Ghouls Just Haunt to Have Fun

  I grabbed Gilley by the hand and pulled him and the others back into the stairwell. I was out of breath from the shock and the run, and was about to speak when the door was yanked open and Knollenberg stared at us with surprise. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Nothing!” I said, forcing a smile to my lips. “We just had a bit of a scare with Gus on the fifth floor, that’s all. Man, that is one irritated poltergeist, and he’s got some serious tricks up his sleeve. If I were you, I wouldn’t let any of your future guests check into room five-eighteen. Anyway, we’re going to call it a day for now, Mr. Knollenberg. So sorry if we disturbed you.”

  He looked at us oddly for a long moment, but finally closed the door and left us alone.

  Three faces stared at me as if I’d gone completely insane.

  “Have you gone completely insane?” said Gilley. (See? I told you they were looking at me that way.)

  “Shhhhh!” I said to him, then motioned up the stairs. “Follow me.”

  “I’m not going back up there,” Gopher insisted.

  “Just one flight up,” I assured him. “I want to be out of earshot.”

  We got to the stairwell of the second floor and I explained quietly, “That body belonged to Anton.”

  “No way!” Gil and Gopher gasped together.

  “Way,” I insisted. “I caught a good look at his face when Heath turned on the light.”

  “But if he’s dead, then who killed everyone else?”

  “Knollenberg,” I said.

  “What?” they all asked.

  “No way!” said Heath.

  But I was convinced; everything seemed to point to him, so I told them my theory. “I think that Anton and Knollenberg might have been in on it together, but when things started getting sticky, Knollenberg needed someone to take the fall, and that guy was Anton.”

  “I don’t know,” said Gopher. “I mean, Knollenberg doesn’t seem the type.”

  “Think about it, guys,” I pressed, knowing I’d need a little more to win them all over. “Knollenberg was the one who hired Anton, and when Anton looks suspicious he claims that he didn’t vet him properly—I mean, who doesn’t do a thorough background check on a foreigner looking for employment these days? Wouldn’t you think Knollenberg would have actually checked with the establishments Anton claimed he worked in and all of his personal references, with the reputation of the hotel at stake?”

  “She’s got a point there,” Gilley agreed.

  “And,” I continued, feeling more confident, “we know that whoever murdered Sophie, Tracy, and Anton needed to have full access to the hotel and likely had intimate knowledge of any out-of-the-way areas where he could come and go without really being noticed. Plus,” I said, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, “who else knew about that door that connected rooms three-nineteen and three-twenty-one? Only a staffer would know that!”

  “So you think that Anton brought Knollenberg in on the deal and that the general manager killed him?” Heath asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do.”

  “Jesus,” whispered Gilley, looking over his shoulder. “If you’re right, then we’re really in trouble.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Knollenberg is the only one here with us tonight. He said to me a few hours ago that he’d sent the other assistant manager and the security guard home to avoid the extra overtime.”

  “We need to call MacDonald,” I said.

  “Yes!” said Gilley. “Get him to bring the cavalry down!”

  I pulled out my cell and dialed quickly. MacDonald answered on the fourth ring. “This had better be good!” he barked.

  I spoke quickly and quietly as I told him that we thought we had discovered Anton’s body up on the third floor.

  “You are shitting me!” he yelled so loudly I had to pull the phone away from my ear.

  “I’m actually not,” I said, more calmly than I felt.

  “Christ!” he said. “Are you sure he’s dead?”

  I paused before answering. “I’m pretty sure,” I said. “I mean, it was dark and all, but I really believe he’s been murdered.”

  MacDonald was silent for a few beats. “Here’s the problem, M.J.,” he said soberly. “I’ve been taken off the case.”

  “What?” I said loudly. “For God’s sake, why?”

  “Beckworth talked to my lieutenant,” he explained. “The thing with the unsealing of the crime scene and the missing mirror didn’t go over well. Hell, I’m lucky I didn’t get suspended.”

  “So who’s been assigned to the case?”

