All You Want Page 13

  “Maybe it’s a joke.” Her voice lilts brighter. “I bet I know who’s behind it.”

  “Who?” I dart a glance at her face, wondering if she has a boyfriend I don’t know about.

  “When I was at the Sixty Miners, I saw your buddies laughing about fake ghosts and giving the guests a scare.”

  “Looks like anger to me.” I put on a stern and cautious expression. “This isn’t a prank. The broken window and mutilated raccoon cross the line.”

  “Who would want to watch me? The boogeyman?”

  “I think we should post guards here.” I place the paper into the evidence bag. “I’ll volunteer.”

  “Don’t you have a lot to do with policing the rest of the town?” She twirls her hair around her finger. “I mean, maybe someone’s trying to get my attention.”

  “Like who?”

  A sly smile creases her face, and she taps me with her index finger. “Could it be one of the manly men who volunteered to protect me? I heard you approved my permit because of the new deputies you’re hiring.”

  Is that the story her father told her?

  “I had a lucky break with volunteers,” I reply. “Don’t count on the Vice Squad to do more than direct traffic.”

  “That’s a pretty condescending thing to say. They’re every bit men like you are. Why, Donnie says he’d like to escort me to the opening night dinner.”

  “I didn’t know you were having dates for opening night,” I stammer. “I know my uncle’s making a speech, and your father asked me to attend and say a few words.”

  “Oh, are you coming? I can put you at the head table with me if you want.” Her eyes twinkle like gems, and suddenly, I’m wondering if this raccoon and broken window is all staged. What game is she playing?

  I have to get to the bottom of this, because filing a false police report is a crime, and I can’t be having anyone “cry wolf” around here—not when there are real threats to deal with.

  I put on a stalwart smile and puff out my chest. “If you’re asking me to escort you, I’ll be happy to sit with you at the head table and keep you safe.”

  “Would you, Sheriff?” Her eyelids flutter, and she’s back to being a simpering flirt.

  “I would, as long as you let me do a security check of the hotel before opening night.”

  “Oh, that I would.” She swallows and shudders. “I hope the raccoon isn’t bad luck.”

  “Don’t worry.” Somehow my hand is on her back, comforting her. “I won’t let anything happen to you or your hotel.”

  “You’ll keep me safe, big Sheriff Todd?” Her hands wrap around my waist, and her luscious softness billows against my torso.

  I shouldn’t let her touch me, but my blood is rushing so fast from my head that all I can do is close my eyes and hold her still so she won’t faint.

  “Of course, I will.” The words are breathed into her mouth as she sucks my tongue between her hot, wet lips. How she tempts me and torments me with what I cannot have.

  There’s no will left in me. My head is light, and my hands are full of Tami’s pillowy sweetness. Every thought flees, and I resign myself to kissing and tasting the forbidden fruit I desire more than my lifeblood.

  I have to protect her, even if she’s setting it all up for her social media hashtags. And frankly, at this point, I don’t care because all I ever want and need is enveloped in my big, brawny arms.

  No one had better hurt the tiniest hair on her head.

  That’s what sheriffs are for. To protect and to serve, and maybe if I get lucky, to dote, adore, and love.

  Seventeen

  ~ Tami ~

  I tilt the travel mug of coffee in my hands and sip, right when my car bumps over a pothole. Yow. The bitter liquid burns my tongue and gives me a jolt. I’ll need more than caffeine to keep me going. I’m wound up so tight, I haven’t slept in days, but one thing I can’t afford is a speeding ticket.

  Tonight’s the grand opening. It’s the day before Halloween and the official start of Spooky Fest. I have the kitchen crew going for the big dinner tonight, and Todd’s coming by to do the last-minute safety check.

  I slow down when I go through town, keeping my sportscar at the speed limit. The last person I want to meet is Shane Donnelly—Colson’s Corner’s traffic cop who’s a stickler for technicalities.

  I was supposed to have dinner with him at the police station, but after all the hullabaloo over the dead raccoon and me finally getting the event permit approved, I forgot. I’m also not returning Shane’s phone calls to remind me of our “agreement.”

  I stifle a jaw-gaping yawn and lift my lead foot from the gas pedal as the town square comes into view. It’s a typical fall weekend up in the Sierras with red and orange leaves blowing into piles and the mountains backdropped by evergreens. The downtown businesses are decorated with orange and black streamers, and pumpkins are congregated on the porches and raised wooden sidewalks. The general store has a huge ghost balloon flying from the flag pole, and the hardware store and lumberyard have a plethora of witches on the roof—some perched over cauldrons and others waving in the windows on top of broomsticks.

  Gravestones and skeletons litter the lawn of the town square park, and the founder’s statue is wearing a costume of a grim reaper. There’s an atmosphere of anticipation among the artisans and merchants setting up their booths along with the mouthwatering scents of woodfire barbecue and the burr of gasoline generators. The tapping of hammers, intermittent buzz of power saws, and the men shouting and working together along with the crisp autumn temperature remind me this is our town’s last festival for the year.

