Page 24 of Interlude

I was a smart man.

I just had shitty eyesight and sometimes needed a little assistance.

Calvin turned a few pages and then hummed in response to a self-realization. “This must be the ghost diary.”

“Of course it is.”

He was smiling as he looked up from the pages. “Catherine—the detective—”

“The married one.”

“The married one. She said all of the rooms have these. If something spooky happens, you’re supposed to record the event for future guests to read.”

“The hotel is haunted,” I asked flatly.

“Supposedly.”

“By who?”

Calvin shrugged. “I don’t know. A cowboy?”

I took the journal and tossed it to the bed. “Speaking of, let’s go to the saloon, get some trade whiskey, ask a cowboy if he needs a ride….”

Calvin rolled his eyes and slung an arm over my shoulders. “Bringing you here was a huge mistake.”

“Wanna watch me unload my six-shooter?”

Calvin shoved me into the hallway. “Keep it up.”

“Hang on—just one more.”

“See what happens.”

“But we can save a horse if we—”

Calvin shut the door.

A beat.

Then he opened it. “Put your phone in the room.”

“What if Max calls?”

“The Emporium is already closed.”

“What if I need to know the time?”

“I’m wearing a watch.”

“I have to read your wrist if I want to know the time?”

“Yes. Go—or no gunpowder whiskey for you.”

“Christ, Cal.” I shoved the door open, went to the nightstand, and set my phone beside the alarm clock. I noticed the suitcase was near the armoire and bathroom doorway when I turned, and I hesitated a moment. Hadn’t Calvin put that against the wall?

“Come on, Sheriff.”

I blinked, shook my head, and stepped into the hall. “Did you know bartenders in the Wild West would cut whiskey with water, cayenne, and actual gunpowder? One of the nicknames for the drink was coffin varnish.”