  “An idiot,” MacDonald said. “No joke, the detective they’ve assigned to take over has only been in our department for three weeks.”

  “So now what?” Again MacDonald was silent for so long I actually thought I’d lost him. “Hello?” I called into the silence.

  “I’m still here,” he said, and added a sigh. “Okay, so here’s what I think we should do: I’m going to put my ass on the line and come down there and check this out for you. If Anton really is dead, then we’ll call nine-one-one and get some uniforms on the scene. I know a couple of guys on duty tonight who could keep my involvement a secret and make sure the case isn’t bungled by some new kid on the block. You guys meet me out back by the loading dock, but don’t let Knollenberg know I’m on the premises, capisce?”

  “Got it,” I said. “Let us handle Knollenberg; you just get down here as fast as you can.”

  I filled the guys in on what MacDonald had said, but they didn’t look too thrilled about his idea not to bring in the troops right away.

  “Gil,” I ordered, “you and Gopher go down to the lobby and stall for time.”

  “Huh?” he said, his eyes big and buggy.

  “Make a show of putting away the equipment—make it take a while, to give us time for MacDonald to arrive.”

  Gilley’s frown deepened. “Even if I dragged it out, that would still only take me fifteen or twenty minutes—tops.”

  “We could go over the film,” offered Gopher. “You and I could review the footage we’ve taken and start editing something together.”

  “Genius!” I said to him. “Yes, you and Gilley do that while Heath and I get MacDonald inside.” I pulled out my maps of the hotel from my jacket pocket and sorted through them quickly. “Here,” I announced, pointing to the loading dock. “Heath, we can have MacDonald come in through the dock in the back of the building and get him up to the third floor using this back stairway. Knollenberg will never know he’s here until it’s too late for him to run.”

  “What if Knollenberg leaves the front desk?” Gilley asked nervously.

  “Follow him,” I ordered. “But don’t get caught. If we’re lucky and he leaves the front desk, he may lead you right to the mirrors.”

  “Or he may kill us, like he did Anton and the others,” grumbled Gil.

  “Right,” I said. “So again, try not to get caught, okay?”

  Gilley gulped, but Gopher clapped him on the back and said, “It might not be so bad, buddy. He’ll probably wait for everyone to go to bed before he makes his escape.”

  “Yeah, why would he still be hanging around if he was the one who killed everyone?” Heath asked.

  “Because I believe that at least one of the mirrors is still here,” I reasoned. “And with the four of us roaming the hotel, there’s no way he’d want to risk getting caught with it. Trust me: He’ll wait for us to check out before he bolts.”

  We left Gilley and Gopher to go back to the lobby, and I instructed him to make sure he mentioned to Knollenberg that Heath and I had turned in for the night, but that he and Gopher were going to go over some film for about an hour before retiring. That way Knollenberg wouldn’t think we were up to anything . . . at least, that was what I hoped would happen.

  Meanwhile, Heath and I used the map of the main floor to make our way over to the loading dock and avoid being seen by Knollenberg. I had my headset back on, and Gilley was
going to warn me if the general manager moved away from the front desk.

  Heath and I used our key card to open the back door to the loading dock and waited until a black sedan came to a stop right in front of us. I felt my shoulders relax, and I said to Gil, “MacDonald’s here. Just keep your eye on Knollenberg, okay?”

  “Copy that. Over,” said Gil.

  MacDonald got out of his car and hurried up the stairs to us. He was unshaven, rumpled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he had a serious case of bed-head going on.

  “Morning!” Heath and I said to him, both of us trying to sound bright and sunny.

  “So where is he?” MacDonald barked, his mood as rough as his looks.

  “This way,” I answered, and Heath led the way for us to the back stairwell and up to the third floor. As Heath pushed through the third-floor door, he and I didn’t worry about taking up our point positions—Knollenberg likely had the dagger on him as well, and Gilley hadn’t said that Knollenberg was on the move, so we felt relatively safe.

  “Down here,” I said, taking over the lead, but about five yards from our goal MacDonald pulled up short.

  “Tell me you haven’t broken that seal,” he demanded.

