When Rusty O’Doul’s best friend says he needs to go to some small New Mexico town to visit an old hotel there and find out what happened to his sister, Rusty thinks it’s a monumentally dumb idea. And he’s happy to tell his buddy that. But Mike “BamBam” Shoemake is determined to find out how his perfectly healthy twin ended up dead. And Rusty has always had Mike’s back. No matter how weird things get…
Chapter 1
“God damn it, Bam-Bam, this is a stupid ass idea!” Rusty O’Doul had heard his best friend say a lot of dumb things in the last twenty-five years.
A lot.
This had to be the biggest, the worst, the dumbest that he’d ever heard in his whole life.
He tried not to wonder about what it said about him that he was in this truck heading to the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico, searching for an Old West hotel and saloon.
“I gotta try. I got to. You know that.” Mike shook his head, those light blue eyes just about as haunted as all get out. Rusty hadn’t seen them look right since the day that his twin had passed on.
“You don’t got to. We don’t have to do this.” He shook his head, swallowing back dust and bile, his eyes gone all gritty. “I’m sorry. You know I loved Pebbles like she was my sister. You know it damn near killed me when we lost her, but I gotta be real with you, man. Going into that hotel and seeing where she died ain’t gonna help. And this…this son of a bitch psycho, he wants to put you on the TV.”
“He’s a psychic, and it ain’t the TV!” Mike shook his head, dust flying from those black curls. “It’s just something on the web. I’ve been watching his shows on the YouTube, and he’s really good.”
Thank God, Bam-Bam was driving, or else Rusty would be banging on the steering wheel like a lunatic. “At what? He sees spirits? Have you seen one on YouTube on your laptop at any point? Ever? Have you seen a ghost? What makes you think for a second that this son of a bitch can find your sister? And—“ Rusty threw his hands up in the air, knocking the pine tree car smell-good winding. “And if you found her? What? What is it you’re expecting to do? The woman died. She is at the pearly gates. She is in heaven. She is not wandering around some damn hotel with a bunch of other ghosts, having them some sort of ghost orgy.”
Bam-Bam threw the steering wheel to the right, the truck going careening off the highway and into the desert.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rusty grabbed hold of the dashboard and braced himself for impact.
Bam-Bam slammed on the brakes, and the pick-up spun around, tires squealing, the dust flying everywhere.
“Don’t you say the word orgy and my sister in the same sentence ever!” Mike roared,
“You have lost your God damn mind!” And if Rusty had not been this man’s friend for his whole entire life, he would just get out of the truck and walk.
But Bam-Bam was his soul-brother.
And also, he didn’t know where the hell they were.
Not to mention there wasn’t anything but desert, no matter which direction he looked.
Desert and road. Not even a damn car or a turkey buzzard. Lots of huge damn black birds just flying up in the air.
So Rusty stayed in the truck.
“Listen, son.” He turned to face Bam-Bam, fighting the seat belt for all he was worth. “I have saved your ass a thousand times. I have yanked your ass off bulls. I have thrown you up on the fence. I have covered you with my body when the bulls were trampling your happy heinie. Do not think for one second that I am not doing the same thing right now!”
Mike lifted his fist and reared it back as if he was going to throw a punch.
Rusty just faced him head on. There was no blow that this man could give that was even close to as big as any of the hits he taken from a bull, and he’d be damned if he backed down from this now.
Just like he knew would happen, Mike dropped his fist and slumped back in the seat, face crumpling like he was fixin’ to cry. “I got no choice. I’ve got to try. She was the only family I had left.” Mike sucked in a shaky breath. “We were supposed to ride rodeo together, until she got married and had babies.”
“I know.” And Rusty did understand, bone deep. Pebbles had been one hell of a rodeo rider. One of the best barrel racers he’d ever seen.
It didn’t make no sense, this perfectly healthy girl having a girls’ night out at the antique hotel in town, instead of staying back in the trailers.
Girl goes into some supposedly haunted hotel room and dies. Just dead. They’d just found her there on the floor, still and gone.
Coroner said it was a heart attack. Didn’t make any sense to him or anyone else.
It was little wonder that Mike was losing his damn mind.
“I got you, Bam-Bam I do. I think it’s stupid as fuck. But I got you.” He reached out to cover one clenched fist with his own hand, pressing down and giving Mike some pressure, just to let him know he wasn’t alone.
“Thank you. I need you, buddy. I can’t do this alone.”
He’d never made Mike face stuff by himself Rusty wouldn’t make Bam-Bam do it now either.
“Let’s get this son of a bitch on the road then, and meet this web psychic dude.” Christ, he was going with a grieving brother to meet a ghost-hunter at a haunted hotel in the middle of nowhere.
What could possibly do wrong?
Chapter 2
Garrett McCloud was about one hundred and ten thousand perfect sure that his life was fixin’ to get worse.
To be perfectly honest, this was a truly terrifying thought.
“Buy a hotel,” they said. “How hard can it be?” they said. “Damn thing has been around for a hundred and fifty years. Since the Old West days, it’s been running. You’ve got a built in audience. Just sign here.”
Sign here his ass.
No one had mentioned the fact that hotels built before electricity was common didn’t have the slightest capability of keeping up with the needs of even the most basic traveler these days. Much less a bunch of Internet phone happy cowboys.
Anybody who said that cowboys were backwater and didn’t know how to use technology, obviously had never met a rodeo cowboy on the road who did his entire business – one hundred percent — of it on his damn phone.
Then there was the plumbing.
God save him from the plumbing.
No one ever told him about the plumbing.
Especially not when one hundred of his favorite rodeo people showed up for the sheriff’s posse event. Then his entire place was full, and everybody was flushing the toilets at the same damn time.
Add to the issue that room 203 had to be locked.
From the outside.
Not because of the plumbing, not because of the electricity. Not because of rats or bugs or mold. Or a broken window, or any of the things that normally he would have to close off a room for.
No.
He had a ghost.
Garrett didn’t care if anyone believed him or not. Garrett didn’t care if anyone thought he was crazy.
He had a ghost.
Not only did he have a ghost, but everyone in town had known he had a ghost.
He couldn’t believe this. The whole damn town could have told him about the ghost, but they hadn’t.
And now he was a laughing stock in Wranglers.
That wasn’t even the worst part.
The worst part was that someone had gotten hurt in his hotel. In room 203.
Now, he’d had the damn thing locked with a padlock. He’d given verbal warnings and put a sign on the door that said the room was unsafe pending a remodel.
But cowboy folk were good at ferreting out rumors and tall tales, and a barrel racer had taken the dare and unscrewed the lock plate with her friends, letting herself into the room.
The local and state authorities both said she’d had a heart attack. Heart attack. At twenty-five.
No fucking way did that make any sense, especially since the tests showed she had no genetic abnormality. Garret was no damn doctor, but that was pretty damning.
It broke his heart. She was just a kid. Twenty five or so.
Not that he was a senior citizen or anything, but still. He was the owner. He was responsible.
Hearing those screams, running up the stairs to see her lying there, it was just–
Fuck him sideways.
Now, God help him, hey were going to do a damn seance or something in the hotel.
He’d thought to say no, but then her brother — her twin brother, to make it even worse, who was a bull rider and heading up in the ranks — started fussing.
Started rumbling.
Started making –not accusations, but they were coming close and to be perfectly honest, his bank account couldn’t afford it.
So now here he was fixin’ to be stuck with this bull rider brother who was pissed as all get out.
