Ghouls Just Haunt to Have Fun

  “Well?” asked MacDonald. “What’d she say?”

  I looked at him and frowned. “Nothing.” I sighed.

  “She doesn’t know who attacked her?” he clarified.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “She’s not here. I’ve been trying to connect with her since you asked, and there’s no answer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well,” I said, scratching my head. “It means either that she’s crossed over and she’s in transition or that she’s grounded, but she’s not grounded here.”

  MacDonald looked at me as though I’d just spoken Chinese. “Come again?”

  I smiled. “Yeah, that probably wouldn’t make sense to you. What I mean is that Tracy could have already crossed over successfully, and, given the fact that she was very intoxicated when she died, that’s a likely scenario. . . .”

  “What does that have to do with it?” he said.

  “It’s something that’s fairly common,” I explained. “It’s like the shock of what’s happening to you doesn’t impact you as intensely if you’re inebriated, so a lot of drunks and drug addicts end up crossing over really easily. Anyway, if she has crossed over successfully, there’s usually a transition period when they’re not able to communicate with us, and sometimes this can take a while, like a few months even.”

  “Huh,” he said. “Okay, I’m with you. And this other thing, that if she’s on the ground she’s not here?”

  I hid a smirk at his interpretation. “What I meant was that if she is a ghost, what we in the biz refer to as grounded, then she might be grounded someplace other than where she died. She could actually be grounded at her home, and Gilley and I have run into this scenario a few times too. A person will die in one place, but haunt another. It happens a lot, actually.”

  “And neither scenario helps us with her murder,” he said.

  “Nope,” I said. “Neither one does.”

  “So now what?” he asked me.

  “Now I leave you to try to solve this case the old-fashioned way, Detective.”

  “But what about this demon thing that’s clawing people?” he insisted. I could tell he was a little spooked by what he’d seen on my back and Tracy’s.

  I felt my shoulders droop. “That’s where Heath—the other medium I’ve been hanging out with—and I go to work. The thing I’m worried about, though, is that your lab tech has the knife that we believe is the portable portal to the demon. You’ve got to let me know if anything weird happens when they go to dust it for prints, okay?”

  MacDonald pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. When the call connected he said, “Ben, it’s me, Ayden. Can you tell me which one of your techs got physical custody of the knife from our vic?” There was a pause; then MacDonald’s face flushed red with anger. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know?! Isn’t it your job to assign these things?” MacDonald listened, then seemed to grow even madder. “How the hell does that happen, Ben? You tell me how the hell does that happen?”

  I was growing increasingly alarmed. “They don’t know where the knife is?” I whispered, but MacDonald was too furious to notice that I’d asked him something.

  “Find that damn knife, Ben! You find it and find it quick!” he shouted.

  From outside there was a knock. The door was pushed open and the ME stood there, looking a bit shocked to find us in here with his body and the detective yelling his head off. “Everything okay, Ayden?”

  MacDonald slapped his cell phone closed and whirled on the ME. “Jack,” he said tersely. “Who did you hand the knife off to?”

  The ME looked a bit surprised by the question. “Uh,” he said, “one of the techs.”

  “Which one of the techs?” demanded MacDonald.

  “I don’t know,” said Jack, and I could tell he was beginning to see the reason to be alarmed. “One of the new guys, I think.”

  “Son of a bitch, Jack!” yelled MacDonald. “There are no new guys! We’ve had a hiring freeze for the past three months!”

  “Oh, shit,” whispered the ME. “Ayden, I’m really sorry—”

  But MacDonald cut him off by holding up his hand in a stop motion. “Save it,” he snapped, and yanked the door open, making a motion for me to exit the area pronto, which I did.

  When we were out in the open again I realized that all eyes were now turned directly on us, everyone obviously alarmed by the yelling and swearing and such. “Did you still need me?” I asked as we walked toward the seating area.

  “No,” MacDonald growled. “But stick close; I may have more questions for you later.”

