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Sam found Elton via his name tag and his little wave. He was one of the throng surrounding Erin and he fit the bill. Young, thin, ghost T-shirt, long hair. Besotted, but not just with Erin. Sam saw the way Elton looked at Carrie. He stepped in between the two of them, reminding himself that it wouldn’t do to threaten a guest.
The other boys were excited about the new female, and damn, he wished he had his camera. They were like a pack of beta wolves, preening and scuffling, even as they sat on the floor with their power drinks, candy wrappers and electronic devices, which were primed for texting. They were all probably trying to figure out how to announce Carrie’s arrival in one hundred and forty characters or less.
“So, anything happen?” Carrie asked.
“A temperature anomaly, but nothing significant,” Erin said.
It was odd hearing their whispered voices, along with all the other whispers. It made him think of a room full of moths.
“Well, it’s early yet,” Carrie said, then she turned to him. “Are you going to hang out for a while?”
He nodded. “For a while.”
“Great. I’m going to get coffee. I have the feeling it will be necessary.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She led him back across the patchwork quilt of bodies. No one seemed to think it was odd that he was here, and a few even smiled in recognition. Why should they care? Most of them probably thought he was just another guy who worked here. Which was good.
Being with Carrie was better. She poured them each a hot coffee. She put stuff in her cup, then eyed the remaining food.
“Never let this chef go,” she said, her low voice causing her to step close to him. “She’s unbelievable. I’ve eaten so much I should be shot for even thinking about taking more.”
“It’s good to indulge yourself once in a while. You’re on vacation. You’re supposed to be bad.”
The way she looked at him let him know he’d been about as subtle as an eighteen-wheeler. “Even vacations have consequences,” she said. But she chose two pink petits fours, both on one plate. “How bad can these be, right?” she asked. “These little things barely count.”
He grabbed a big old éclair, more to keep himself busy than because he was hungry. “I have no self-control when it comes to Jody’s food. She knows it, too. Once, when she was visiting from Paris, she forced me to eat an entire Bûche de Noël.”
“At gunpoint, I assume?”
“No, dammit. Worse. She left it on the counter.”
Her laugh wasn’t as quiet as it should have been, and she was reprimanded immediately. She glared at the crowd, unsure who’d done the deed. “I mean, come on. If we can’t laugh, what’s the point?”
He almost laughed, too, but he didn’t dare give off even a hint of disrespect.
She handed him a fork and a small napkin. “You say she’s going to be here all week?”
“Jody? Yep. All week.”
“That is just great. Although I’ll pay for it with exercise when I get back home.”
“That’s what hiking’s for. I could show you the prime sights.”
“Wow. If I were a person who hiked, I’d jump all over that offer. But with these hours, I intend to sleep through most of the day. I still have to work, too.” She closed her mouth quickly, pressing her lips together, as if she’d said something she hadn’t meant to.
Of course he wanted to ask her about it, but again, discretion won out. “Then you can take advantage of the sunsets. You can see those from your room. Also, don’t worry about having to get up and eat dinner. We’re serving late for the rest of the conference, from noon to midnight, breakfast until six p.m.”
“Everyone in the hotel is with the con?”
He had just taken a bite of his éclair so he nodded. After he swallowed, he said, “We’ve only got thirty-six rooms.”
“Ah. Lot’s of doubles and triples. Been there, done that.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I went to college in Kentucky, and we used to go to Daytona Beach for spring break. I mean a whole flock of us. I’ve slept on couches and floors. A bathtub once. That sucked.”
“I know the feeling. I have a very small apartment in Brooklyn. Ever been to New York?”
“So you probably sleep in the bathtub every night.”
“Couch. Not a fold-out couch. A short couch. With lumps.”
“You must really love Brooklyn.”
He ate a bit, as did she, then sipped his coffee before answering. “It’s either New York or L.A. Although the options are changing as more of the film business spreads across the country. I use a lot of students for my crew, and it’s always last-minute stuff.”
“I searched you on Google,” she whispered.
“You did?” Dammit, why hadn’t he thought of doing that? “And you’re still speaking to me?”
“I must not have looked hard enough. Everything I read sang your praises.”
He rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t feeling quite so blasé. She’d looked him up. He tried to remember everything on his Web site, what pictures she’d seen, but he couldn’t think. That happened a lot when he was near her. “Hype,” he said. “But I am proud of my films. Some more than others.”
“Doesn’t it just depress the shit out of you?”
Now he laughed, loudly enough to get his own rebuke. “Not doing something would depress me more. Not that I’m some massive humanitarian. I just find the real issues to be the most vital. I thought about going into the movie side, but my heart wouldn’t be in it. I want to tell stories that matter.”
Carrie frowned up at him, although he didn’t think she disapproved. More that she was thinking about what he’d said. “How does that work out with you running this place?”
He put his empty plate down, but kept his coffee. “It doesn’t.”
“There needs to be more of that sentence.”
“Right. As much as I’m fond of the inn, it’s not my life.” He lowered his voice further. “I’m selling it.”
“Really?”
“Shhh.” He leaned closer. “Uh, that’s supposed to be a secret.”
“I’ll keep it under my hat.” She put both her plate and her cup down. “Hasn’t the hotel been in your family for generations? “
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“I’m not very sentimental.”
“I imagine not.”
“You’re appalled.”
“No. Not at all. You need to do what you need to do. I’m not a sentimental person, either. Not really. There are only a few things in my life I couldn’t live without. One of them, sadly, is my best friend.” She looked over at Erin, sitting among her fan boys. “I’m better with her around.”
“How so?”
“I live most of my life on the Internet. It’s pathetic. Erin helps me participate in life, as she calls it. Without her I’d go out even less frequently than I do now.” Carrie shrugged, took a step away from him. “We should get back to watching the monitors. There could be ghosts.”
“Right. Ghosts.” He wasn’t sure if it was the talk of sentiment or the talk of Erin that had changed the tenor of the conversation. Her body language had changed, even her whisper was different.
Would it be smarter to leave things be for the night and hope for a better tomorrow? Or should he wade back in and try for a recovery?
She took his plate and hers to one of the washing bins, then came back and refilled her coffee. All without meeting his gaze.
“I think it’s time for me to say good-night,” he said, as much as it pained him.
She looked up then. “Giving up the ghost so early?”
He grimaced at the pun, then smiled. “Big day tomorrow. I can’t sleep till noon.”
“It was nice running in to you again. I enjoyed it.”
“Me, too. Maybe we’ll meet again tomorrow.”
Her dark eyes were wide and beautiful, and they studied him closely. “Yeah. That would be good. I’d like that.”
He believed her. All was not lost. At least, he didn’t think so.
6
CARRIE CLOSED HER EYES. Again. For the billionth time. It was four-thirty in the morning, and a half an hour ago, she’d been so dead on her feet that she’d strongly considered paying Erin to put the comforter back on her bed.
She’d managed alone, and to brush her own teeth and get into her pj’s, but the moment she’d actually put her head down on the pillow, she’d been alert, awake and, no matter how sternly she’d spoken to her inner monologue, it would … not … stop … yammering.
“Shut up,” she said, hoping the aloud version would be more effective than the silent one.
Evidently not, because the next millisecond she was thinking about him. Again. The fact that she’d told him she had to work while she was here wasn’t so bad. It was nothing, in fact. They were going to be here for nearly a week. Of course people had to work.
No. What had been bad was that she’d said one hell of a lot more. She’d told him flat out that she was a complete loser who had exactly one real friend, and that the rest of her life was spent playing World of Warcraft and trolling Web sites. Awesome.
Reciprocity. That son of a bitch.
He’d told her his secret about selling the place, which was whoa. Major. So then she’d felt the need to reciprocate with a secret of her own.
If she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him, it wouldn’t be an issue. But, she’d realized the moment he’d taken the comforter and pillows that she did want to sleep with him. She liked him. Nothing earth-shattering, but she was ostensibly on vacation, and Vacation Rules stated that one could sleep with a very attractive hotel owner if one wanted to on the basis of like, which was quite different from Regular Life Rules. She was also allowed to eat at least one dessert a day, she didn’t have to work out and she could speak with a British accent if the mood struck.