Add to that a psychic dude, whose first name was Obsidian, which seemed awful strange. Not that he hadn’t he seen stranger, but still.
Then there was also who and whatever it was that Obsidian brought with him. He wasn’t sure whether or not to be horrified or grateful that the damn hotel was empty.
What was he gonna do? He had used every bit of money that his granddaddy had left him to buy this place. He’d thought, oh, this is where the Wild West was. This was the best place. What a neat little town.
He should have stayed in Texas.
He didn’t know about these big centipedes and tarantulas that just lived in the ground. Everything was brown. There weren’t a whole lot of trees. It snowed.
It snowed.
But it wasn’t like anyone’s going to buy this place now. And he’d sunk everything he had into it, and he was underwater. So damn it. He was going to make this work come hell or high water. He had to make this stupid thing profitable.
He caught himself standing outside of Room 203, key to the padlock in his hand.
Garrett MacCloud, what the hell are you doing?
He shoved the key back in his pocket, staring hard at the door. “Look, I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I don’t care to know you. You can have the damn room. I just want you to go away or stay in there and leave me alone. Leave my hotel alone. I’m trying to make a living here. You’re not real. You’re dead. Go away. Go see Jesus.”
He’d already tried silver and salt and praying and holy water. Rosemary and thyme and, hell’s bells, he’d even thrown a big sprig of parsley at the door, just in case that was something that was on the list.
He seemed to remember that there was a list.
“I’m real serious.” He stared at the door again. “I want you to go away and leave me in my hotel. Alone.”
When the doorknob started to turn, the lights sliding on the rubbed bronze of that damn circle, his belly just dropped to his knees and he swallowed hard.
Please, God. I don’t know what it is You want from me.”
He managed to hang on and not panic.
At least until the doors started shaking, rattling against the lock, the screws screaming against the wood door frame.
Then Garrett ran.
Chapter 3
“Obsidian River, have you lost your God damn mind?” Kinley and Kaden were just sitting there, staring at him.
Like staring-staring at him.
It was kinda creepy, because Kaden had these long, bright red — and when Obsidian said bright red, he meant like red. Like blood red. Red as in like superball red – curls, and Kinley was bald as a cue ball.
But they both had these eyes.
They both had the same damn, dark as demon eyes. It was absolutely unbearable when they stared. He wasn’t sure why they were friends.
Except that wasn’t true. He knew exactly why they were friends. They were friends with him because he never walked away from a fight, because he’d never mixed them up, and because always kept his word.
He was friends with them because they had been the only two other Wiccans in their tiny little town, because they believed him, and because neither one of them had outed him when they’d seen him in the little witchy store outside of Dallas.
It was one thing to buy tarot cards and a silver pentacle pendant on a chain. It was a completely different thing to do when your daddy was the minister at First Baptist in town – the big one with the rec room and the audio-stereo system, not the little white wooden building.
“So, look. I’m not crazy. This is important. All right.” He needed them with him on this.
“To who?” Kaden stared. “This poor guy just lost his twin sister in a terrible accident that may—”
“–or may not—” Kinley added.
“–but possibly–”
“–again probably not—”
Kaden rolled his eyes. “–be paranormally related.”
“Paranormally is not a word.”
“Can we put a pin in it now?” Obsidian tried.
Kaden glared at Kinley. “It could be a word.”
“It’s not a word.”
Obsidian stomped his heavy biker boot on the coffee shop floor, drawing a glare from Eli, the little troll who managed the Brewing It.
“Don’t make me throw you out.”
“Hey,” Kinley snapped. “We’re paying for your shitty coffee, and our mom owns this place. Back the fuck off.”
“She said I could—”
Kinley stood, baring her teeth and her shirt, that read, “Eat the Management”. “Back off.”
Eli backed way off.
Great. Christ. “Now listen to me. This man with the unfortunate moniker of Bam-bam is looking for help. He’s requested our assistance. He needs us, and we need him, and we are going to do this. Understand?”
The Obsidian Echoes podcast was the only thing he had right now. The podcast and his little Ford Fiesta, which wasn’t even hardly big enough to do his side hustle of Instacart.
Not that these old fuddy duddies ever wanted to Instacart. And if they did, they sure weren’t tipping.
He had to get out of tiny town Texas. He had to get out of here, and he had to find a way to do it soon. It was hard out there — the housing market was shit, rents were so high you couldn’t even afford to have a bucket to piss in, much less a window to throw it out of, and, well…
It wasn’t not like he could go home. Not now. So…
“He’s offering to pay good money. Enough to get me through another month, and if I make him happy? Maybe. Maybe there’s more. And if it works for the podcast, then even better. We’re starting to get people listening, and we might get a sponsor.”
“Sara Mae at the studio wants to sponsor us enough for gas. Enough to get to New Mexico even.”
The twins didn’t understand. They came from good money. Kinley was a tattoo artist, too, and Kaden did…something that brought in money, obviously, because whenever he was really hungry, the man fed him.
Kaden waggled his eyebrows. “You gonna make him happy?”
“Shut up.” Obsidian didn’t need this right now. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna figure this out. This hotel, it has a reputation. I’ve been doing some research. It’s got a good history, enough to hang a podcast on, and that’s above and beyond the actual immediate, like, recent dead girl. Maybe even two podcasts.”
He spent more than his fair share of time at the library researching. Thank goodness the librarians all liked him. Catherine thought he was cute as hell, and let him stay even after the lights were off, researching the Garnet Hill Hotel. Since Shoemake had contacted him, he’d known this was his way out.
Pebbles Shoemake hadn’t been the first one to die in that hotel room. Not even close. Since 1850 There had been no fewer than twenty recorded deaths in room 203. In that single room. They’re been natural deaths, sure. Every hotel had those.
But this one had murders, suicides. The place had been a saloon, a brothel, a way side hotel.
It had history. People liked history.
“Look guys. This one’s big. You’ve got to trust me. There hasn’t been a murder or a death in room 203 of the Garnet Hill Hotel in fifty years. That’s one hell of a stretch. What if it’s starting up again?”
“What if it’s just a coincidence?” Kaden asked.
“What if it is? What does it matter? Shoemake’s money’s gonna spend just as well if it’s a coincidence, if there’s God damn ghost, or if there’s fifty ghosts. If it’s a dead cell. If it’s a live cell, if it’s just a God damn building, that money’s still money. And I need it. That means I need you. I need both of y’all to come and help me. I need a sound person, and I need a camera person. I need you.”
Kinley shook her head. “I don’t love this. I mean, I’m in. You know me, I’m always in, but. I don’t love this. Obi. It just feels too new.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Obsidian promised. “It has to be fine.”
“But Obi,” Kaden whispered. “But if it’s not a dead cell. What if…”
“Hush. Don’t talk about it.”
There are some things they didn’t talk about. Some things that even whisper about.
Some things were nightmares, and they deserved to stay right there. In dreams…
Chapter 4
“I don’t know that I want to do this.”
Kaden had had a headache since the second Obsidian had suggested going to that hotel. They did a podcast, not a web thing. He wasn’t a cameraman. He worked on sound. He liked music.
“I think I want to do this,” he repeated.
“So don’t do it.” Andy was leaning against the door frame, rolling his eyes. “And watch out. Superman peed right there. You’ll slip.”
“Thanks.” The rescue was full to bursting, and he was mopping up. It felt like he mopped a lot, and Kaden had to wonder if the day shift mopped as much as he did.
Most everybody was asleep in their cages, curled up on their beds, ignoring him. He hated to see them all just locked away in here, but at least here, there was food, and it was safe.
