17
“W arren, is there a reason you’re in here annoying me?”
I glance up from the paperwork I’m perusing to watch my brother hovering restlessly by the open office door and staring out into the lobby.
“Look at him.” Warren scowls and ignores my question. “Who does he think he is, strutting around like that with his tight pants and muscular forearms and windswept hair… and soft, soft lips…” His voice trails off.
I drop the papers I’m holding onto the desk. “Warren? Warren!”
He turns to me and blinks. “What?”
I sigh. “Just what is your problem with Thad?”
I assume that’s who he’s talking about, even though I can’t see what’s going on in the lobby.
“I don’t have a problem with him.” Warren shrugs nonchalantly.
“He’s a nice guy,” I point out.
“He’s the literal devil,” Warren mumbles.
“Sure, you don’t have a problem at all.” I roll my eyes. “May I remind you that his show, whether you like it or not, could help bring a lot more business to the hotel? We need him.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like him,” Warren says sulkily.
“You do like him, that’s the problem.”
“No, he’s irritating and… and…”
“You can’t think of anything bad to say about him, can you? You know why? Because he’s a genuinely nice guy that everyone here loves.”
“I don’t.”
“Really?” My brows rise. “And this instant dislike has nothing to do with the fact he looks like Jonah, the guy who broke your heart?” I say quietly.
Warren, predictably, scoffs. “Jonah didn’t break my heart, he broke my dick with all the incredible sex we had, but whatever. It’s done. It’s over. I’ve moved on. No big deal. Just because you’re all hearts and rainbows with your adorable little blonde cherub doesn’t mean it’s in the cards for all of us.”
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips when I think about Ellis.
“You know, it’s really unsettling how much you smile since your little manager started managing your dick.”
I scowl at him.
“Better.”
“Fuck off, Warren,” I tell him without heat.
“Even better. The world feels like it’s righting itself again.” He smirks and then sighs. “Seriously though, I am happy for you.”
I shake my head. “I barely know which way is up these days. I swear Ellis is mixing something into his ChapStick because every time he kisses me, it scrambles my brain.”
Warren’s gaze softens with affection as he looks at me. “Hate to break it to you, big bro, but I’m pretty sure that’s called love.”
I frown. “It’s too soon. We barely know each other.”
“Morgs, love isn’t a checklist. It’s a feeling.”
“And I feel like I want to change the subject.”
“Fine,” he says, understanding me way more than I give him credit for. He nods at the mess on the desk in front of me. “How’s that going?”
I groan. “Honestly, it’s going to take a miracle. We’ve managed to fend off the creditors so far, but there’s some urgent work that needs doing to the building. Unfortunately, because of its age and the fact that it’s listed, it’s conservation rather than straightforward repairs, and that’s going to be expensive. There’s only so much of our own personal money we can put into this. We need investment capital to get it back to a more stable position before we can put in place a long-term financial plan.” I lean back in the uncomfortable office chair and rub my tired eyes.
“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry. We always have, that’s why we make such a good team.”
“Warren,” I exhale slowly. “I can’t expect you to keep putting your own money into this place. It’s a money pit.”
“It’s my money.” He shrugs. “Besides, if we do sell off the business and start our own, we’ll be able to put more into here. It could be our first conservation project. Like you said, we just need to keep it afloat until we can put a long-term viable solution in place.”
“Are you really serious about selling?”
He nods. “Are you?”
I quietly consider Ellis’ words from the other night as I study my brother’s face, then finally nod. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“We’ll need to have a more in-depth conversation before I head back, but you do realise this means having a conversation with Mom?”
“I know, but right now I just need to get through this weekend.”
“I don’t know why you’re so stressed, Morgs. This ghost stuff is all fake anyway.” Warren turns to look back out into the lobby.
I’m not going to touch that subject with him right now; I don’t have the mental space for it. Instead, I glance down at my watch and see it’s nearly midday right when my phone pings on the desk. I riffle through stacks of papers to find it. When I get a look at the screen, I see I’ve got a message from Sam that says he’s only about half an hour away.
“I need to find Ellis.” I push back from the desk and stand, feeling my back protest from having sat so long in that evil chair.
“I saw him heading towards the ballroom earlier with Rosie and John the Maid. They said something about getting the ballroom ready for the Valentine’s party and ghost hunt tonight?”
I sigh. “They’re going to have their hands full with that mess after last night’s disaster. I should have gone to help but I had a few phone calls to make.”
“Oh, I’m sure with John the Robo-Maid, they’ll have no trouble.” Warren chuckles. “I wish we had a whole army of him to work in our hotels.”
“You coming?” I ask as we both head out the door into the lobby.
“Actually, I’m going to head to the kitchen and see if I can talk Aggie into giving me more cookies.”
I snort. “You’re not going to fit into your pants by the time you go home.”
“I can’t help it. Seriously, I don’t know what she puts in them. In fact, I’m thinking–” He pauses and frowns. “What the hell?”
