Ghouls Just Haunt to Have Fun (9 page)

Steven shook his head. “I’m fine,” he insisted, grabbing his medical bag and moving toward the bathroom. “I’ll just need a few minutes in front of the mirror with some light. If you’ll excuse me,” he said.

“Do you want some help?” I offered.

“No,” said Steven, giving me a small grin. “You stay with these men and tell them what happened.” And with that he closed himself inside the bathroom.

“This is all very distressing,” said Knollenberg. “I’ve never had so many disturbing incidents happen at the Duke in one day.”

“Well, they say bad things come in threes,” I said, then realized I’d said the wrong thing when Knollenberg’s face visibly paled. “But that’s just an old wives’ tale, I’m sure,” I added, clearing my throat and ripping off the wrapper of the Twix to take a bite.

“Mr. Knollenberg and I have secured this floor,” said the security guard. “There are very few guests here due to all the construction we’ve got going on, and whoever was fighting out in the hallway has apparently gone.”

“Have you asked any of the other guests if they heard anything?” I asked.

Knollenberg turned to the guard. “That’s right, Gary. You were going to do that next.”

“I’m on it,” he said, and headed out the door.

“Again, I’m very sorry that your evening has been so disrupted,” said the GM while wringing his hands. I really felt for the guy.

“Mr. Knollenberg?” I asked, thinking of something.

“Yes?”

“I know the Duke is haunted,” I said, thinking back on the notes Gopher had sent to Gilley. “But in the literature I read, all of the spirits that have been identified did not include anyone from Portugal, correct?”

Knollenberg blinked at me for several moments, his eyes roving from the Twix bar in my hand up to my face, as if waiting for me to deliver the punch line. Finally he said, “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand your question, miss.”

I sat down on the bed again and shrugged out of the comforter now that I wasn’t shivering anymore. “There are several ghosts that haunt the Duke, correct?” I asked, again referring to the literature.

Knollenberg nodded, and his face flushed. “According to legend, yes,” he conceded. “Sir Phineas is said to be one. His daughter, Sara, is said to be another, along with Mickey O’Reilly—he was a bellhop who worked here for nearly sixty years—and then, of course, the unfortunate woman who committed suicide in 1987.”

“She committed suicide?” I asked, thinking that I knew one of the ghosts was a rather recent addition, but I didn’t realize she’d committed suicide.

“Yes. Carol Mustgrove,” said Knollenberg. “That was the first year I began working at the Duke as a desk clerk. I was actually the person who checked her in to the hotel.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

“Her fiancé left her for another woman,” Knollenberg said. “She arrived at the Duke on the morning of what was to have been her wedding day, Friday, April sixteenth, 1987, for a three-day stay. She then went on a shopping spree and rang up ten thousand dollars on her fiancé’s personal credit card, which she had apparently stolen. That night she came back to her room, placed a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob, and settled herself in the bathtub with a pillow over her chest before shooting herself in the heart with a small handgun.”

“She really wanted to make a statement, didn’t she?” I couldn’t help thinking how sad it was that this poor woman had made such a bad choice.

“She did,” agreed Knollenberg. “One of our chambermaids found her two days later.”

“No one heard the shot?” I asked.

“No.” Knollenberg frowned. “At least, no one reported hearing it. And it’s likely that if anyone did, they either didn’t want to get involved or thought it was the television.”

“What room did this happen in?” I asked as a thought occurred to me.

Knollenberg opened his mouth, then caught himself. His eyes grew large as something triggered in his memory, and I knew immediately what room it was. “Room three-twenty-one,” he whispered, confirming my suspicion.

“Freaky!” I exclaimed, because it really was.

There was an odd little silence before Knollenberg spoke. “You know, I’ve never really believed in ghosts. That is, until a few months ago, when I was working very late and I kept hearing a man just outside my office call out the name Sara over and over. Each time I went to investigate there was no one around, until about the sixth or seventh time. I was really angry and I stormed out into the hallway, only to come face-to-face with this man dressed in formal attire who asked me if I’d seen his daughter, Sara. When I said that I hadn’t, he vanished in front of my very eyes.”