  “Will do,” I agreed, and hurried over to Gilley, Steven, Heath, and Gopher.

  “What happened?” Heath asked when I took my seat again.

  “The knife has gone missing,” I said. “Someone took it right out from under their noses.”

  “This is bad!” Gilley squeaked. “That means the portal is still open and the demon could be running loose anywhere.”

  “It does,” I said soberly. “And it also means that anyone and everyone here could be in serious danger.”

  Chapter 8

  “I think it’s time we considered going back to Boston,” Steven said reasonably. “This is too dangerous now. We should leave the police to solve this and not be like sitting geese.”

  I looked to Gilley, who was pumping his head up and down vigorously. “I agree,” he said. “They don’t pay us to put our lives on the line. Let’s get the freak outta here, M.J.!”

  “Hey, now,” I said reasonably. “Let’s not panic and bolt. If that knife is still somewhere in this hotel, lives could be at stake.”

  “Yes,” agreed Gilley. “Ours! This is too much for us; we’re in way over our heads. I say we get the heck out while we can, and leave this one to the police.”

  I stared at him and Steven for a long moment, weighing what they were telling me, but my conscience was having a tough time of it. “I don’t know, Gil,” I said. “I almost think we have an obligation to try.”

  “Obligation?” He gasped. “Are you kidding me, M.J.? When did you take some sort of public vow to hunt down dangerous poltergeists who could very well carve you up for dinner?”

  “But that’s the point, isn’t it?” I threw back at him. “If someone like me is going to have a tough time with that thing, can you imagine some poor innocent encountering it?”

  “Some poor innocent already did,” said Steven, eyeing the ladies’ room. “And she died. M.J., this is too big for even you. I think we should leave.”

  “Heath?” I asked, my voice a little pleading. “What do you think?”

  Heath sighed and took his time replying. “I think Gilley’s right,” he said, and my eyes widened. I had expected him to take my side. “This is some heavy shit, and I’d prefer to duck out and leave it behind. Plus, we don’t know for certain the knife and the demon are even still here. For all we know, the person responsible could have taken the knife and fled the area.”

  “Or,” said Gilley ominously, “they could still be here . . . and watching us.”

  There was a long, tense moment of silence before all eyes seemed to fall on me, and I felt the weight of the responsibility. Before making up my mind I looked again at Heath, knowing I couldn’t possibly attempt to take on a demon hunt without his help. But I didn’t want to give up. These people needed us, and we were the only experts capable of helping. If the police did catch Tracy’s killer—the person carrying the portal key—what then? How could a gun or a badge stop a demon?

  I was about to argue the point when I heard a voice behind me say, “Pardon my interruption, but might I have a word with you two?”

  I turned to face a tall, elegantly dressed older gentleman wearing a three-piece suit and a beautiful silk tie and carrying a walking cane with a silver handle. “With me?” I asked him, wondering if we’d ever met before.

  “You and the young man on the couch,” he replied, indicating Heath. It was then that I
noticed Murray Knollenberg standing nervously behind the gentleman.

  “M.J., Heath, this is Howard Beckworth,” the GM said. “He is the owner of the Duke.”

  I cut my eyes to Heath, but he looked just as confused as I did. “Sure,” I said when I saw him shrug his shoulders. “But we’re trying to get on a flight, so can we make it quick?”

  “Then quick it shall be,” said Beckworth. “This way, if you please,” he said, indicating that we should follow him.

  “I’d like to bring my business partners along,” I called as he turned to walk away.

  Beckworth looked over his shoulder and gave me an agreeable smile. “Of course,” he said.

  Steven and Gilley jumped up, and so did Gopher. “Can I come?” he asked. “I’ve always wanted to meet the Howard Beckworth. He’s worth a couple billion, you know.”

  I was about to tell him no, but Gilley said, “Sure, why not?”

  “Whatever,” I said, relenting, and trotted after our host and the nervous hotel manager.