Nobody was hurting. Nobody was put down. And everybody got walkies every day.
Best of all everybody had the chance of going home with their forever person.
“It just feels weird, you know? I mean, it just feels really weird. Kinley says I’m crazy.”
“You are a little crazy.”
He snorted and pushed his braid back over his shoulder. “I know, but I meant like…about this. She says it’s just a stupid hotel. She says Obi is just a desperate guy trying to get the hell out of Dodge.”
“What do you say?”
He put the mop back in the bucket and rolled it down the hall. “He’s my best friend. I’ll go and carry the camera around and try not to get scared.”
And it might be fun, he guessed, to hang out in some Old West saloon type hotel. It actually sounded kind of neat. And he’d ever met in any rodeo cowboy people. Again, kind of neat.
He hoped.
After all, that one guy had just lost his twin sister. The very thought of that made him wanna gag. Because he couldn’t imagine losing Kinley.
Kinley was more than half of them. She was this stronger, smarter, way more with it one of them.
He was the twin who worked the night shift at the dog rescue, ate a lot of peanut butter sandwiches, and played a lot of music.
“You know you don’t always have to do whatever someone suggests. Rumor is, you can just say no.”
He rolled his eyes at Andy. Saying no wasn’t one of his strong suits. In fact, he was kind of the king of saying okay.
He just didn’t want to make waves. He wanted everybody to be happy, and he’d already spent all of his nos at the coffee shop trying to convince Obi that this is a bad idea.
“I told him what I thought, but he needs this bad. You know how his dad is. They threw him out, and he’s just barely hanging on.”
Obsidian couch surfed with him a lot. He had a little shed thing all built up in the back of his folks house. It didn’t have a kitchen or a bathroom, but there was electricity. So there meant a hot plate, a coffee maker, and a little mini fridge.
And the TV, that was the important part.
Kaden wasn’t sure how he’d ended up like this. It wasn’t like he was fresh out of high school. It wasn’t like he was just some kid, but he just hadn’t quite managed to make anything of himself, not after all the mistakes he’d made.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted to make himself into.
Kinley was an artist. She had an apartment. She had a chair at the tattoo shop. She was gaining clientele. It was all a thing.
Even Obi had done okay. He’d gone to school, then he’d gone to grad school. He’d moved home to save up some money and find that dream job in some city.
It had been a mistake — between the gay thing and the witchy thing, Obi had been doomed in that scary house.
Of course, it was really hard when you didn’t have an address, and you didn’t have access to a computer all the time and you had to check your E-mail at to McDonalds.
Yeah. They needed this. And it wasn’t gonna make a difference for his job. Kaden had asked for the time off.
Angela had said. “Sure. Sure, Kaden, you never ask for anything.”
He didn’t ask for anything. He didn’t really feel like he had the right to.
“You thinking about it again?” Andy said, and he nodded.
It was hard not to think about all his mistakes when it was two in the morning, and he was fixing to go to a haunted hotel, and he was scared.
At least it wasn’t the worst two o’clock in the morning he’d ever spent. In fact, he liked the two in the mornings that came with dogs and cats.
He’d seen a lot of two in the mornings in a prison cell, and those were the worst.
“You have to forgive yourself some time, Kaden.”
“No, I don’t.” He done his time making up to society. He’d apologized and cried. He’d gone to meetings and spoken at high schools and…
No matter what kind of punishment on Earth someone else could give him, it wouldn’t change anything.
Kaden had been an idiot teenager. He’d been drunk. He had gotten behind the wheel of the car, and someone had died. Someone he’d loved.
There was a new dog, at the very end of the row. It was standing tall, this gray, ghost-like animal on spindly legs. With these great big ears. “Aren’t you pretty?”
That’s a Weimaraner,” Andy said. “I used to have a bunch of them when I was a kid. My mom was obsessed with that guy who did those photographs.”
This sign on her cage said Wendy. Wendy was a great name.
“She’s beautiful.”
He could feel Andy walking up behind him, leaning in and peering in the cage.
Suddenly, Wendy began to growl, the sound deep and low and unhappy.
“What’s the matter, girl?”
He knelt down to get more eye to eye so she’d be more comfortable, but she wasn’t staring at him. She didn’t watch him move. She seemed to be staring at Andy, which was weird.
“You can see him too?”
Chapter 5
BamBam couldn’t believe this. He was sitting there in his truck back at The Hotel. Again. The one where it had happened. He’d been here handful of times. Not to stay. But for a signing. Or a supper. Once they’ve done the after party for the rodeo in here.
The Garnet Hill Hotel looked like it came right out of an old-timey movie. This tall wooden thing, the building had four storeys. The wrap around porch still had hitching post for Christ’s sake. The sign was just the name with a big red stone painted on it.
His sister had died up there. On the second floor in the back corner. Just died. And now he was here. Hoping that— he didn’t know. He could talk to her. Find out what happened to her. Something to make his heart feel better.
He’d been in Oregon the night she died. He’d just finished riding. Got an 85.4 on Dull Yeller. Been having a beer in with Rusty and a couple of the other guys when all of a sudden he’d felt something. Like a bull stepping right on his chest through the vest. Like for a second he couldn’t breathe.
He’d thought for sure he was having a heart attack or something. Maybe he’d been shot. He didn’t know.
But then it was gone. And he known. He just known. That he had to call her. And he’d be damned if that phone didn’t just ring and ring and ring. Never even went to voicemail. The fucking thing just rang.
They’ve flown out that night, Rusty’d got him a midnight flight out. They’d hit Albuquerque and they’d just kept going.
But he was too late. When he’d made it to the Garnet Hill, Pebbles had been gone. Just… dead.
She was dead.
And so now here he was. Again. Staring at this God damn hotel.
He knew Rusty thought he was out of his damn mind, but he kept dreaming. Kept dreaming over and over about her calling for him crying. Asking him to come help her.
Pebbles was tough as a rock, like a bar of iron, and she didn’t cry — not even when she’d broken her arm falling off a horse that they’d snuck out of the barn.
That meant, if she was crying for him, it had to be bad. So, he was gonna figure this out. Somehow. He had to make this right.
“I got to make this right.”
“You didn’t do a goddam thing wrong.” That wasn’t a ghost voice, for all that it made him jump. That was Rusty, who was just sitting there staring at him, eyes just about laser focused. “Hell, you weren’t even here. It wasn’t like that woman was suicidal. She had a heart attack. You didn’t do anything to her.”
I didn’t save her. “I know. I appreciate you doing this for me.”
“I’ve been with you for every other stupid thing you’ve ever done. I reckon I’m on the hook to hang out for this one. So are we staying here or did you have the good sense to get us rooms at the Holiday Inn Express?”
He looked down at his hands. “Would you think I was a fool if I told you I did both?”
“I think you’re a fool one way or the other. That don’t matter.” Rusty did grin at him, though. “Personally, I think we’d be better off at the Holiday Inn. You know the beds are better, and I need decent Wi-Fi. Not to mention a television that wasn’t created in the 1970s. I am too old for roughing it.”
“Yeah, you ain’t that old.” And honestly? Getting a pop up thing for the back of the pickup didn’t sound half bad.
Maybe after this he could see if Rusty just wanted to go for a while. Take a couple days up into the mountains, eat some fish, look for bears, and just chill the fuck out. It wasn’t a bad pipe dream.
“So what are we doing here exactly? Are we checking in?”
He nodded. “We’re supposed to.”
