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“Downstairs. When I was in line. You looked as though you thought I was someone else.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, quickly.
Carrie blinked. She responded with a drawn-out, “Okay.”
He opened his mouth, showing his very nice white teeth, then closed it again. After a sigh, he said, “I think we may have met before but I can’t remember where. It’s kind of driving me crazy.” He took a step closer. “I don’t suppose you recognize me.”
“Nope. Not even a little bit.”
“Ah. Well. Okay, then.” He backed up toward the door. “Maybe I do think you look like someone else.” He stopped, took a step toward her. “Do you ever go to San Diego?”
“I’ve been there.”
“Huh.”
It didn’t seem as if he was going to say any more about that. Instead, he focused on the ten dollars again.
“You used to live in San Diego?”
He shook his head. “No. New York. Still do.”
She wasn’t sure what was going on here. It probably should have been a lot more uncomfortable than it was, but then, she was used to weird conversations with highly intelligent but socially awkward geeks. “Documentary filmmaker?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything I’ve seen?”
“Doubt it. Unless you go to small film festivals. I’ve done four major pieces, and a bunch of shorts. Mostly to do with human-rights activism.”
“Wow, good cause.”
“Yeah.”
“No ghosts?”
He studied her face. “No.”
“Ah.”
He took his hands out of his pockets, then rested one on her suitcase. It was a nice hand, strong, with long fingers and short, neat nails. A moment went by and then he straightened abruptly as if goosed. “You probably want to unpack, and I should let you do that.”
“Uh,” she said elegantly, watching him back out of the room. He really did know the space well.
“You should try the restaurant. And the pastries. Seriously.” He found the doorknob behind him. “Anyway, have a great stay.”
“Thank you.”
He paused. Again.
As weird as this had become, and she was thinking eleven on a scale of one to ten, she didn’t mind. She rather liked it. Him. It. She smiled.
He smiled back. That same great smile. Then he opened the door and slipped into the hallway. She heard the lock click and she sat down on the bed, still certain of nothing, but hopeful. Very hopeful.
3
SAM CLOSED HIS EYES as he shut the door behind him. He supposed he could have behaved more like an idiot with Carrie, but not without rehearsals. He’d recognized people in the past and not recalled the context, but never before had the situation turned him into a complete moron.
With a blink to clear his vision, he made the executive decision to forget everything that had happened in room 204. There was a hotel to run, a hotel to sell, and he had no idea what 204 had even been about, so he wouldn’t think about it.
None of the guests were in the hallway at the moment, so he took the time to check that the carpet had been properly vacuumed and the pictures dusted. The wall sconces weren’t lit, so he couldn’t check for bulbs that needed changing, but then he should know by now that even if there were things about the hotel that needed fixing or refining, the housekeeping staff knew how to do their jobs.
There were few complaints with any of the staff. The lifers had been with the hotel for years, had considered themselves family when his dad had been in charge. The part-timers were paid relatively well and loved the benefits, such as the free ski passes, which meant that they were mostly reliable, and any troublemakers were weeded out quickly.
He skipped the elevator in favor of the stairs, and by the second step down, he was thinking once again about Carrie. He liked her looks, her size, the way she talked. Although he felt sure she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about ghost hunting as she’d like him to believe. That seemed odd considering she’d signed on for a steady diet of nothing but ghosts. Yet another thing to be curious about.
Where the hell had he seen her before? It wasn’t amusing anymore. He tried to picture her with shorter hair, maybe a different color, but that didn’t help. Nope, she’d looked like this the last time. He felt sure of it. But then, her looks weren’t what had captured his attention. Not completely, at least. It was something more. She seemed to occupy a bigger space than she should. Not her body; her personality. He’d seen it when she was standing in line. Among all the guests, Carrie Sawyer was a singularity.
That’s what rang familiar. The way she stood out from the crowd. Maybe it was the contrast between her stature and her energy. Wherever he’d seen her before, he’d been struck by that very thing.