  We trekked along in a bit of a zigzag pattern through the crime-scene tape and exiting guests and police; past the check-in counter, which had clearly turned into the checkout counter; down a corridor all the way to the end; and through a doorway leading us into a beautiful office with mahogany paneling, rich burgundy carpet, and a floor-to-ceiling set of bookshelves. The room was large enough to have a separate seating area, and Beckworth led us there, pointing to the two couches and four wing chairs arranged in a square. “If you will all please make yourselves comfortable,” he said, taking ownership of the largest of the leather wing chairs.

  I sat next to Heath, and on my other side Steven took up residence, placing a protective hand on my knee.

  Gilley and Gopher took seats across from us, and Knollenberg perched uncomfortably on the edge of another wing chair.

  Beckworth allowed a rather dramatic pause to extend after we had all settled, eyeing him expectantly, before he got to the point of this little gathering. “Mr. Knollenberg has informed me that along with these two unsettling fatalities, there is also some sort of dark occult activity of the hellish variety occurring in my hotel.”

  I noticed that the elderly gentleman spoke with a slight British accent, and wondered if he’d come from there or had just adopted it along the way to make himself sound more refined. “If by that you mean you’ve got a demon loose at the Duke, then yes, I would agree with that assessment,” I said.

  “This is most upsetting,” said Beckworth. “Most upsetting indeed.”

  I couldn’t be completely certain, but something told me that this guy wasn’t all that surprised by this news. “Yeah, well, good luck with it,” Heath said firmly. “We’ve decided to head home.”

  Beckworth smiled politely at Heath. “Yes, of course, and who could blame you?”

  The question lingered in the air. No one commented, as no one really knew what to say. Instead we all waited to hear the old man out, and it was Knollenberg who actually piped up. After clearing his throat nervously, he said, “I have informed Mr. Beckworth that, by your profession, you two might be able to help us solve this problem.”

  “By our profession?” I said, curious about how much Knollenberg knew about Heath and me.

  The fidgety manager tugged at his tie and said, “Yes. I’ve looked both of you up on the Internet, and your résumés are quiet impressive.”

  “You want to hire us,” said Gilley, at last getting us to the point.

  “We would,” confirmed Beckworth. “As you can imagine, my hotel staff is ill prepared to deal with something of this . . . caliber. We’ve handled the rather passive spirits that have haunted this establishment over the years, but it is my understanding that the recent activity and force of destruction set loose in the Renaissance Room are unlike anything we’ve ever encountered here before.”

  “I’m sorry, no. It’s too dangerous,” said Gilley, and my jaw nearly fell open. Gilley never said no to a formal job proposal, especially when someone worth great gobs of money wanted to hire us. Usually I was the person trying to talk him out of putting my life on the line.

  “Ah, Mr. Gillespie, is it?” said Beckworth, politely acknowledging him. Gilley flushed and nodded his head. “You seem to be a reasonable soul, and I must commend you for using caution; however, I am a man who is not easily swayed once his mind is made up. What figure might I offer you to change your mind?”

  My head swiveled over to Gilley; I knew there was no way he could resist an open-ended offer like that. “There’s no amount of money you could offer us,” Gil insisted, and I was stunned. “It’s too dangerous.”

  I held my breath and waited to see what Beckworth would say next, and was even more surprised when he frowned, nodded, and said to Knollenberg, “You said there were two other mediums in residence for the weekend?”

  “Yes,” said Knollenberg. “As I recall from our guest list they are Angelica Demarche and Bernard Higgins.”

  “Might you call up to their rooms and see if they would take a meeting with us?”

  I held up my hands in a time-out. “Whoa, hold on there, Murray,” I said, and turned to Gilley, who was staring at me curiously. “Gil,” I reasoned, “we can’t let those two frauds attempt to take this thing on. They’ll be crucified!”