He sure didn’t want to, though. It made him kind of sick, the thought of her stuck up there, waiting up there. What if she’d gone scary?
“Look man, we don’t have to do this. Not today.” Rusty had that paternal I’m being calm voice on. “I know you ain’t meeting that…web person until tomorrow. So, I tell you what. I’ll pay for the room on my credit card. We’ll go to the motel, take showers, order pizza. Watch TV. Normal shit. Maybe they got a hot tub, Maybe bubble a bit.”
He glanced over Rusty, trying to decide if that was a bullshit thing to do, or a smart thing to do, or just what he was gonna do. “You don’t think that would suck?”
“I think that we both need a good night’s sleep. I think I need sausage and cheese and about ten tons of grease. Possibly French fries. I think I need to sleep in a space that isn’t creaking and groaning and having you jump up every single time you hear a noise.” Rusty shook his head, kind of rolled his eyes. “What I think most of all is that we need to go in this with clear heads. We’re both tired. We both been on the road all damn day. I need a motherfucking beer.”
“Right.” Rusty was so right, like always. “You’re the boss, old man.”
Rusty rolled his eyes. “No, Sir, you are absolutely the engineer of this particular crazy train. I’m just here to make sure you don’t get yourself in trouble. Just like always.”
“You act like I’m the teenager that you met all those years ago.”
“The simple fact that you think that when you were a teenager was all those years ago proves that there is a reason that I am sitting here in this truck making sure you’re skanky ass does not get into trouble. One bright red eyebrow lifted up, as Rusty stared at him. “Now. Are we going to the motel? Are we gonna get out of the truck here? You got to decide. Shit or get off the pot.”
Chapter 6
Thank God and Greyhound they’d stayed at the freaking Holiday Inn last night. Rusty had needed a good night’s sleep to face whatever the hell they were going to meet at this damn haunted monstrosity of a hotel, which looked perfectly normal in the light of day, but who knew what was going on in there? He grabbed his bag out of the truck and followed Bam Bam inside the lobby, which was done up right in Old West, and hoped for the best.
The lobby was all wood and stained glass, the floor creaking in an ever so welcoming sort of way. There was a huge front desk deal, with a board of keys on nails and a bunch of slots for mail behind.
It sure didn’t feel real haunted.
Hell, there were even warm chocolate chip cookies and a carafe of what looked like lemonade on a little tea tray.
Ghosts did not make chocolate chip cookies, for fuck’s sake. Rusty reckoned they were probably gluten free.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Garnet Hill Hotel. How can I help you?” The lady who popped up from behind the front desk liked to scare the life out of him, and he was proud he didn’t squeak a bit for all that Bam-Bam hollered. “Sorry. Sorry, I was checking to make sure Pepper hadn’t gotten himself caught again.
“Pepper? That a dog?”
The lady — who didn’t have a nametag on — shook her head at Bam-Bam. “No, sir. Raven.”
Well, she didn’t seem deeply disturbed or like she was pulling their legs. In fact, she was solid as a rock, grey hair piled high up on top of her head and wearing a shirt that looked like it had been handmade — some kind of checkered patchwork kind of deal. Pretty but weird, and Rusty could only imagine how it itched on the inside with all them seams.
He decided to ignore the thought of a big bird running loose through the hotel, regardless of whether it was a name. “Morning, ma’am. We got us a room for the next…how long do you say, Bam-Bam?”
Bam-Bam was either fixin’ to puke or pass out, and if either one happened, they were leaving and heading for Santa Fe. “For a week. We have rooms booked for a week. There’s a…it’s a party of four with three rooms.”
Her eyes went wide, whites showing all around the dark irises. “O-o-oh. You’re with the ghost hunters.”
“Bella. It’s not ghost hunters, they’re a podcast, and they’re our guests.”
A long, tall drink of water with one hell of a twang came out of the back, looking for all the world like he was some Old West fantasy come to life.
Crisp white button down, Wranglers, boots that had been worked in as well as loved on. The guy had dark hair, but it had gone prematurely silver at the temples. There was no way that a man who had skin that smooth could be old enough for hair that silver.
That wasn’t the most impressive feature of the pretty son of a bitch, though. He had one eye that was near black, and the other was as blue as the Wyoming sky.
“I’m very glad to see y’all, and I do hope you all find what you’re looking for. Come on and we’ll get you checked in.” One square hand was held out. “Garrett. Garrett McLeod, Pleased to meet you. I’m the owner of this fine establishment.” He met Bam-Bam’s eyes. “And I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
Bam-Bam nodded, lips going so tight the blood got all pushed out of them. “This isn’t your fault? You didn’t make this hotel.”
Those weird-assed eyes rolled. “No, sir, I’m the damn fool who bought it, but still I hope that you’ll accept our condolences.”
“You mean you didn’t kill her for a publicity stunt?” Rusty damn near went cross-eyed, trying to stare at his lips. What the fuck? Why had he said that?
Garret’s nostrils flared. “While I was hoping to have some renown and fill the place up, this was not the sort of history I’d hoped for, I assure you. If there’s anything y’all need that I can do you just let me know.”
Garrett reached down and hauled up this huge, ancient hotel registry.
“Y’all ain’t electronic.” That seemed. Old fashioned and kind of stupid.
“Of course we are. This is just — sort of like the keys. There’s an illusion to the whole thing.”
“What about to the ghosts? Are those illusions too?”
What the fuck? Had his lost what little good sense he still had?
“Rusty?” Bam-Bam stared at him, and he fought his blush.
“What? It’s a fair question. He’s the one who brought up being all delusional and shit.”
“I said illusion, and trust me, sir. Being rumored as having people die in this hotel is not the sort of thing that, you know, brings in the customers. This is the cowboy establishment. Right now y’all are the only people willing to stay here.” Under that ever so suave gentleman cowboy exterior, there was a little bit of rage.
Rusty liked it. It was a good look on the man.
“Well, maybe the podcast will help, not hurt,” Bam-Bam said.
“Shit, Bam, how many cowboys are going to listen to that stuff?”
“Excuse me just a minute, sir.” Bam-Bam grabbed his arm and yanked him back toward the front door. “What is wrong with you? Did you have a stroke? You’ll get us kicked out before we ever check in.”
“I don’t know!” Rusty shook his head like he was trying to clear it, and it wasn’t any clearer than it had been only seconds ago. “I think I’m just all ramped up. You know, I think this is a bad idea.”
“I understand. Think it’s a bad idea in your own head. Do not talk about how you think it is a bad idea until we get our hotel rooms. This man is being nice.”
He rolled his eyes. “That man has an empty hotel, and he wants it filled up.”
“Don’t make me be cross with you, please, sir. You’re my best friend. I’ve known you for years. I need to do this. Please.”
He kept getting his ass into trouble just because some cowboy said, ‘please’. “All right, I’ll be quiet, but I’m not going to be nice.”
“Fair enough. Just keep your damn fool mouth shut. Come on, let’s get ourselves our rooms.” Bam-Bam stormed back inside.
Fuck a duck sideways. This was gonna suck.
Chapter 7
In hindsight, being a hotelier really wasn’t Garrett’s strong suit.
In fact, as he watched that stupid son of a bitch rodeo cowboy storm away across the lobby so that his friend could try to convince him to shut the fuck up in the hopes that Garrett wouldn’t throw him out of the hotel? Garrett decided it might be time to get into nutria farming.