It wasn’t unusual for him to pick up on strong personalities. He shot raw footage of people who weren’t celebrities. He’d trained himself to see past the superficial, to hone in on unique individuals. His camera would love her.
Once in the lobby, he checked his watch, knowing his buyers would be arriving on-site in a few hours. He supposed he could go check up on the kitchen, or make sure the banquet room was set up properly for tonight’s meet and greet.
He’d sent Beverly, the groundskeeper, to make sure that the ghost hunters setting up the camera equipment in the Old Hotel weren’t doing anything idiotic, like trying to climb the rickety stairs.
The place was mostly a wreck, and wore its condemned sign like a beacon, but of course his father had made sure that the bottom floor was completely up to code. The insurance company came out yearly to do a check, and Sam had gone along on the last visit.
His dad had done an admirable job of hiding all the safety measures, including the two new load-bearing walls. It would take a very good building inspector to see that what looked like a ruin was very sturdy, and would probably survive an earthquake better than any other building on the property. Not that Sam worried much about earthquakes.
His father and all his family had wanted the ghost hunters to have a good time. That the building seemed condemned was a little extra bonus, but in the daylight it was no more frightening than Disneyland’s haunted house. Still, every group that set up equipment in the old place left satisfied that they had, indeed, detected spirits from the other side.
There weren’t any tricks put in, either. The wind, the floorboards and the ambience did all the work on minds determined to find it haunted. Everyone’s expectations were met, all because they wanted to believe. Of course, that wasn’t the exclusive territory of ghost hunters. It was the human condition.
And he supposed it was that very malady that set his thoughts back to Carrie. He wanted to see her again, which was tricky. It wasn’t a simple thing for him to view himself as an innkeeper. He knew that the staff were absolutely not allowed to sleep with the guests. He also knew a good half of them ignored that rule at times. But he had the feeling that during the next few days especially, he would be wise to keep his wants focused on one thing alone—the sale.
On the other hand, maybe a distraction was exactly what he needed. There was only so much he could do about the sale. He knew the CEOs didn’t want him hovering, and his staff was perfectly capable of handling all the details about the convention.
It had been a long time since he’d been so struck by a woman. That she was only here for a week was a bonus, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was interested. There had been glances, a blush. That shiver when he’d put his hand on the small of her back.
Sam grinned as he headed for the ballroom. This could end up being a far more interesting week than he’d ever anticipated.
CARRIE FINISHED HER roasted squab dinner and had to force herself not to lick the plate. How was it possible that in this little smidge of an inn, she’d had one of the best meals of her life?
The restaurant didn’t look like much. Lots of wood, of course. This rustic business wasn’t Carrie’s cup of tea, but she could see that people would expect it, considering the location and the landscape. There were maybe twenty tables, each with a simple floral centerpiece. The silver matched, the glasses were sparkling, the lighting subdued, even though the chandelier was made of horns. Deer, elk, she had no idea. All she knew was they were white and pointy and that she’d personally rather have fluorescent lights, which she despised, than chandeliers made from animal parts.
The best thing about the hotel by far wasn’t the décor but the Internet connection. It was fast. Not quite as zippy as her cable at home, but for a hotel in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t complain. Almost as good as her Internet speed was that, in addition to a good-sized shower, there was also a claw-foot bathtub. It was deep and there were candles in little nooks in the tile, and the hotel provided some amazing bath salts. She couldn’t wait.
“Oh, my god,” Erin said, looking longingly at her empty plate. “That was unbelievably good.”
“I know, right?”
“I’m really full.” Erin had ordered venison, and had finished every bite. “But I’m having dessert anyway. Can you imagine? “
“I’m thinking about ordering the roast squab all over again.”
Erin grinned, then did a sweep of the restaurant. “You can tell how great the food is. Check out how no one’s talking. With these geeks, that’s a supernatural event.”