  But Gilley’s expression was firm. “M.J.,” Gilley said softly, as if he were addressing a child, “you’ve already been severely injured. How could I ask you to put yourself at risk again? I mean, you’re my best friend in the world! There’s no way I could allow you to put yourself in harm’s way for the sake of a job, no matter how much these people might need someone of your caliber and talent.” And then Gil did something that made me want to either slap him or hug him fiercely: He actually winked his right eye at me—the one hidden from Beckworth and Knollenberg.

  Gilley had been playing a game with Beckworth all along. He knew I really wanted to see this thing through and that there was no way I was going to allow two incompetents to go after something like this demon. I’d already changed my mind to accept the job, with or without Heath’s help, and Gilley knew that. All this bravado was so that he could drive up the price.

  So, in the split second that followed, I decided to let him work out the negotiations. “You’re right,” I said gravely. “It is too dangerous, but I think it might be even more dangerous to let Bernard and Angelica make a bad situation worse because they don’t have a clue what they’re doing.”

  Gilley sat back and shook his head resolutely. “It’s your call, M.J. But I don’t think any amount of money is worth this risk.”

  “What about ten thousand dollars?” offered Beckworth, and my stomach did a flip-flop.

  Before I had a chance to say anything, Gilley chimed in with, “Each?” and indicated Heath, who was sitting on the couch, speechless but with big, interested eyes.

  “Of course,” Beckworth agreed easily.

  Gilley took a moment to think on that, then slowly shook his head again. “No, I’m sorry, sir,” he said, and I felt my heart beat hard in my chest. “We simply can’t consider anything less than twenty . . . for each medium.” I again glanced at Heath, who was biting his lip. His expression clearly said that not only had he changed his mind about joining the bust, but that he would have agreed to a far smaller price. I had a feeling that if Beckworth blanched, Heath was going to jump in with a lower counteroffer, but for now he looked like he was waiting Gilley’s negotiations out, just in case he came out twenty grand richer.

  There was an incredibly tense silence that followed, and I tried to look nonchalant when Beckworth’s eyes fell on me as if to take my measure. Finally, though, he relented. “Agreed, Mr. Gillespie, but for that amount of money I shall want real results.”

  “Of course,” Gil said with a smile. “We’ll need to return to Boston and gather our ghost-hunting equipment, but we can be back here . . . the day after tomorrow, if you’d like.”

  “That would work perfectly,” he said before
turning to his general manager. “Mr. Knollenberg, I see that most of the hotel guests have either already left us or are in a hurry to do so?”

  Knollenberg flushed bright red and pulled at his tie again. “I believe it’s due to the fact that the police have been called here twice in two days, sir,” he said.

  “Of course it is,” said Beckworth, and I was surprised that it didn’t seem to bother him a bit that he was losing money. “I believe that, in the interests of retaining what good faith we have with our clientele, we should close the Duke for a few days and allow the police to finish the job of gathering their evidence, and let our paranormal team here have a chance to rid the hotel of any remaining spiritual activity without being hampered by our paying guests.”

  “Sir?” said Knollenberg, clearly surprised.

  “The construction here at the Duke is causing us to run at one-third of our capacity anyway,” continued Beckworth, as if he hadn’t heard Murray’s question. “So this situation isn’t as financially costly to me as it could be. We have rooms to spare over at the Lark, in fact. Offer our remaining Duke customers a free night’s stay and the same lower rate they were paying here for the rest of their visit if they are willing to pack their belongings and be transferred to the Lark. I’ll send Conrad and his crew over here with a few limos to shuttle the guests between the hotels.

  “Also, notify everyone who has a reservation with us between now and Thursday that the hotel will be closing due to an unforeseen plumbing problem or something similar. And give them a discount if they would like to transfer their reservations to the Lark.”

  “Sir,” said Knollenberg, looking around at us a bit self-consciously. “Do you mean to say you actually want to close down this hotel?”

  “Yes,” said Beckworth easily. “At least for the next four days. I’d rather have this contained quickly, Murray, before it becomes a thing and we get smeared with a reputation for offering our guests an experience of something less than our fine standards.”