Yessir, he’d buy him a little ranch — just a tiny one because he didn’t have any God damn money left — just a tiny ranch where he raised miniature possums. He could train them to dangle off women’s ears like earrings.
Maybe become a professional rattlesnake kisser. He could crossbreed buffalo with alligators and train them to do tricks. Or he could start a circus that featured thos capybara things from South America. That was the ticket. Anything but this.
“Hey, Boss? You have an aneurysm here, you’re going to become one of the god damn ghosts.” Belle poked him in the ribs, and he had to expel the breath he was holding, his shoulders relaxing.
“Well, thank you, Belle. That is just the thought that I needed right now, right this very second.”
She winked at him, her gold tooth glinting when she grinned. “I know. I’m special. Seriously though, breathe. Do you know how folks get when they’re scared? They get puffy. I never met a person wearing Wranglers that didn’t get all puffy in the face of ghosts and sick babies and hurt animals.”
He let one eyebrow arch. “No? What about you?”
“Oh, not me, Boss. I’m Zen. One, I’m the one who cleans that room, and two, I wear jeggings.”
“J-jeggings?” What the actual fuck was a jegging? Was he in some alternate dimension where all he could do was make dumb choices? Because Belle as his desk person was feeling like it ticked off in that column as well.
“Fat old lady stretch jeans with a soft waistband.” She lifted the fabric, stretched it, let it pop down on her thigh. “Jeggings. No puffing.”
Garrett took a deep breath.
Then he took another, imagining he was taking a long toke of a great big doobie. Then he a final one — long inhale, pause, slow exhale.
Wasn’t as good as a hit, but it helped. “You’re right, you’re right. Hospitality is our middle name.”
Bella’s lips twisted. “I thought it was Broke Dick Hotel.”
He would have snapped if he hadn’t got to laughing. But God help him, he just couldn’t fight it when the chuckles got on him. “You evil bitch.”
“Absolutely. I checked with Maria; the rooms are ready. You want to do this like we talked about? First floor?”
He nodded. “Yeah, we’ll put them in one-oh-two and four. That way they’re next to each other, and there’s a connecting door. We’ll put the other two in one and three. The second floor is totally empty. So they can do whatever it is that they do, assuming that they don’t break my hotel.”
Because as much as they joked about it being derelict, it wasn’t. He’d worked hard on this damn place.
Sure there were problems. It was an old hotel. All places needed shit fixed.
But it was his old hotel.
The big redhead came back over, stroking his mustache. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
“Not a problem.” Hospitality, hospitality, hospitality. “I’ll just get you all to sign. You can use the iPad. It is electronic.” He winked over it Mr. Shoemake, trying to lighten the man’s load and hoping to rescue as much as he could here.
“Thanks. We’re both just nervous, yeah? This is… I mean, you know.” The little blond waved his hand, and he could see a a shadow, maybe more like an echo, of the cowgirl who died.
He knew in his mind that fraternal twins weren’t any closer genetically than any other siblings, but he sort of didn’t believe it, not in his heart.
They had a special bond from growing in the womb together. Or whatever.
Big Red signed his name to the room charges, and Garrett smiled with relief. “Do you need help with bags?” He handed over electronic room keys.
“No, man, we can haul them up on our own. We’re big boys.” The guy looked like he was just growly as fuck. Maybe that was the mustache.
He wanted to ask what the hell had crawled up Big Red’s ass and died, but he figured that was inappropriate for a number of reasons — not the least of which was the last time that Mr. Shoemake had come into the hotel somebody had died in that very real way. That would hurt the guy and, you know, he was an asshole, but he wasn’t a prick.
“All right, well, you’re on the first floor. Rooms 102 and 104. Holler if you need anything. There are phones in the room.” Don’t let the door hit you in the ass, fucker. Oh that felt so good to say, even if it was just in his head.
Garret took another deep breath. Blew it out when they left.
Belle patted his hand. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Boss. I promise.”
“I hope so. I got a lot to lose here.”
“I hear that. Do you think there’s a ghost? For real?” Belle asked him.
And what was he going to say?
No, he knew better than to tell her what he thought.
He didn’t know if it was a ghost, but something was up in that room, something was up on the second floor. And he totally wasn’t qualified to name it or quantify it or try to deal with it. He just hoped to hell that the guys who were coming with the equipment did.
Guess they were scientists or something like that in that Poltergeist movie, right? He just hoped to hell they figured it all out and got rid of the damn thing before someone else died.
Chapter 8
“Don’t worry,” Obi told him. “Don’t worry. I can tell that you’re worried, but you don’t have to worry. This is gonna be great. It’s… It might be our big break.”
Kaden nodded, because he knew that he was supposed to want this. He knew that he was supposed to want to be big and…
But he wasn’t.
He wasn’t big.
He wasn’t meant to have a big life.
He was meant to have a quiet life.
That’s why he did what he did. He wasn’t in front of the camera ever. He was in back. Just in back of the camera. He was in the back of the soundboard, was behind the window, behind the curtain, behind the cages.
Behind the—
Wendy licked his ear, making him chuckle. “You be good, silly girl.”
“I cannot believe you brought a dog. A rescue dog!”
Kaden glared at Obi. “She’s my dog. It’s a friendly dog hotel. I called. I asked. They said it was fine. This is my dog, Obi. This is Wendy. She’s not just a dog.”
He was very firm on that point, and he wasn’t going to argue about it.
There were things that Obi wanted that he would do — lots of things.
But Wendy was coming with him. Wendy saw Andy. Wendy was supposed to be his dog.
“Fine, fine, whatever you want, I just think it’s weird you’ve been working at that shelter since…well, for a while now, and you never even talked about bringing home another dog. I’m tickled that she makes you happy.” Obi winked at him. “And that she’s housebroken, and she doesn’t throw up when we drive.”
That made him chuckle and he grinned at Obi. “Yes, those are all good things. She’s an amazing rider, though, and the hotel doesn’t look as…scary as I thought it would.”
“No, no. In fact, it looks like almost like something in a theme park or something. I mean, you can tell that it’s real old instead of fake real old, but. It’s been so…upgraded?”
“Do you think that there’s really a ghost up there on the second floor?”
“I think that this Bam-Bam guy thinks that there’s definitely a ghost on the second floor, and I think that’s really all that matters.” Obi shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t. I haven’t been up there, but I… I know that he believes it and — even if it wasn’t for the podcast, which you know, this is supposed to be our break, right? — But this guy’s hurting bad. Like whoa. And if this helps. Then it helps. That’s not up to us.”
That was a lot of words for ‘don’t fuck this up’.
Kaden nodded. “Okay, yeah, yeah, I get that. I just don’t want to…you know I mean. We’re not gonna fake it, right? I mean, we’re not priests. Or actors. Or anything. I mean, you kind of are, but not in a not in a mean way, more in a people like to listen to you way.”
Oh fuck. He was screwing this up, and he needed to just shut the hell up.
But he just wanted to know. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to be playing at this.
Normally, when things hurt really bad, playing was not the wisest idea.
Kaden had learned that in a lot of cages, both from people and from dogs.
“Oh, we’re not fucking with anyone. We’re gonna wing it. I’ve got a basic script planned out for the opening in that whole, you know, here we are here at the Garnet Hill Hotel. Here’s how old it is. Here’s the room we’re fixing to go into. This is Bam-Bam. Here’s the story. From there, we’re just going to see what happens.” Obi squeezed his fingers a second. “I’ve got all the equipment. We do a couple of oh, look at this, oh, look at that. We turn on the talking box. It’s not brain surgery.”
