a while.
What she found most bewildering was that in all the years and years of ghost hunting, no one seemed concerned that no matter how hard people looked, and damn, there were industries based on people believing in ghosts, there was no repeatable, verifiable proof. She tried hard to keep her opinions to herself when she was around Erin’s friends, but it wasn’t always easy.
When she heard intelligent, eloquent people expound on their supernatural experiences she tried not to roll her eyes. Whether she could remain a stoic observer after an intense week of pretending to believe in ghosts and goblins, well, that remained to be seen.
Her gaze went to the window as she let herself fall into the lovely Colorado scenery. She’d make the most of her week, especially spending time with Erin. She was going to miss her friend something terrible.
ANOTHER SHUTTLE LOAD of ghost hunters was due to arrive in the next ten minutes, and Sam Crider, current proprietor of the Crider Inn, was ready for them.
Since it was Halloween week and this was the largest and longest convention of ghost aficionados he’d booked since taking over the hotel, he’d gone all out decorating the place. It wasn’t hard to give the hotel a spooky ambience. His family had been doing it for generations, ever since the Old Hotel, now condemned but not torn down, had been destroyed by a fire of mysterious origin that had killed a number of his ancestors, who, according to legend, had never checked out.
Personally, he was delighted by this resurgence of ghost hunting and all the television shows that glorified the sport. All the paranormal legends about the Crider property were not only filling his coffers, but they were also a large part of why the hotel and the hundred acres of Crider land were now involved in a bidding war.
Two companies were interested in buying the place. One wanted to exploit the haunted reputation, and the other simply wanted to exploit the land. Sam had no preference as to who won, just so long as the check cleared.
Almost no one who worked for him knew that, of course. All negotiations had been done on the quiet, because a Crider had always owned and run the property and, it was assumed, always would.
He wanted nothing more than to shake the dust of this place off his shoes and get back to his real life. He’d been in the middle of his fifth documentary film when his father had died. Shit, it was ten months ago. The time had gone by in a blur.
He missed the old man. They’d been close. The bond had taken root when Sam was thirteen and his mother had died of breast cancer. It hadn’t been strong enough, however, to give Sam a love of the hotel, or a desire to carry on the family tradition. The sale would make it possible for him to continue making films, and no longer on a shoestring budget.
He’d finally have enough money to hire some help, like sound professionals and a full-time assistant. Not to mention the massive upgrade in equipment he’d be able to afford. He could stop thinking local and travel anywhere the stories dictated, film for as long as necessary to get what he needed. He’d have the cash to submit his films to all the important festivals. He’d actually be able to move out of the glorified Brooklyn broom closet he currently called home base.
So ghosts it was, and would be for the next week. Not only to curry favor with the convention people, but also to wow the potential buyers, both of whom were coming to check out the grounds.
That had been a neat trick. As he’d been told by his attorney, his accountant and his real estate broker, no one conducted sales by having the competing parties survey the place at the same time. But Sam had no interest in playing games. Representatives from both companies had already checked out the property, the numbers had been crunched and recrunched, now all that was left was for the CEOs to do a walk-through before actually making bids.
Sam had told the two men that he was having one showing, and that was that. They could take it or leave it. Luckily, they’d both taken it. Turns out they knew each other, had figured they’d both be interested in the place, and were looking forward to seeing each other. But now that it was happening, Sam worried that they’d both say no, and he’d be back to square one.
He surveyed the lobby slowly, trying to see the place with fresh eyes. It wasn’t possible. He’d grown up here, had slept in almost every one of the thirty-six guest rooms. He’d eaten in the restaurant—good cooks and bad—learned to shoot pool in the small pub. He’d lost his virginity in the Old Hotel, and had his heart broken sitting in front of the big stone fireplace that dominated the lobby.
He’d miss it all, but not tragically. It was just a building, just land, just a view. He’d already made sure that both the buyers were amenable to keeping the permanent staff, so no guilt there. And he’d found a great retirement place in Denver for his Aunt Grace. If there was one fly in the ointment, it was Grace. She’d lived here all her life, residing in the attached apartment that had once been his parents’ home.
But she was getting on in years, and she shouldn’t live this far away from medical care anyway. He was doing the right thing, for himself, for the employees, and for Grace. He’d sent her off to her friend’s home in Miami for a couple of weeks. She’d been happy to go, to be somewhere warm. He just hoped she’d be half as excited to move when it was time.
He heard the door behind him, and turned to find his old friend Jody Reading bringing him a hot beverage and what looked to be a dessert. Jody was an executive chef, a damn fine one, who’d agreed to come in for the week. She would wow the guests with her superb meals and drive them insane with her prize-winning pastries.
“I thought you’d like to try this before the deluge.”
He peeked in the mug to find coffee—a latte, from the looks of it—and a large piece of a layered napoleon, his favorite. “You’re ruining me. I’ll be a French-pastry junkie and end up living in some alley behind a patisserie.”
“As long as it’s not my patisserie.”
He really shouldn’t indulge now, not when the shuttle was due to arrive any minute, but the dessert looked so delicious, he took his plate and the fork and dug in. His moan wasn’t particularly manly, but it seemed to please Jody.
“My work here is done,” she said. She gave him a friendly swat on the ass, then went back to the kitchen.
Luckily, he was alone, at least for the moment, because he downed the pastry way too fast, which was a crime. But he didn’t want to be caught by a guest, and there was a strict rule about eating at the front desk.
Just as he lifted the last forkful to his mouth, the lobby door opened, bringing a gust of cold wind along with eighteen paying guests.
He dropped his fork on the plate, then shoved the plate under a newspaper. He smiled and rang the bell that would bring Patrick from the office. Patrick was the manager of the hotel, and he would handle the registration, while Sam schmoozed.
“You’re Sam Crider? The guy who owns the place?”
He nodded at the first person at the desk, Liam O’Connell, one of the conference coordinators.
Liam took the pen and began to fill out his registration card. “Bet you’ve seen a thing or two.”
“Oh, yeah. Things that would curl your hair.”
Liam laughed, considering he was mostly bald. “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever encountered?”
“Oh, I’m not going to give you