  Heath and I both turned and looked at him in surprise. “We haven’t,” said Heath, and when MacDonald still looked skeptical he added, “Detective, we promise. But there is something in the room next door that you have to see.”

  MacDonald continued to stand frustratingly still in the middle of the hallway, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

  “Please?” I said. “I swear, Ayden, this is really important!”

  MacDonald let out a loud sigh when I heard Gilley say in my ear, “M.J.! Knollenberg is on the move! Over.”

  I put my hand up to my earpiece and commanded, “Follow him!”

  Gilley squeaked in fear, but said, “Okay. Over.”

  I turned back to Heath and MacDonald. “You’ve got to trust us and move to the room right now!”

  Heath hurried along ahead to room 319 and used his key card on the lock. He held the door open as I trekked through, avoiding the door on the other side of the room and the body still lying there.

  “He’s heading toward the back,” whispered Gilley in my ear. “Over.”

  “Okay, if he sees you, then you and Gopher split up and run for it.”

  “Gopher isn’t with me!” Gilley whined.

  “I’m still in the lobby,” came Gopher’s voice.

  MacDonald appeared at that moment in the doorway, and his eyes immediately widened in alarm.

  “Why didn’t you go with Gilley?!” I demanded of Gopher, as a tickle of fear shot up my spine.

  “Because we thought one of us should stay here in case the other one lost Knollenberg and he came back this way,” Gopher explained.

  “What the hell is going on here?!” shouted MacDonald, and I winced.

  “Heath,” I said, “shut the door!”

  MacDonald raced over to Anton and placed two fingers on his throat, but it was quite obvious the guy was dead. His shirt was drenched in blood, and there was a large open wound in the center of his chest. “Gilley,” I asked into the microphone, “what’s your twenty?”

  “I’m in a back hallway,” whispered Gilley, and there was real fear in his voice. “And I’ve lost Knollenberg! Over!”

  “What do you mean, you’ve lost him?” I said, noticing that Heath had moved over to the detective’s side and was trying to explain everything to him.

  “I mean,” said Gilley, breathing hard, “I saw him round a corner, but I didn’t see where he went after that. There are a bunch of doors off this corridor, M.J., and I think he went through one of them!”

  Just then, from my tool belt I heard a blip and a buzz. Heath heard it too, and his eyes shot up and locked with mine. I pulled out my electrostatic meter and gazed at it—the energy reading was intensifying.

  “Hey, guys,” I heard Gopher say in my ear, and his voice sounded alarmed. “I’m looking at footage from the first day of shooting Haunted Possessions, and you’re not going to believe this!”

  “Not now, Gopher!” I snapped.

  “M.J.!” Gopher insisted. “Just listen! It wasn’t Knollenberg! It was that other guy!”

  I was about to ask Gopher what the hell he was talking about, but suddenly there was a loud hiss directly in my ear, and the headset shorted out. “Yeow!” I said, knocking the gear off and onto the ground.

  “M.J.,” said Heath cautiously.

  I rubbed my ear and looked at him. “Yeah?”

  Heath held up his meter. The gauge was in the red zone. “Son of a bitch!” I swore, and glanced at the door to the room.

  “We gotta get outta here!” Heath warned, but even as he said it I could feel the air cool by at least forty degrees, and goose bumps formed on my arms as the hair rose on the back of my neck.

  I moved over to the door and listened. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard heavy footsteps out in the hallway. I cut the lights and whispered, “Heath! Turn off the meter!” while I flipped off mine.

  I then moved to the back of the room, and my eyes locked with MacDonald’s. “Get over here!” I whispered as loudly as I dared, while waving him over frantically.

  Heath jumped up to join me, but MacDonald stayed rooted right next to Anton. I couldn’t understand why and was about to go over and grab him to pull him out of sight of the door when there was a click and the door began to open.

  I held my breath and felt Heath stiffen beside me. I reached down for my grenades, but then I remembered that I’d given them to Gilley in case he needed to chase after Knollenberg. I hadn’t wanted him to be caught unarmed.