I look over and see Haru and Amelia amble past on their way to the bar. They raise their hands and wave, but it’s what they’re wearing that catches my attention. Amelia has a pink T-shirt on and Haru has a lilac one, and on the front of both is Thad’s face, the words Deuce Dalton - Ghost Hunter in dramatic lettering underneath.
“Did you want one?” My lips curl as I turn to my brother. “I can always ask Jules for one.”
“Ask me for one what?” Jules appears, his eyes bright and his expression excited.
“Nothing.” Warren glares at me.
“You look happy,” I say to Jules as we stop by the main desk.
“Yeah, mate, this is awesome. There’s so much stuff going on here. We’ve had some insane readings from the equipment, not to mention all the really cool footage we shot in the woods and at the Hollow. Plus, this.” He pats the machine in front of him.
“What’s that?” Warren stares down at it. “It looks like a cassette recorder from the eighties.”
“Not quite.” Jules chuckles. “It’s an EVP recorder. It picks up sounds we can’t hear, and I’ve just been going over the recordings from the séance. You can definitely hear voices on it.”
“What does it say? Let me guess, you’re gonna die?” Warren rolls his eyes. “It’s the cliched plot line of every paranormal movie ever.”
“Actually, it did pick up the word die, plus a whole bunch of numbers. Bez is going through them to see if they correlate to any important dates.”
“Oh my god.” Warren sighs. “Did it pick up the word gullible, by any chance?”
Jules laughs, and he has that same easy way about him that Thad does. “There’s nothing you can say that we haven’t heard a million times.”
“Maybe that should tell you something,” Warren replies.
“Or maybe you should join us for a week on one of our investigations,” Thad’s voice interrupts. Warren spins around to find the object of his dislike right behind him and stepping up into his personal space.
“What do you say?” Thad’s mouth curves and his blue eyes sweep over Warren. “Ditch the suits and board meetings for a week and come rough it with us.”
Warren’s brow quirks. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I can make a believer of you.” His eyes drop to my brother’s lips.
“No, thanks,” he says dryly. “I have no urge to play Scully to your Mulder.”
I glance over to Jules, who rolls his eyes and throws me a look that says he knows as well as I do that these two need to get a room. They really should be careful; the ghosts around here might just decide to take care of that, especially Roger, who fancies himself as a bit of a matchmaker.
A sudden quiet clanking noise interrupts Thad and Warren’s smoulder-off, and we turn to see Victor Clutterbuck, accompanied by my grandfather, shuffling along with his Zimmer frame.
Warren’s mouth falls open and his eyes widen as he clutches his chest. “Oh, Pops,” he gasps. “Not you too! Et tu, Bruté?”
I snort and cover it with my hand as Jules tries valiantly to bite back a smile.
Victor and my grandfather are both wearing white Ghost Hunter T-shirts. Grandfather is once more in a sarong, this one a vibrant turquoise with swirling patterns and sequins, but what really has me choking back a chuckle is that Victor, hunched over his walking frame, is also wearing a sarong, this one bright green with orange flowers on it. Both of them have on smart dress shoes with black socks and sock suspenders.
“I see my grandfather has converted you,” I say diplomatically.
Victor looks down. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure at first, but Ced has a point. It does let everything air out nicely.” He grips his frame and does a little squat, revealing one bony white leg. His knees crack loudly and he winces. “It’s all very roomy down there. Not sure about the colour though, or the flounces. Might try a kilt like that Kem person wandering around with the camera.”
Warren and I look at each other and grimace.
“Is this what we have to look forward to when we get older?” Warren whispers.
“You don’t need to worry.” I chuckle. “That’s technically my DNA over there.”
“Yeah, but I get the feeling I might end up absorbing the insanity by osmosis.”
I grin. “I’ll help you shave your legs if you help with mine.”
“I wouldn’t worry, boys,” Pops says. “As you get older, you get bald in places you wouldn’t believe.”
“Great,” Warren mutters, and I realise I’m starting to think of my grandfather as Pops, a moniker courtesy of my brother that he seems inordinately pleased with.
The phone rings on the desk behind me, and I turn to pick it up.
“Good morning. This is the Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel, how may I help?”
“Hi,” a woman’s voice answers at the other end. “My name is Victoria Schipple. I believe you may be harbouring a fugitive at your hotel?”
“Excuse me?” My brows rise in confusion.
“A grouchy eighty-year-old who clatters about with his walking frame, forgets to put his top set of dentures in, and answers to the name of Victor Clutterbuck?”
“Uh.” I glance over at the man in question, who’s now chatting amiably with Thad.
She laughs warmly and it’s a sound filled with affection. “I’m his daughter. Don’t worry, I’m not calling to spoil his fun. I just wanted to give you my number in case of emergencies and to tell you to give me a call when he’s ready to be picked up.”
“Of course.” I pick up a pen and scribble down the number on the desk pad.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she says by way of farewell, and the call disconnects.
Smiling and shaking my head, I check my watch. Sam is going to arrive any minute. I turn to my brother, who is still scowling at Thad.
“I’m going to find Ellis. I need him for something.”
“I don’t think he’s got time for a quickie.” Warren glances over his shoulder at me. “He did look quite busy.”