“Let me guess,” I said, somewhat amused. “He looked just like the portraits of Sir Phineas, correct?”

“The spitting image,” Knollenberg agreed with a shiver.

“Doesn’t surprise me, but do I remember right, in that his daughter, Sara, fell down the main staircase?”

“She did,” said Knollenberg. “We’ve had many, many guests over the years call the front desk to report a little girl playing on the staircase with no sign of any parental supervision.”

In the back of my mind I filed that away. I had every intention of helping poor Sara cross over, because it was my firm belief that no child ghost should be left to wander the confusing and often frightening grounded realms of the living. But there was no way I was going to mention this to the Duke’s GM. I couldn’t risk his saying no because he felt little Sara was best served up as some sort of morbid tourist attraction.

“You were asking me if any of our deceased residents were from Portugal,” Knollenberg reminded me, shaking me out of my thoughts. “Was there a reason you wanted to know that particular fact?”

I nodded. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m one of the mediums featured in that television show that’s filming here tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Knollenberg with a shy smile. “I spoke with Detective MacDonald after you’d given him your impressions about that horrible incident earlier this afternoon. He mentioned that you were quite talented.”

I laughed. “Glad to know he found me credible. Anyway, the reason I asked you about one of your hotel ghosts being from Portugal is that I believe Dr. Sable and I were visited by this spirit here tonight.”

Knollenberg’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, but just then Steven came out of the bathroom, wearing a thin white bandage on his forehead. “All better,” he said when he saw us.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Ice? Pain reliever?”

“Both sound good,” said Steven, walking over to lay his medical bag on the dresser.

“Be back in a flash,” I said to the two of them, and darted out of the room. I figured the ice machine was likely located over by the elevators. I passed Gary out in the hall; he was still knocking on doors. “Any luck?” I asked.

“No one has answered the door,” he said, glancing skeptically down the corridor. He was several rooms away from ours. “We’re down to about a third of our capacity, due to all the construction. No one wants to stay in a hotel when there’s the potential for a lot of noise.”

“So we’re the only two guests in this area?”

Gary shrugged, then glanced at his watch. “Looks like it. I’ve called downstairs to try to get a list of occupants, but they’re pretty busy at the front desk. Many of our guests are checking out early.”

“They are?”

Gary sighed heavily. “Dead bodies on the pavement and noisy construction seem to be motivating a lot of exits.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I can kinda see their point.”

Gary winked conspiratorially. “Me too. Are you feeling better now that you’ve gotten some sugar?”

I smiled. He seemed like a nice guy. “I am, thanks. I came out to look for the ice machine. Steven’s patched himself up, but the ice will help with the swelling.”

“That way,” he said, pointing farther down the hallway. “Next to the elevators.”

I thanked him and gave him a pat on the back before moving off in that direction. I reached the elevators and found the small nook where the vending and ice machines were. I took one of the plastic buckets from the shelf and filled it with some ice before turning to the vending machine, and was relieved to see a small tube of Advil could be purchased for seventy-five cents.

While I was fishing around in my pockets for loose change I heard the elevator ding and the doors open. I didn’t give it much thought—I was too busy searching for quarters—but after a moment something odd happened. I heard the elevator doors shut; then not two seconds later the bell dinged again, and again they opened . . . but no sound of anyone entering or exiting came to my ears.

I stuck my head out from the nook and glanced curiously at the elevators. The double doors of the two cars stared back: one set open and empty, the other set closed. I looked down the corridor but didn’t see anyone who might have exited.

I shrugged my shoulders and went back to sifting through the change in my hand. In the background I heard the doors slide shut again, and just when I’d found the third quarter the familiar
ding!
of the elevator rang out again in the hallway.