“Okay.” He would just go along and keep his eyes down and his dog close. It would be all be okay.
“It’s going to be fine. We’re going to have a couple of jump scares, I’m sure. We’ve got holy water—”
“Does it count as holy if you steal it from the church?”
“Probably.” Obi thumped him in the arm. “We’ve got holy water, we’ve got salt, we’ve got sage. We bought that from the convenience store on the corner here in Garnet Hill, for chrissake. What else could we possibly need?”
“Um. I don’t know.” And that was the truth. He didn’t know. They had a little ghost hunting podcast.
That was it. Just a little thing.
They went to a couple of barns in town and one old school building. They talked about the equipment and told about legends like the ghost children that pushed you off of the railroad tracks if you parked there, and the little hands that would be left in baby powder on the back of your car.
This was real.
At least it felt real.
“How did this guy find us?” Kaden asked.
“Off our website.”
“We have a website? I thought we were just on—”
“We have a website. He sent an e-mail via the website. I answered. This was set up, it was very easy.”
Kaden didn’t understand. “But…we don’t. We’re just tiny.”
“So he liked my voice. Maybe I sounded like an authority. Maybe I sounded like someone he could trust. Maybe I was the first one he picked who answered. Point is, is that he picked us. He’s paying for this weekend and we’re going to do this because I have to get out of that fucking town!”
Kaden nodded, suddenly needed to get out of the van, so badly. “Okay! Okay. We’re gonna do this. It’s going to be great.”
He loved on Wendy’s nose and glanced up in the rear view mirror where Andy was sitting in the back seat, shaking his head, tears on his cheeks.
Andy didn’t like cars.
“Why don’t you go get us checked in? I’ll grab the equipment.”
It was time to go in.
Chapter 9
Taken from a recording, Monday afternoon. 2 pm. Garnet Hill Hotel. Room 101.
Test. Test. Test.
So. We’re at the Garnet Hill Hotel.
I don’t want to expect any of this to be useable enough to go on the podcast, but I just kind of wanted to get my basic impressions down while I can.
This whole thing is…just… I wish I could let you guys understand how weird this was.
I mean, not the ghosts.
I mean I haven’t gotten to the haunting in room 203, assuming that there is anything to manifest in room 203.
But what I have is stressing me right the fuck out.
Kaiden is just wigged out, and he brought his damn dog. You see, Kinley had a client coming in from New Orleans at noon, so she’s not coming up until tomorrow.
Which screws everything up because one, we lose a whole night of filming over this whole thing, and two?
Kaiden’s stressing every fucking thing and talking to himself a lot. There’s something about Kenley that soothes that hint of utter bat-shit about her brother.
But I know what she means. When you have an out of town client come in, she can’t just turn them away. This appointment happened before I got this gig, so… What? I bitch?
She’d kick my ass.
God knows she’s making money, and she and Kaiden are generous as fuck. So, like I said, I can’t really bitch.
Still, I wish she was here. Kaden is way more stable when she’s around.
Anyway.
My room’s a little…old? One step above shabby chic — think historical, totally I’m your huckleberry, but still kind of cool.
Lots of wood, gingham curtains, one of those old timey pitchers in a huge bowl with flowers painted on it.
Nothing particularly fancy, but it’s clean.
I think it’s clean.
Surely it’s clean.
The wifi sucks, though. I can’t stream, anything, and the cable here is just, you know, your basic satellite — Law and Order all the time.
I haven’t seen the cowboy yet. Bam-Bam. Who the fuck nicknames their kid Bam-Bam?
Anyway, the guy who checked us in seemed fine. Garrett. I’m going to have to get with him, see if there’s historical hotel shit I can use for establishing shots, I guess.
I bet he’ll be happy to help. He’s the type, you know? Polite, a little nervous. I guess being a haunted hotel in this part of the country isn’t like the draw that it would be in a bigger city?
I don’t know.
Uh…what else? We have all the equipment and stuff. It’s all ready to go.
Witchy Woman ringtone sounds
Hey, Kinley! What’s up? No, no, he’s fine. He is. He’s just.
Man, you know he’s kidding. I’m watching him, I promise.
No. No, he’s going to stay in y’all’s room. He’s got that dog over there.
I know, I just. I can’t believe he. Now, Kinley, he’s going to be fine. I’ll take care of him, I promise.
Oh, yeah? Tonight?
Shit, girl. That’s amazing news.
It’s a hotel. It’s not like they have hours.
Yeah, cool, Cool, cool, cool.
I’ll see you. I’ll have make sure you have a key card at the front desk and that way you can just go up.
I don’t know. We have the cameras, we have the sound stuff with all the equipment.
Dude. Can you swing some hummus and pretzels? This doesn’t seem like the kind of place, that I can easily get hummus.
Thanks, hon. Yeah. No, no, I get you. I understand. Clients are a thing. See you tonight. Bye bye.
Dude, that was Kinley. She’s gonna just drive up tonight!
She’s worried to death about Kaden.
I guess I ought to go knock on his door and check. I’m just worried that he would be finally getting some sleep.
He’s used to working nights, right?
God help me, I need this to cast to hit this time.
This guy’s paying me some decent money to see if he can’t talk to his sister. It’s enough to get the hell out of Texas, get me a little apartment somewhere. Not LA or anything fancy, but…not fucking here.
There.
Whatever.
I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for my life to just start, and no matter what I do, I still end up back in the same hole that I started in.
I’d rail against the machine and be all ‘Oh, it’s not fair,’ but what am I supposed to say?
Obviously I keep making the same mistakes.
But not anymore. I’m gonna make this work.
I’m not an asshole. I’m not trying to screw anybody out of money.
I just—
Dude!
Is that a bullet hole?
There’s a God damn bullet hole in the wall!
I mean it, obviously it’s like a historical thing, and they kept it there. You mean you can tell. Doesn’t go all the way through, or if it did, they’ve patched it, but, dude!
Any other type of scenario that would be creepy, but it’s actually kind of cool.
Anyway. I wanna make this work. Hopefully we can make contact with this dude’s sister. And answer whatever questions he’s got.
Maybe we’ll see something. Doesn’t have to be real, man.
I mean that would be cool, but it’s gotta be something I can hang a show on.
I don’t even know how he really found us. He said it was off the website, but Kaden’s right, no one goes to see that website.
I’m not sure people go to websites anymore. Maybe it was insta? Maybe one of my tiktok videos?
I asked him.
Of course I asked him, but. Who am I kidding? He offered to pay and I jumped for it.
Desperation is a real thing, and I don’t have to be proud of that. I’m not the one that made me desperate.
It’s going to be fine.
I’m gonna go into that room. I’m gonna make a bunch of recordings. I’m gonna hope like hell something amazing happens.
One way or the other, when I check out of this hotel, Kaiden and Kinley are going home, and I’m heading west.
And I’m never going back.
Recording ends.
Chapter 10
Obsidian picked up his phone and started texting.
Kaden first, to let him know Kinley was coming in earlier than she’d hoped, then Bam Bam to ask if they could had a brief meeting, off camera.
He didn’t want the guy to have to tell his story over and over, but he did want to meet him, face-to-face without any bullshit.
{Would you like to meet? Maybe in the bar?}
{Sure. Sounds fine.}
Fine was a damning word. It could really mean fine, or it could mean no, I really don’t want to, but I will.
He wasn’t sure which one Bam Bam was going for.
It didn’t matter. He wasn’t a skeeze. He wasn’t going to be all “boo! Here’s a camera!”