  It’s going to be a grand Spooky Fest and all the better because of my Graveyard Party and outdoor horror show. Paul agreed to cross-promote on social media with a witches and goblin bar crawl and joint block party. Of course, I have a special children’s area where Viola Graham, the librarian, will read ghost stories before taking the kids trick or treating amongst the campers.

  It's going to be awesome—if only I can stay awake.

  Practically pouring coffee down my throat, I turn the corner and pass the police station without stopping.

  The whoop-whoop of a siren stops me dead in my tracks, or should I say wheels. What now?

  I pull over in front of the Chevy Tahoe PPV, trying to see through my rearview mirror whether it’s Shane or Todd while putting a lid on my coffee—lest I get charged for drinking and driving. I wouldn’t put anything past Shane.

  He gives me the creeps, and for some reason, he believes I’m attracted to him. I mean, I had to flirt to get off with a warning, but he feels like the type who’d get even if I diss him.

  I take a deep breath when the door of the police vehicle opens. An officer, a big one, ambles from the driver’s side, and I let out a breath of relief.

  My hands still shaking, I roll down my window. “Why, Sheriff Colson, I’m sure I was below the speed limit.”

  “That you were, but I believe you have someone in your trunk.” He winks, and I know he’s just striking up conversation about the witch’s legs and lace-up boots I have dangling out the back.

  “Want to follow me to the Bee Sting?” I wink back at him. “We still need to check out the haunts and go through all the bedrooms for a security check.”

  “Sure. As long as it’s official business,” he says with a tip of his cowboy hat.

  “Police business, always.” I blow him a kiss. “Includes surveillance, personal protection, and property patrols. You promised to keep my grand opening safe.”

  “I’ll never let you down,” he says.

  “So, you’ll come to the party as my date? I mean as the plainclothes detective to keep an eye on the ghosts?”

  “Oh, I’ll keep my eye on something more substantial than a ghost.” He gives me the once-over and makes a kissing motion with his lips. “See you at the Bee Sting in fifteen. No speeding. No running red lights. Use your turn signals, and make sure to have your car inspected annually. I’
m warning you.”

  “I love your warnings, Sheriff. Can’t wait when you cuff and charge me.” I make a smooching sound and lick my lips.

  “Keep it up, and I just might.” Todd tips his hat again and swaggers back to the PPV.

  Just watching that hunk of a man move has warm fuzzies gushing all over me. I hug myself, and my tired bones try to quiver with excitement. Tonight is going to be so grand, even if the only reason Todd is coming to the party is official police business.

  This big boy is still pretending we have nothing going on. He says he’s the sheriff, and he can’t have the town gossiping about us—it would be a conflict of interest in case he has to arrest me for a crime.

  I can think of several crimes I would like him to arrest me for: indecent exposure, public sex (with him), and shoplifting his cock, to start with.

  Exactly fifteen minutes later, I pull my Datsun 280ZX Turbo into the covered garage in back of the Bee Sting. Todd and I are so cloak and dagger thanks to all of the strange things going on. It’s sure lucky our town has such a dedicated sheriff who wants to bust ghosts.

  Works for me.

  “Hey, big guy,” I say as he saunters out of his big SUV. “Ready for the tour? I called ahead, and the kitchen is preparing lunch for us. Should I ask them to put it in a picnic basket?”

  “Depends.” He grins and glances at the mountains behind the property. “Weather’s nice for now, but I heard there’s a storm front coming toward us.”

  I scoff at the forecast. The two losers running the weather station are bored stiff and like to hype up their measurements to the weather agencies.

  “It’s supposed to miss us. Nothing to worry about.” I tap his chest and brush by him. “You know how the weather is here—unpredictable, and I have it on good authority, we’re in for a perfect fall weekend.”

  “Who’s your authority?” He catches up with me at the staff entrance.

  “Why, none other than Madam Goldilocks herself.” I waggle my eyebrows and stifle a yawn. “Evan says he spoke to her in a séance, and she promised him lots of haunting footage.”

  Evan’s due to return in time for the grand opening with a camera crew and do a segment for his ghost-hunting show. He’s bringing EMF meters, IR and thermal detectors, cameras and recorders, scanners, wands and probes, night-vision goggles, and all sorts of beeping and pulsing devices.

  He'll put on a show and lead the party guests through the haunted stairway from the basement to the attic—if they dare. I’m sure he’s booby-trapped everything, and everyone will have plenty of selfies and scares.

  “Wooo. I’m impressed.” Todd lets out a long, low hoot. He steps through the service entrance to the kitchen area.

  “Hey, everyone,” I greet the cooks and servers. “This is Sheriff Todd Colson. Most of you know him, but if you’re new here, he’s the man who’s going to keep us safe.”

