, Alfonso. Please continue to keep me posted.”

  “I thought the storm knocked out cell service,” I said as he hung up.

  He pocketed his phone. “White Oak has its own cell tower. I had it constructed for situations such as these. Like I said, I’ve been in the resort business for a while.”

  “Is everything okay at your hotel?” Jazmin asked.

  “It’s quite fine,” Nick said. “That’s actually what Alfonso—the manager—was calling to tell me. The roads are blocked, but everyone is comfortable. We’re prepared for a storm like this one. The last thing I want is for any of my guests to be uncomfortable.” He sighed wistfully as he gazed around the lounge at the forlorn faces of the other employees. “What a shame we can’t make our way to White Oak. If I knew King and Queens was so ill-prepared for something like this, I wouldn't have risked coming here. In fact, I would have invited all of you to stay at White Oak sooner. Perhaps then this terrible tragedy wouldn’t have occurred.”

  “You shut your mouth!”

  The hoarse order came so suddenly that everyone in the lodge perked up from their morose, slumped positions. Oliver emerged from his catatonic state, untucking himself to glare at Nick Porter with no small amount of derision. Riley woke out of her nap, her feet sliding off the table. Oliver walked over to us, shaking with every step, until he stood over Nick Porter’s bad leg, which extended from the booth. The sweat stains around Oliver’s collar and beneath his armpits were beginning to yellow, and he’d done nothing to clean the dried blood from his shirt. He smelled like stale body odor. I held my breath as he leaned in toward Nick.

  “Don’t talk about my hotel,” he whispered.

  Nick, to his credit, did not shove Oliver away from him as I would have. “My good man, I meant no offense to your fine establishment. I was simply implying that White Oak is newer and has the means to accommodate a good number of individuals during a time like this.”

  When Oliver seized Nick by the lapels, Riley vaulted from her seat. “Dad, don’t!”

  Oliver kept Nick in hand. “Listen to me, you swine. I don’t care how suave or important you think you are. My family has been on this mountain for longer than you’ve been alive, and I intend to keep it that way.”

  Nick’s cane clattered to the floor, but he coolly responded, “I don’t believe your family is who you think they are.”

  Oliver’s fingers clenched, wrinkling the perfect fabric of Nick’s jacket. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “The Watson name was once well-respected,” Nick said. “I admired the way King and Queens was run before you took over. Hell, I mimicked some of the business strategies that used to be employed here, but no more. You’ve ruined this place, Oliver. Face it, you were never meant to lead a team in this extraordinary game. It’s not for everyone, I’m afraid.”

  “You scumbag!”

  Nick made no attempt to defend himself against Oliver’s incoming punch. It landed square on his cheek, but Oliver overswung. The extra momentum landed him on Nick’s lap, rattling our table as they tussled. Jazmin picked up our cappuccinos to stop them from spilling over while Riley yanked at her dad’s shirt, trying to get him off the other hotel owner. The two men were impossible to separate. I couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose.

  “Enough!” Daniel roared. He’d hauled ass from across the bar, where Liam was slumped over a glass of water. Daniel booted Riley out of the way and hauled Oliver off of Nick, trapping Oliver’s hands behind his back. “Watson, I understand you’re upset, but you cannot assault the other people in this lounge no matter how emotional you are.” He heaved Oliver toward his original table and forced him to sit down. “Now you will stay at this table until I ask you to do otherwise. Is that clear?”

  While Oliver grumbled, Jazmin and I helped Nick sit up. His cheek bone was bright red from the impact of Oliver’s knuckles, and Oliver’s ring had opened a small cut above his eyebrow too.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you need ice for your face?”

  He blotted the cut with a napkin. I turned away. I’d seen so much blood that morning, a paper cut would’ve set me off.

  “I’m all right,” Nick said. Panting, he straightened his jacket and brushed invisible dust from the sleeves. “I imagine I’ll have to have this suit thoroughly dry-cleaned if we ever get out of here. Goodness. What a temper. Oh, p
oor girl! Are you okay?”

  In all the chaos, no one noticed Riley had fallen to the ground when Daniel threw her aside to break up her father’s messy fight. Nick helped her to her feet, wobbling as he did so. Riley brushed off the seat of her pants and dusted her palms.