That would be cruel, and he didn’t think about himself as mean. Not at all.
So he headed downstairs with a notebook. He was going to need to check whether the history about this place matched what the current owner said, as well.
The bar was pretty deserted, with just the owner greeting him when he walked in. “What can I get you? I have Coke products, beer, wine, whiskey and bourbon cocktails and juices. Water.” He gave Obsidian a wry smile. “And I’m sure not busy.”
“I’ll have a Coke to start with. I’m sure at some point, I’ll want a beer.” He smiled and winked. “So have you always wanted to run a hotel?”
“No.” Garret filled a glass with ice, then handed him a can of Coke with it. “I wanted to be a veterinarian, actually.”
“Really?” Okay, that was cool. “How’d you get from that to this?”
How did you inherit ghosts?
“Well, I wasn’t wise enough to go to school. I got into rodeo instead, which is kind of like getting into meth. Though I made some money instead of just spending it, and I always liked this place…” Garett sighed. “I should have invested in bull semen.”
“Now, come on. If this goes viral, you could be filled with interested ghost hunters.” What mattered was that he was first.
“Sure. I mean, I can do theme nights or something.” There was a hint of of something dark in Garret’s gaze. Something serious.
Oh, he didn’t think so. “I’m not shitting you. It’s a market. A big market. Don’t poo poo them. Us. Whatever.”
“I’m not, I promise.” Garret sighed. “I just worry what y’all might stir up.”
“I’m hoping that it’ll be easy. Maybe she just needs to communicate with her twin. Have you seen—No. No, you know what? That’s an on-camera question. Did you know the hotel had a history when you bought it?”
“Oh, I’d heard stories passing through for years.” Garrett shrugged. “I should have listened, but I was sure I knew best. Ghosts, I said. Who believes in ghosts?”
He was aching to ask if Garrett believed now, but that was another on screen question.
BamBam came into the bar then, and Garret nodded to him. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a beer. I think I need one.”
Bam Bam looked utterly exhausted — dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up all over. It was a mess.
“You okay?” Obsidian asked. Which was stupid. They guy’s sister had died here.
BamBam shrugged. “It’s fucking weird to be here.”
“I bet.” He stood and held out one hand. “Obsidian.”
“Mike. Pleased. I appreciate you coming out.”
“Yeah, no problem. I mean, I hope I can help.” Nerves. He took a deep breath and let it out as Garrett served a beer.
“I do too. I need you to help me get a hold of her. It’s real important. I keep having nightmares, you know? I mean…I keep dreaming about her crying.”
Obsidian imagined that was guilt more than anything, but what did he know.
“I’ll do my best.” He hoped he really could help. This poor guy was a wreck. He glanced at Garret, but if the guy had reservations, he was keeping them to himself.
“I just wanted to meet you face to face and kind of give you an idea of the whole aspect. I have a sound guy who also acts as my secondary camera guy. I have a his sister who is—” Oh god, he’d almost said twin. Thank goodness he didn’t say twin. “—my primary camera guy.”
Bam Bam stared at him with bloodshot eyes. “But you’re the one who sees ghosts, right? Like, you can talk to ghosts.”
He didn’t answer straight out. They were all searching for proof, right? That’s what their jobs were, that’s what they wanted to do — find proof. And the fact was that Obsidian wasn’t sure there was ever going to be proof.
But he did believe, and he had seen and heard things he couldn’t explain, and that was good enough.
“I have all of the equipment here. And we are going to try to make contact with whoever we can here in the hotel.”
That was fair, right?
He glanced at Garrett. “We’re not going to harm anything. We’re not going to, you know, put holes in any walls. Worst thing that we’re going to do is wander around the hotel and plug things in. We do have a bunch of equipment — EMF readers, uh, spirit box. I have a MEL meter, an Ovilus imaging scanner. So, we have a lot of different things. Please feel free to ask if you don’t understand something that’s happening. Because if you don’t understand, then there’s a good chance my listeners won’t either. Especially my new ones.”
He relaxed into this part of his prattle. “Psychic phenomena are notoriously challenging, but from my understanding there are some pretty hardcore manifestations here. Especially up in the room on the second floor.”
Garrett’s lips twisted. “That’s a good way to put it.”
He blinked at Garrett a second. The hotelier didn’t seem the type to believe in spirits, not really.
“Once everyone is in place I’ll make sure and get some establishing interviews, get some kind of pre investigatory things, but I want to get them on camera. My main camera man is not coming until later tonight. She has an appointment, so she’s driving in late, but Kaden will be here if we need anything so.” He held up his glass to Bam Bam. “I’m going to do my best and help you find some closure.”
The sad cowboy lifted his glass up and as they clinked their glasses together, the one Bam Bam was holding shattered.
Chapter 11
Rusty headed down to the breakfast room, his belly rumbling. Wasn’t like there was a lot of choice in this one-horse town. Normally he skipped the hotel breakfast, which was usually bread, bread, and more bread, in favor of a protein packed something with egg whites from the closest fast food place, but he guessed he would take his chances.
Bam Bam had spent the previous day with the podcasters doing background stuff, but today they were supposed to be past the “establishing shots” whatever the hell that meant, and into the meat of the investigation.
What the fuck was there to investigate? Ghost or no, Bam Bam’s sister was still just as dead, and she wasn’t coming back to life.
Meanwhile, he was just cooling his heels and trying to avoid the hotel’s owner. That guy made the stupidest shit come out of his mouth every time he so much as looked at Rusty sideways. It was nuts, because he liked everyone. He was the most easygoing asshole on earth.
Why couldn’t he get along with Garrett?
Actually, he’d been avoiding the podcasters too. All he wanted to do was get through the next three nights and get back on the road. Bam Bam had promised not to stay past the original dates they’d booked.
“Moral support,” he muttered. “In. Out. Breathe.”
“You doing walking yoga?” Garrett asked as he hit the lobby, making him jump a mile.
“Is that a thing? Walking yoga? Seriously?” He blinked, because he thought the idea of yoga was to hold the same pose for a long period of time.
“It is.” Garrett actually grinned at him, winked. “They do it on the square. Or maybe they do tai chi. Whatever it is, they walk around and breathe hard on the exhale.”
“Huh. Sounds like BS to me.” But he had to chuckle at the idea of people in downward dog, walking along on their hands. That sounded like a bull rider he’d known once who was from California…
“How’s your friend?” Garret asked, watching him like a hawk.
Rusty sobered. “That ghost stuff wigged him out pretty good yesterday. The whole experience. He’s sleeping in.”
“I’m sorry for his loss. I really am. I wasn’t around for most of yesterday. I was meeting with a rodeo company to see if they wanted to rent the hotel.” Garret’s tone went hopeful for a moment.
“Anyone I might know?” Rusty could put in a good word. The guy set his teeth on edge, but they helped their own.
“Chiara Rodeo Company. Real nice guys.”
“Nice. They’re good folks.” Rusty approved. “Well, if I can help in any way, just holler.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Garret shrugged and kind of gave him a nervous little grin. “I don’t know that you’re going to have a ton of company in the breakfast room this morning. But you’re welcome to have whatever you’d like.”
Her squinted toward the end of the lobby where it opened to the little breakfast alcove. “Anyone else in there.”
“They were all in very late. The last of their party came in at three o’clock the morning.”
“So there’s more of them?” Rusty asked.
“Oh yeah. Young lady staying came in and is staying with the rest of the podcasters. But even your friend was up until well after midnight.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Garret rushed on as if he was filling the silence.