But Sam had a life. He made important films about important issues. He lived in New York and traveled the country, not at comic book conventions, but living with the real people. He was friends with a world-class chef. She was friends with Hobbit107@inbox.com. It was the first damn night and she’d already blown it. Hence, staring at the ceiling in the wee hours of the morning.
The true tragedy was that she hadn’t even told him the worst of it. That she was there undercover, her sole intent to embarrass and malign people just like him. Oh, he’d love that. Who wouldn’t? She could just see how well that conversation would go. He’d probably kick her right out of the hotel, and who could blame him?
It was a miracle she even had Erin.
Anyway, Sam was going to find out about her. All it would take was a little Google action, and he’d discover her secret identity. She wrote under the name Carrie Price, but Price was her mom’s maiden name, and it wasn’t exactly a state secret.
She turned over and socked her pillow a few times, then tried to get comfortable. Fat chance.
Hell, maybe he’d understand. He was a New Yorker, for god’s sake. Just because he believed that ghosts were real didn’t mean he had no sense of humor. He was probably used to people making fun of him. Film people were notoriously cynical, right?
Crap. Even if he did get made fun of, he wouldn’t want to sleep with someone who openly disparaged his beliefs. That would be like her sleeping with someone who thought graphic novels weren’t real books.
Worse. Because a lot of people didn’t know squat about graphic novels. As far as the supernatural went, she was in the minority. A huge percentage of the world believed not only in life after death, but also ghosts and reincarnation and angels and demons. Most folks didn’t go a day without relying on something that couldn’t be scientifically proven. It was the norm, and she was the weirdo.
Nothing new there. She was used to being the odd woman out. She just wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
The only thing she had going for her was that he thought she was hot. It was right there all over his face. The way he looked at her? Oh, yeah. He wanted some vacation action.
Her smile fell. It was the first night in far too many nights that she hadn’t fallen asleep thinking about Armand. Was her attraction to Sam nothing but rebound lust?
After giving that a moment’s ponder, she turned over one more time. So what if it was? In fact, rebound lust was the whole damn point.
AT TEN TO FOUR IT WAS almost time for the first official event of the day. It, like all their indoor meetings, would be held in the ballroom. Sam had spent the morning with the buyers who continued to make nice noises without saying anything definitive, and left them in Beverly’s capable hands for a tour of the stables, the barn and the back fields. Sam had come to supervise the pumpkin-carving contest, which would be loud and messy, but fun. At least, that was the plan.
He wished he’d slept better. Thoughts of his conversation with Carrie had kept him up long after he’d hit the sheets. He’d dissected every word and come up with fifty different interpretations of what had gone down. He’d concluded he hadn’t completely blown his chances.
Naturally, he’d looked for her everywhere. At breakfast, although she’d be nuts to come down at eight after her night, in the ballroom, even in the kitchen. He’d been hopeful when they’d gone to the bar to grab lunch, but no go.
After that, Sam had taken Heartly and Mori into Crider City. The trip couldn’t have been timed more perfectly, as there were four buses parked at the IHOP and tons of tourists wandering through the decorated town. In Crider, Halloween was as big a deal as Christmas. The local legends about hauntings weren’t restricted to the hotel property, but had propagated all through the town. Most probably made up over a beer or two and carefully seeded across Colorado and beyond.
Instead of garlands of pine hanging over Main Street, there were flying witches and cut-out ghosts. Every window had some festive painted depiction of something mildly ghoulish, although appropriate for children. Some stores, like the Gift Emporium, went nuts.
Heartly and Mori resisted buying any ghost-related souvenirs, walked the length of Main and back, then Sam had returned them to the Inn. Mori had fallen asleep on the short ride, but neither he nor Heartly mentioned it.
“Sam?”
It was Wendy, one of the part-timers who was helping with the room setup.
“Yeah?”
“Are we only doing the one prize? “
“Why, do you think we should do more?”
“I think there are gonna be kids here, not many, but enough that we should do something about it.”
He gave it some thought as his gaze caught on the wheelbarrow of pumpkins teetering as it was brought down the center aisle. “After everyone’s here, take a head count of anyone under eighteen and make a note of the little kids, although I don’t think they’ll be many. Pick out gifts for all of them, and charge them to the party.”