  “Can you be my dad?” she asked Nick dryly.

  Instead of laughing, he hid a frown. Tenderly, he swept bread crumbs from the back of Riley’s oversized sweatshirt. “I am honored you asked. I like to think of myself as a surrogate parent to many of my young guests and employees. Should you ever require my assistance, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart.”

  Riley, who wasn’t expecting a compassionate response, surprised everyone with a smile. It was small and contained, but it was there nonetheless. “Thanks, Mr. Porter.”

  “That’s Nick to you,” he said.

  “Riley, can I borrow you for a minute?” I asked her. “I have a couple things I need to share with you in private.”

  We headed for the steps to the lobby, but Daniel’s keen eye saw us from his position at the bar. He was through interviewing Liam and had moved on to Ari. “Hey,” he called. “No one leaves the Eagle’s View. Not even you, Lucia.”

  “We’re going down to the lobby,” I said, leading Riley along before Daniel could stop us. “We’ll be right back.”

  Later, I would pay for the disgruntled look on his face. Daniel didn’t take rejection well, one of the reasons his marriage was crumbling. It wasn’t my job to look after him or put him back together. It was, on the other hand, my responsibility to protect Riley and the other people in this resort from the dead.

  “What is it?” Riley said.

  “We haven’t talked yet,” I said, checking to make sure we were out of earshot from the rest of the lounge. I steadied my hands on Riley’s thin shoulders. “How are you after what happened this morning?”

  “Fine.”

  “Riley, your brother died.”

  “I know.”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Affirmative, Captain.”

  I shifted my weight away from her, put off by the nonchalant expression she’d been sporting all morning. “Usually this kind of information affects people more than it appears to be affecting you.”

  “Did you expect me to be upset?” She crossed her arms. “Tyler’s gone. I’ve been wishing for that my whole life. Do I like the way it happened? No, but I’m not going to dispute it.”

  “You were freaking out this morning,” I reminded her. “That’s all gone, is it?”

  “I freaked because you were going to leave me here alone.”

  I studied her pout, crossed arms, and wrinkled brow. “Are you mad at me? Is that why you’re giving me this cold shoulder crap?”

  “You were going to leave me, right after you promised you wouldn’t.”

  It made sense now. Riley thought I was going back on my word to figure all of this out. A week ago, it wouldn’t have mattered what a twelve-year-old thought of me. Now I respected Riley more than most adults in my life. I went to brush her hair, but she stepped out of reach.

  “I panicked, okay?” I said. “Between last night’s trip to the old wing and this morning’s murder, I was ready to forget about King and Queens. It was stupid and selfish, and I should’ve taken more than a second to consider how my actions would affect you.”

  She tapped her heel against the marble floor, making me stew. “I get it. I’m some kid you hardly know.”

  “You know that’s not true,” I said. “You knew we had a connection way before I did. We have to stick together while we figure this out.”

  “I’m not the one who has a problem with that.”

  “What shirt are you wearing under your sweater?” I asked.

  She toyed with the collar of her sweater. Beneath it, the faded black fabric of an old T-shirt stuck out. “Your Blondie shirt. Why?”

  “Do you remember what you said when you asked if you could have it?”

  “That I wouldn’t want it if I didn’t like you.”

  “Right,” I said. “We made a deal. For as long as I’m at King and Queens, that shirt belongs to you. Have I asked for it back yet?”

  “No.”

  “And I’m not going to,” I promised. This time, when I reached for her, she let me pull her closer. “I’m not leaving, Riley. For real. I don’t trust anyone else to keep an eye on you. Okay?”

  Her expression softened. “Okay.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now that’s out of the way, I can tell you what happened to me this morning when I went upstairs. Do you remember Odette?”

  “The baby?”

  “Yeah, the baby that didn’t really exist,” I recalled. “I saw her again, but this time she was your age. She appeared in my room. Black curls, blue eyes. Sound familiar?”

  Riley’s eyes widened. “She’s the nice ghost, isn’t she? The one who likes hot chocolate?”

  “That’s my guess too,” I said. “I think Odette has been trying to communicate with you, but because you’re younger and you don’t have a lot of experience with the whole psychic thing, she couldn’t get through to you.”

  “So she asked you for help?”