Carrie leaned back in her chair. “You made a joke. About the supernatural.”
“I do have a sense of humor about it,” her friend said with a scowl. “I’m not mean like some people.”
“Who’s been mean? Let me at ‘em.”
“You’re a scream.”
Carrie’s eyebrows rose. “Is that another joke?”
Ignoring her, Erin got the waitresses’s attention with a nod. “I’m going to have coffee. Real coffee.”
“What time are you planning to go to bed?”
“The minute after I see my first ghost.”
“You’re gonna need a lot of coffee.”
Erin sighed. “Oh, ye of little faith. I’m telling you, there’ve been sightings here since the beginning of the last century. Especially in the Old Hotel.”
Carrie had read about the extra-added-bonus ghost-filled building in the brochure, and in several articles she found on Google. It had been built in the early 1900s by the newly transplanted Crider family. The ghost stories had begun after the small hotel had burned to the ground. Four families, most of them Criders, had been killed and were said to wander the lower floors searching for a way out. “Don’t tell me you’re going out there tonight. It’s really cold, and I’m positive it’s not heated and if I remember correctly, the building is unsafe and off-limits.”
Erin grinned. “Of course we get to go inside. That’s what we’re here for.”
“Who’s we?”
“You know, Mike, Dean, Liam. The people who put the con together.”
“And you’re on a first-name basis with them because …?”
“Because I’m not an antisocial loner. We’ve e-mailed. And chatted. And IM’d.”
“Erin, did you send them your picture?”
“No.”
“Did you send them to your Web site?”
She hesitated. “Yeah.”
Carrie sighed. “I thought so. Did you see pictures of them?”
“No.”
“Dear, sweet, oblivious Erin. The reason none of the men are talking in this restaurant isn’t because the food is fantastic. It’s because they’re all too busy trying to come up with witty, obscure opening lines with which to dazzle you.”
Erin looked around the room with disbelief.
Carrie noted with smug satisfaction that a good half of the men quickly diverted their attention to either their plates, the unremarkable ceiling or simply closed their eyes, presumably under the impression that if they couldn’t see, they became invisible.
“No one’s even looking in our direction.”
“God, you’re naive. New York is gonna eat you alive. Trust me. I bet there are at least ten ghost-related pickup lines thrown your way tonight.”
“You’re nuts. If anyone’s looking it’s probably at you.”
“Want to bet?”
Her friend’s cheeks became pink. “No. But even if you’re right, it won’t last. The ghosts hold far more interest than I ever could.”
“I repeat. Oblivious.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Carrie didn’t understand, even when she followed Erin’s gaze to the east side of the restaurant. “What?”
“Sam Crider? Staring at you like you’re his long-lost soul mate?”
She saw him, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. He was checking out an empty table before he straightened the place setting. A perfectly reasonable, if disappointing, thing for the proprietor to do. “You’re lying because I’m right. But it won’t work. Every single guy in this room wants you. Probably the married guys, too. And who knows, maybe someone will, you know, spark.”
“That would be nice.” Erin picked up the dessert menu. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, getting some hot ghost-hunter booooty. Get it? Booooty?”
Carrie shook her head. “So, so sad.”
“Come on. That was funny. Talk about someone needing to get laid. But then, you’ve already got Sam there locked and loaded.”
“I don’t know. It was, um, kind of weird in my room.”
“Oh?”
“Not sexy weird. Just, I don’t know if I’m reading him right. And he’s the owner. Owners don’t shack up with guests.”
Erin laughed. “Now who’s being naive? Why bother to own a hotel if you can’t sleep with guests? I’m serious, my poor celibate friend, your dry spell is about to be broken.”
“Fine. I believe you.”
“You don’t, but you should. I’m having the hazelnut torte.”
Carrie didn’t blink at the non sequitur. “I’m having the pumpkin soufflé. It’s only proper.”
“Speaking of, tomorrow night is the pumpkin-carving thingee. You’re going to win.”