  From the corner of the room there was something like a snarl or a growl, I’m still not sure which, but when my eyes darted in that direction I saw MacDonald get up, his gaze trained on me. His mouth opened and words came out, but they weren’t anything I could recognize.

  I realized with horror that Oruç had returned, and he’d taken a new prisoner. Before I had a chance to do anything, Heath was in motion; he flew across the room and hit the intruder coming in the door with the full weight of his body.

  In the darkened room, chaos ensued. Heath and the intruder fought and tumbled around while I stood frozen for a few heartbeats before my wits came back and I made to help Heath. My way was blocked, however, by MacDonald, who reached out and grabbed me around the throat. I tried my karate-chop move, but MacDonald was far too strong. His elbows bent but his grip on my neck held firm.

  I kicked and struggled, real panic now settling into me as I realized how much stronger MacDonald was than Heath had been when he’d attacked me. I pushed and slapped at him, and we banged into the rear of the room, where the little kitchenette was. My fingers flailed along the countertop, looking for any kind of a weapon.

  My hand grabbed the coffeemaker, and I hit MacDonald on the forehead with it. It didn’t even faze him. Instead, he lifted me off the ground and squeezed tighter. I was losing consciousness and knew that at any moment there would be a point of no return. I clawed at the counter, trying to find anything that would help me. My hand hit a dial on the microwave and it came on, illuminating MacDonald’s twisted face in an awfully sinister way. But then in an instant that scary face was gone completely, and he immediately let go of me.

  I fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

  “What the hell?!” he said, then squatted down and said, “Jesus! What was I doing to you?”

  But I couldn’t answer him. I was still simply trying to breathe. Behind MacDonald there was more crashing, and I realized Heath was in big trouble. Using much of my remaining strength I jerked MacDonald’s shoulder and pushed him toward Heath and the intruder. MacDonald jumped to his feet and tackled our suspect.

  A moment later the lights were turned on, and Gopher and Gilley stood in the doorway, panting and flushed. “We came up here as fast as we could!” Gopher said. “I saw that guy on the dailies from th
e earlier shoot and realized he had to be the guy we were after.”

  My eyes moved over to where Heath and MacDonald were holding the other assistant manager who’d been so grumpy. Next to him was Oruç’s dagger. “Gil . . .” I said, my voice hoarse. “Gimme a grenade!”

  Gil handed me the one clutched in his hand, and I struggled with the top. Behind me the microwave dinged, and I knew that if I didn’t get the lid off now I was also out of time. With trembling fingers I tore off the top and tipped out the spike, tossing it over toward the dagger. It landed right next to it, and I collapsed on the ground.

  The cavalry arrived about five minutes later. MacDonald called in any and every available backup unit, and the hotel was soon overrun with cops and CSIs. I was checked out by EMS techs, who asked if I wanted to go to the hospital (I declined); then I was approached by a heavyset man in a trench coat, who asked if I’d like to make a statement and have Detective MacDonald arrested.

  I blinked at him while holding an ice pack up to my throat. “Why would I do that?” I asked.

  “Along with returning to work a case he had been removed from, my detective has admitted to using unwarranted force against you, ma’am,” he said.

  “Who are you again?” I was pretty sure the guy had introduced himself, but my brain was still a little foggy.

  “Lieutenant Crenshaw,” he said. “MacDonald’s boss.”

  I looked at Gil, sitting beside me and holding my hand, his face both guilty and concerned. “Well, Lieutenant,” I said, “I don’t quite remember it like that. I mean, to begin with, I was the one who asked MacDonald to come down to the hotel. When he initially refused, because doing so would be going against a direct order, I tricked him.”

  Crenshaw’s eyebrows lifted skeptically. “Tricked him?”

  I nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. I told him that the producer of the television show was working on some background shots for the production, and we just needed to get a nice shot of the detective in front of the Duke. When MacDonald arrived I tricked him again into coming inside and heading up to the third floor, telling him that, because of the rain, we had moved the shoot up there.”