  “Yes. She wants me to look into the fire that happened here thirty years ago,” I said. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”

  Riley shook her head. “I asked Dad about it a couple of years ago when I first found the old wing, but he said I was ‘too young to know about such terrible things.’”

  “You know your dad was the only member of his family to make it out of the fire alive, right?”

  “Yeah, I read about it online since he wouldn’t tell me anything,” Riley said.

  “What about your grandparents?” I asked. “Do you know anything about them? Or your aunt? Your father had a sister, right?”

  “Dad doesn’t talk about his family. I think it hurts him to think about it. There’s a photo of all of them in his office.”

  “Can we go look?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  We crossed the lobby to the office, but when Riley pulled on the handle, it didn’t budge.

  “That’s weird,” she said. “He doesn’t normally lock it.”

  “Nick Porter’s here,” I reminded her. “He’s all kinds of paranoid with that guy around. What’s up with that anyway?”

  Riley shimmied a bobby pin into the keyhole, but the experimental lockpicking attempt failed. “He thinks Nick is going to put him out of business. He’s had it out for him ever since they started construction on White Oak.”

  “He better be careful,” I said. “Everyone loves Nick. If your dad doesn’t tone it down, he might lose King and Queens sooner than he expected.”

  Riley put the bobby pin between her teeth like a cowgirl with a toothpick. “I don’t think it would be so bad if King and Queens got shut down, especially now that it’s just me and Dad. We could move to a nice cabin in town and ski whenever we wanted. He wouldn’t have to worry about keeping this place up and running.”

  “You should suggest it,” I said. “It would be nice for your dad to hear that.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hey, you two!” Daniel called. We looked up to see him leaning over the railing of the Eagle’s View. He waved us upward. “That’s long enough. Come back up.”

  “In a minute,” I said.

  “Now!” he ordered and returned to the lounge.

  I held Riley for a moment longer. “I need you to do something for me, kiddo. Can you work on your dad? Get him to open up about the fire and his family. We need as much information as possible.”

  Riley squared off her shoulders, but she was so small and thin that it didn’t make much of a difference. “You got it.”

  The interviews wore on and on. Daniel spent forty-five minutes to an hour with each employee of the hotel. He grew more agitated, jostling his leg beneath the bar and fiddling with his notepad. Once, at the beginning of his interview with Karli, he threw his pen
across the room in a fit of rage. The ballpoint flew into the window and shattered. Daniel calmly picked up the pieces, discarded them, then returned to his seat at the bar, where Karli handed him the crappy pen that she took orders with. Lunch time came and went without any hint of food. Imani offhandedly suggested that we order pizza. Whether she was kidding or had forgotten that we were snowed in remained undefined. By one o’clock, everyone in the Eagle’s View was hungry, angry, and ready to take Daniel down to serve him up on a platter. I interrupted him between interviews.

  “I know you’re determined to catch the killer before anyone else gets dead,” I began, “but if you don’t let us eat, everyone’s going to gang up on you, and your death will be the next homicide the Crimson Basin police are going to have to investigate. Capisce?”

  Daniel massaged his temples with his calloused fingers. “I’m losing my mind, Lucia.”

  “So is everyone else here,” I said. “But withholding food isn’t going to help. Matisse and Karli work in the kitchen. Let them do their jobs.”

  He looked around the lounge. The glares he got in return were enough to convince him to go through with my idea. “Fine. You win. Make everyone lunch.”

  Matisse and Karli didn’t need to be asked twice. They rose from their booth at the same time, opposites in looks but partners in the task at hand. Matisse was a tall, lumbering individual in his mid-twenties. He moved like a bear walking across a frozen swimming pool, but his fingers were deft and graceful in the kitchen. He had pale shoulder-length hair luscious enough for a shampoo commercial and brown eyes that looked dark and emotionless until you got closer to see their real warmth. He let Karli go in front of him, tracking her petite form with his intense gaze. One large hand hovered around her waist without touching her, as if he meant to catch her should she happen to trip. Everyone but Karli could see the intention in Matisse’s body language, but he made it that way himself, hiding his feelings in an effort to provide her with the space and respect she wanted.

  Nick got up from our booth and followed the pair into the kitchen. “I think I’ll help,” he said, squeezing my shoulder as he passed. “Idle hands and what not. You don’t mind, do you, Detective?”