“Ha ha,” I say dryly. “Watch the desk for me?”
“Do I work here now?” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Can I get one of those little frilly numbers like John the Mega Maid wears?”
“I’ll even get you a French maid outfit to go with it.”
“Well, gender nonconforming attire seems to be all the rage around here, so when in Rome and all that.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Nope, just very secure in my masculinity.” Warren winks.
“I’m expecting someone very shortly, so if they arrive, can you just ask them to wait a moment? I’ll be right back.”
He nods, and I head out of the lobby through the bar, noting the Sch?fers and the Taylor-Joneses in deep conversation over cups of Dilys’ famous cocoa. They should be careful, though; I have a sneaky suspicion the secret ingredient is Dilys’ homemade liqueur.
Reaching the door of the ballroom, I find a small velvet rope has been hung in front of it, a sign hooked over it that reads Staff Only.
Slipping around the rope, I let myself into the room and immediately understand why they’re keeping the guests out. All the ghosts have turned out to help Rosie and Ellis tidy the room and decorate for the party this evening. The debris of the makeshift stage has been repaired and now holds a whole bunch of DJ equipment being set up by John the Maid while Rosie chats to him.
The chairs have been moved to the edges of the room, and Edwina is drifting between them. As she does, ribbons appear on each chair and tie themselves into neat bows. Admiral Hilary is inflating balloons and Artie is chasing them around the floor in delight. Professor Plume is sat hunched in a chair with his arms crossed as he scowls at everyone. Skid and Roger are hanging pink and white bunting across the high ceilings, and Leona is skipping and twirling across the shiny floors, throwing paper hearts everywhere like confetti.
I see Ellis standing next to Bertie, overseeing the pink and white bunting as it goes up, so I make my way over to him.
“Ah, good day to you, Morgan,” Bertie booms in that hearty way of hers.
“Hello, Bertie.” I nod. “I see you and your entourage are being helpful.”
“Yes, well. Young Ellis here did have some very valid points about our conduct of late, and as you know, we’re all on the same team here. So whatever we can do to make this evening’s ghost hunt a rousing success, we will.”
“I think you should steer clear of the ghost hunt”—I frown—“and hope the ghosts of Lady Clare and the others don’t actually put in an appearance.”
“Hmm, we’ll see,” Bertie says evasively.
I take Ellis’ hand and pull him closer. “Could you come with me for a moment? We have a new guest arriving and I’d like to introduce you.”
“Oh, your mystery guest! I’d love to.” Ellis unwinds the pink and white party ribbons draped around his neck and sets them down on a nearby table that will hold the buffet food Aggie is currently preparing.
“Actually, Artie should come with us.”
“Artie?” Ellis looks up at me in surprise, and I nod.
Then I look at Bertie speculatively. “Perhaps you should come along and keep Artie company.”
“This all sounds delightfully clandestine.” She beams at me. “What’s the big secret?”
“You’ll see,” I reply.
Taking Ellis’ hand, I lead him from the room, with Bertie trailing along curiously behind.
“Artie,” she calls out, “come with me, lad.”
“What for?” he whines. “Can’t I just–”
“You can play with the balloons later. I’ll have Morgan fill a whole room with them for you, if you like, but for now, our presence is required elsewhere.”
“Why?”
“Fewer questions, more walking, lad.” She hustles him along.
By the time we reach the lobby, Thad and Jules have disappeared again, as have Pops and Victor, leaving only Warren, who is leaning up against the main desk and chatting away to a good-looking man with black hair that falls to his collar and a scar running from his temple to the corner of his left eye and slightly lower to his cheek bone.
The way he’s dressed reminds me a bit of the fictional character Constantine. Dark pants, a white shirt, a loosened collar and tie, all covered by an open beige raincoat.
Beside him is an older woman, slightly hunched and frail-looking in a wheelchair, with white hair and a curious expression. She studies the lobby until her gaze lands on me and Ellis approaching. Although I can still hear Bertie and Artie behind me, I know the others can’t see them; they are still on strict orders from the Bureau about revealing themselves to the living.
I offer the old woman a smile and offer my hand to the dark-haired man. “You must be Sam.”
He nods and shakes.
“I’m Morgan Ashton-Drake and this is…” I hesitate for a moment, surprised that I was about to introduce Ellis as my partner. The words were just there, waiting to trip off my tongue. Shaking my head and shelving that thought to take out and ponder later, I try again. “This is Ellis Sparks, the hotel manager.”
“Sam Stone.” He reaches over and shakes Ellis’ hand, eyeing him with interest, and I can’t blame him. Not only is my Ellis beautiful and sunny, Sam has heard a lot about him and the hotel from their mutual friend Tristan. Not that Ellis knows about the connection… yet. “And this is Esme Roberts.” Sam looks down at the old woman with a smile.
“Pleased to meet you.” Ellis and I take turns to shake her delicate hand.
“Who is that lady?” I hear Artie say. I turn to see him peeking out from behind Bertie, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “She looks a bit like my mum ’cept she’s old.”
“Esme,” I say to Ellis, even though my eyes remain on Artie, “is Artie’s younger sister.”