Page 28 of Be Our Ghost (The Duchess Hotel #2)
“It’s too bad I don’t have a partner to enjoy it with.” He caught Charlie’s eye. “Remember how much you used to love our weekend getaways to Whistler? When’s the last time anyone took you skiing?”
Just stop . Charlie was about to change the subject, but her mother was relentless. “A salary like that must come with a lot more responsibility. Why don’t you tell us about it?”
No. If there was one thing Randolph loved, it was flaunting his achievements and bragging about his “toys,” like his Beneteau sailboat and his fancy BMW.
He never knew when to shut up. As he droned on about the intricacies of the financial markets, she poked at her food.
Why had her mother thought this tactic would work?
If anything, Charlie was more grateful than ever she’d ended things with Randolph.
She’d all but zoned out when he focused on her again. “Being financially stable is so important. That’s why I’m surprised you’re still hanging on at that dump of a hotel.”
She bristled with anger. “I wouldn’t call it a dump. It’s an iconic boutique hotel with over a hundred years of history.”
He snickered. “No one I know would ever choose to stay there. Didn’t you once tell me it was in danger of closing?”
“That was years ago, back when our GM was borderline incompetent. Our new manager has a much better handle on things. We had a wonderful Christmas season, and our Halloween activities have attracted a lot of new guests.” Now that she’d captured the attention of everyone at the table, she decided to go all in.
So far, she hadn’t told her parents about the ghost-hunting show for fear they’d disapprove.
“As a matter of fact, Canada’s Most Haunted is coming to our hotel to film an episode.
They’re a show based in Vancouver that conducts paranormal investigations. ”
A look of horror crossed her mother’s face, like she’d spotted a cockroach in her food. “A tawdry reality show? Oh, Charlotte, your hotel is truly scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“Plus, it’s no secret those shows are fake,” Randolph said.
Like he was a big expert? Charlie reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass. “Says who? Some of the episodes have produced incontrovertible evidence.”
Her mother gave a nervous laugh. “Sweetie, you’ll believe anything. I remember when you used to have that imaginary friend. What was her name—Mitzi? You were convinced she was real.”
Charlie’s face prickled with heat. She’d only created Mitzi so she’d have a companion when she got lonely. Which had happened far too often when she’d been dragged along on her parents’ adult-oriented vacations.
“I don’t have an issue with the supernatural element,” her dad said. “It’s the idea of concocting fake ghosts that bothers me. There’s nothing in your hotel’s history to suggest it’s haunted.”
Knox cleared his throat. “You might be surprised. Would you like to hear the story?” His tone was measured and even, like he was in complete control of the situation.
“I’d love to hear it,” her dad said. “I don’t know if Charlie told you, but I’m something of a local history buff.”
“Well, then,” Knox said. “Let me tell you exactly what happened.”
Even though Charlie knew the story better than anyone else at the table, she listened in rapt attention as Knox unspooled the narrative slowly, embellishing the truth to make it more compelling.
He was a natural storyteller, knowing when to pause for dramatic effect and when to build up the suspense.
He concluded by describing the way he and Charlie had gotten locked in the storage room four weeks ago.
Charlie’s dad kept nodding, like he was taking it all in.
It was the same way he reacted when watching one of his favorite shows on the History Channel.
He waited until Knox finished before speaking up.
“A tale this fascinating needs to be included in the Historic Hauntings tour. Have you ever been on it?”
“Twice,” Knox said. “The last time I went, Charlie joined me.”
“It was so interesting,” Charlie added. “Did you know they used to hang people in Bastion Square and then bury the bodies underneath?” Though she’d braced herself for a scary experience, she hadn’t been that frightened. Maybe she was toughening up.
Her father refilled his glass with the last of the bottle.
“Judge Begbie used to hold trials in that square. They called him ‘the hanging judge’ and named UVic’s law school after him.
” He addressed Knox again. “You seem to have a keen interest in history. Did you study it when you were at university?”
“It was my minor. My degree was in creative writing.”
Through a mouthful of apple pie, Randolph leapt into the conversation, pointing his finger at Knox. “I knew it! Didn’t I guess you were an aspiring author? Too bad it never panned out.”
Charlie glared at him. She wished she could tell him the truth—that Knox had created an award-winning TV show—but it wasn’t her story to share.
Knox shrugged. “My life didn’t follow the path I intended, but I’m fine with where I ended up.”
“Really?” Randolph said. “In my opinion, dealing with drunks hardly seems like a worthwhile ambition.”
“I don’t mind bartending at the Duchess. If I wasn’t working there, I wouldn’t have met Charlie.” Knox favored her with a doting expression. She suspected he’d only done it to annoy Randolph, but she returned his smile with one of her own, hoping to make it obvious she cared about him.
She scraped the last bit of pumpkin pie off her plate.
Another few minutes of small talk, and they could leave.
But even if Knox had held his own at dinner, she could tell he wasn’t happy about the way her mom had played Randolph against him.
For now, there was nothing she could do about it.
She’d just have to wait until they were alone to apologize properly.