“So, there’s croissants and bagels. All sorts of cereals, with milk and juice and fruit. And little omelet bar.”
“You make the omelets?” The guy made a decent drink and pulled a good beer according to Bam Bam, but he didn’t seem like a cook.
“God no. And I don’t make the coffee either. I hire a young lady in to do that. The coffee. The breakfast, the omelets, and everything. We don’t have a restaurant or nothing like that. I mean there’s one next door, a restaurant and a bar that I don’t own it, and it’s not open for breakfast.”
“Not a restauranteur?” he asked, wondering why the hell he was even talking to this man. He had the perfect out right there with the breakfast room. Why did he even have to say anything and drag on this excruciating conversation.
“Given that I can’t cook, no. I don’t restaurant. I can however make a mean ham and cheese sammich.” That came with a chuckle that kinf of set his jaw to keep him from saying something dumbass.
“Huh.” Ham and cheese sounded pretty good. He’d have to get him an omelet. “So are you a cowboy? Or are you just dressed like one? For the hotel, I mean.” And there was the stupid shit he’d been trying to hold in.
Garrett rolled his eyes, lips firming for a moment before he answered. “My name is Garrett McCloud. I grew up on a great big spread here in New Mexico where you have to have three acres to feed one cow.” He pointed to the corner of his bottom lip, where there was a huge scar. “This did not come from a dog. or from football.
“Roper,” Rusty said.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Lord help me.”
Garret gave him a grin, and for a second he thought, sure as shit, that man was going to pop him in the nose.
He would have kind of welcomed it, really. It would have worked some of his tension out. All this, you know, bad feeling that was in the air would just dissipate like a bubble bursting. He needed a good brawl, or at least a nose to nose screaming match…
The guy just pointed. “Breakfast room right in there. I hope you enjoy.”
Rusty thought maybe Garrett was kind of hoping that whoever was in there making the omelets would poison his food instead. Dude, poison.
Maybe this guy was poisoning people in order to get publicity. He could see that.
It was just the way his damn week was going.
Chapter 12
From the Garnet Hill Gazette
Mr. Jacob Todd Arrested, Set to Hang
June 10, 1873
Correspondent, the Hon. Anna McCloud
Mr. Jacob Henry Todd, late of Baltimore, Maryland has been arrested for murder. On Friday, the 7th of June, Mr. Todd left the saloon beside the new Garnet Hill Hotel and stormed into the lobby, inebriated and shouting. Alarmed, hotel owner Clinton Garrison attempted to intercede, but was beaten in the face and left unconscious. Mr. Todd then proceeded up the stairs and entered room 203. There he murdered a young woman in cold blood and left her body on the floor. Mr. Todd subsequently left the building, soaked in blood, and was arrested by Sheriff John Duran. He was tried immediately due to the nature of his crime and is set to hang Saturday June 11th at 8 in the morning. Mr. Todd was known to the murdered woman, and both were members of the Todd shipping family in Baltimore, headed by Mr. William Dean Todd.
***
From the St. Peter Catholic Church records
September 8, 1910
Dear Fr Gomez,
I regret to inform you that your presence at the double wedding of Señor Estancia’s daughters will not be needed as they have been called to our Savior’s bosom.
However, I do have need of your counsel. I have fears that a darkness has visited Garnet Hill.
If you are so inclined, I would welcome your prayers and your wisdom.
Respectfully yours in Christ,
Fr Tomas Andres
***
From the Garnet Hill Gazette
Terror comes to Garnet Hill
5th of April 1921.
Correspondent Zeke O’Malley
The typically peaceful downtown of beautiful Garnet Hill became a bloodbath yesterday evening when a violent fight broke out at the Garnet Hill Hotel and Saloon.
At this printing, five men are dead and six more quoted to be ‘unlikely to survive’.
It is unsure at this point why the melee broke out, however, when speaking to Jared Harrison, the saloon’s long-time barkeep and night watchman at the hotel, a small group of men were playing cards when two men came down from the hotel upper floors and words were exchanged. According to Harrison, one of the men threw a piece of paper on the poker table, and immediately after, violence ensued.
No one saw exactly who started the gunfire, but anywhere from six to ten gunshots were reported.
A bystander who does not wish to be named was quoted as saying he had never “seen anything so bloody and so brutal that happened so quickly. Not even in the war.”
In addition, the sheriff is looking for Eugenia Findly and Rosario Gonzalez.
Both women work at the hotel and are currently missing. They were last seen going upstairs to deliver a meal to an incapacitated man on the second floor.
If you do have any information on the women, please contact the sheriff.
***
From the Garnet Hill Gazette
June 6th. 1932.
Staff Writer. Olive Nation.
A grisly scene was found at the Garnet Hill Hotel last night when gunshots rang out, cutting through the night and awakening all within earshot.
When police arrived at the scene they found Belle Ann Marsters, the proprietress of the hotel, shot to death at the front desk. She had been trying to phone the sheriff’s office, it appears, as she was killed with a pen in one hand and the telephone in the other.
Upstairs, however, in even more grisly death was discovered. A young woman had been hanged with the bed sheets on the bed. Her body was discovered dangling in a closet, stripped bare and violated. The police are currently searching for an identification of the woman found murdered or for anyone who has seen a suspect on the streets.
Please beware. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous and desperate.
Mrs. Marsters funeral will be held on Wednesday at the Copenhaver Funeral Home.
Donations to the widow’s children can be made in lieu of flowers.
The future of the Garnet Hill Hotel and Saloon is as of yet undecided.
***
From the Garnet Hill Gazette-Daily
Murder at the Garnet Hill Hotel
5th of April 1968
Susan Bell, reporting
Two men were found murdered at the historic Garnet Hill Hotel on Saturday night after the Sheriff’s Posse’s Rodeo.
The men were identified as Robert ‘Bobby’ and Richard ‘Dick’ Callahan. They were discovered by housekeeping at approximately 8:00 in the morning. Sheriff Don Whitehorse was called to the scene.
Two bodies were discovered hanging from a bed frame in a room on the second floor of the hotel. Sheriff Whitehorse says it does not appear to be suicide. We are investigating further and attempting to contact family members.
When asked why he felt that this was not a suicide, the sheriff had no comment.
The Callahans were in town working for the Goodfellow Rodeo Company. A locally famous roping team in Southeast Texas, the Callahans were noted to have “a good humor and a flashy style that was popular with the ladies.”
The Goodfellow Rodeo Company was quoted as saying “the Callahans will be greatly missed, and we are cooperating fully with the Sheriff’s Department to help find their killers. Our condolence is to the family.”
If you have any information, please contact the Sheriff’s Office.
***
Garnet Hill Gazette
Murder at the Garnet Hill Hotel
Staff writer Lou Hardeston
February 10, 1984
The Garnet Hill Hotel was once again the site of a mysterious death this weekend.
A young man was found murdered, his throat cut in a bloody scene. Sheriff Jorge Sanchez was the first person on the scene after the body was found by a hotel maid, and in his announcement about the death, Sanchez claimed it was the worst crime he could ever remember in Garnet Hill.
The victim had no identification, though nothing appeared to be stolen, and the room was locked. Room 203 has had a history of bloodshed, and the owner of the Garnet Hill Hotel, Lance Gutierrez says that he intends to sell the property as soon as possible.
Anyone with information about this crime is encouraged to contact the sheriff’s office. An anonymous tip line has been set up, and can be reached by calling 555-496-3699.