I hesitated before placing the quarter into the coin slot. I couldn’t shake the unease that seemed to have come over me. I stepped out into the hallway and faced the elevators again. This time the other set of doors stood open, no passengers on board and no one out in the hallway. “Weird,” I whispered, and felt all six of my senses go on high alert. On the edge of my energy I could just feel the tiniest tickling sensation, and I knew there was spirit energy afoot—but whoever it was didn’t particularly want me to contact them.

“Hello?” I said anyway. Nothing happened—well, except that the doors to the elevator closed again. I waited there for a moment, watching the lights at the top of the doors, and sure enough, after about fifteen seconds the right elevator’s light lit up with a
ding!

I waited, but the doors took a moment to open, and when they did my jaw dropped. Standing in front of me was five feet, seven inches of feathered, furry, and nearly unrecognizable gay man. “Nice getup,” I said as Gilley stepped off the elevator wearing a bright pink feather boa, a black leather vest with fur trim, and leopard-print chaps over skintight jeans . . . and by skintight, I mean I had to avert my eyes.

“Oh, hey!” Gil said when he saw me. “I was just coming to find you. I was reporting something to the desk clerk downstairs, and I overheard that security had been called up to your room. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, turning back in to the nook to get the Advil for Steven. After retrieving it from the slot and grabbing the ice bucket, I walked with Gil toward my room. “There was a fight out in the hallway, and when Steven went to take a look, one of the guys slammed the door into his forehead.”

“Oh, no!” said Gilley, stroking his feather boa like a beloved pet. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” I assured him. “Just a scratch, but that’s not the craziest part of the story.”

“Do tell.”

I opened my mouth to explain, but was distracted by all those feathers. “Where are you coming from, anyway?” I asked, looking pointedly at his wild outfit.

Gilley smiled. “I was just heading out, actually,” he said. “There are some fabulous bars not far from here, and I wanted to look my best.”

“Ah,” I said.

Gilley seemed to notice my wide eyes looking at his getup, and he asked, “Too much?”

I smiled. “Naw. You’re good.”

“You really think so?” he said, stroking the boa again.

“We’re in Frisco. Around here I’d count that as subtle.”

Gil seemed to relax and flung the tail of the boa across his neck. “Anyway, while I was leaving the hotel I saw this little girl on the main staircase playing on the railing. I tried to get her to stop, but she said her father always let her play like that. So I looked around for the dad, but I didn’t see anyone. I got her to tell me that her name was Sara, so I went to the front desk to report it. I mean, who leaves their kid out this late at night to wander unsupervised like that?”

I had stopped in my tracks as Gilley was telling me the story, and he’d walked on a few steps and was now looking curiously back at me over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

I walked to him and handed him the ice bucket and the Advil. “Can you please take this back to my room, Gil? There’s something that I need to check out.”

“Uh . . .” he said, blinking in confusion.

“Thanks!” I replied without explanation, then dashed back to the elevators and punched the down button. The doors opened up and I pressed the G for ground, hopping from foot to foot. “Be there,” I said, hoping the spirit of little Sara would still be at the main staircase. I knew better than to tell Gil that he’d actually had an entire conversation with a ghost. If Gil knew he’d just had a face-to-face encounter with a real ghost, he’d grow his own feathers and start clucking.

When the doors opened I hurried out and over to the main staircase, where I came up short. Heath was standing by the railing with his eyes closed and the most peaceful look on his face. I knew immediately that he was talking to Sara.

I approached cautiously; I didn’t want to interrupt or intrude. When I got to within ten feet I stopped and waited. It took a little while, but eventually Heath opened his eyes and blinked a few times, and a moment later he focused on me in surprise. “Hey!” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Likewise,” I said with my own smile. “Don’t tell me; let me guess: You’ve been doing some ghostbusting for a certain spirit named Sara.”

Heath looked taken aback. “You could hear us?” he asked.

I laughed. “No, I cheated. Gilley said that he was down here just a bit ago, and he was worried about a little girl playing around on the banister without any parental supervision.”

“And he didn’t know Sara was a ghost?” he asked.