  “We prepared a special lunch for you two in Madam Goldilocks’s Boudoir,” Monica, the head chef, says. “Hope you like eyeball soup and spider leg salad.”

  “I’m not a picky eater.” Todd laughs and puts his arm over my shoulders. “Time to do the security check.”

  For the next half hour, I take Todd on a tour of the hotel. We explore the storeroom, check the freezer for an escape handle in case anyone gets trapped inside, and make sure all the window locks work.

  “You been down in the basement yet?” he asks after we finish inspecting the guest rooms. The amount of detail he takes in will make him an excellent childproofer. He even tucked lamp cords behind dressers and verified the window cord wind-up mechanisms worked.

  “You mean Baja Angel’s room?” I make the tone of my voice spooky. “There’s nothing down there but the boiler.”

  “Just want to check that the sloped exit doors to the basement are secure.”

  “I restored the original and added a wrought iron frame. I’m sure it’ll hold against a horde of zombies.” I remember I’m supposed to be scared so I can hold his hand and add, “Baja Angel’s basement scares me.”

  “Why is that?” He unlocks the basement door and turns the knob.

  I shudder and suck in a breath. “Be prepared.”

  “I’m sure you guys got a new boiler so there’s no body in the coal bin, so to speak.” Todd flips on the overhead light bulb and starts down the creaky stairs. The air is dank and musty, and there’s a ticking sound I can’t explain. He looks back at me, gesturing with his hand. “You coming?”

  I reach out and grab it since he offered. Swallowing hard, I say, “We only restored half of the basement and walled off the rest.”

  “Why’s that?” He flicks on a flashlight to help navigate the shadows of the bins and boxes shoved near the walled-off area.

  “Too much debris and junk down here. I’d have to get an environmental permit to haul out the coal bin and dump the contents. Better to leave the old coal underground.”

  The new boiler is firing up on the cleaned-up side, and Todd verifies the basement emergency exit is secure. He moves over to a set of rough-hewn wooden doors with wrought iron grate and hinges. “What’s behind those?”

  “The Baja Angel Studio. It’s a guest room.”

  “Who’d want to stay down here?” He jiggles the hasp and opens the door. It creaks, sounding a little like the mewing of a small and distant baby.

  Todd stiffens as he flicks the light on in the studio. He points the beam of his flashlight onto a solitary covered bassinet in the center of the room.

  It’s made of white wicker and sports a cascading net that hangs down from what looks like a meat hook in the ceiling. A lullaby tinkles from within the room, and a breath of baby powder blows by my arm.

  “That’s creepy.” I rub the goosebumps sprouting over my arms. “Think we set off one of the haunt effects.”

  “There’s no window in here.” Todd checks the corners of the room with his flashlight. A four-poster bed with mosquito netting is across from the bassinet and an antique cane rocking chair is next to it. A Victorian era doll is propped on the rocking chair, one eye open and the other shut.

  The solitary nursery lamp on the dresser flickers, and something flits from the dresser to the corner of the room. I gasp and point to the dark corner. “I hope that wasn’t a rat.”

  Todd stomps over and shines the flashlight. “Hope not. Whoever’s booked in here will be complaining. I don’t see any obvious holes.”

  “This room looks safe enough.” I open a drawer on the dark wood dresser and glance in the mirror. A shadow flits behind me in the mirror, and the faint scent of baby powder puffs by me.

  “Wah, waa, uh, waaah, huh, uh, waah.” A tiny, gurgling cry echoes from outside the room.

  “You might need to call an exterminator,” Todd says, looking back at me. “You sure you’re okay? Your eyes are red.”

  I refrain from rubbing them. “I’m a little light sensitive, that’s all. Stayed up too late working on the computer.”

  “I can fix that,” he says and turns off the flickering nursery lamp, leaving us in the darkness.

  Slam.

  The heavy door shuts, and a mist emanates from the bassinet.

  “Nice effects,” Todd says. He draws aside the netting over the bassinet and frowns.

  “What is it?” I hide behind Todd but can’t help peeking.

  “Pretty cool. Wonder how he did that.” He drops the netting, but I swear I see red. A spreading pool of red stains the white blanket inside the bassinet.

  My head reels with a sudden bout of dizziness, and all I want to do is get away from the blood. My feet, however, seem to have taken root in the room, and my body feels like a heavy potato sack.

  Something pulls me to the four-poster bed. The mosquito netting gives it a foggy appearance, but the silky bedding and pillows look inviting and comforting. I stifle a yawn, but lethargy invades my limbs, and as I let the mosquito netting slide back, my knees weaken, and I sag onto the feather bed.

  “Sure, but let m
e test the antique bed. See if it squeaks or moans.” I hug myself and rub the chills from my arms as drums beat in my head. “You hear the heartbeats?”

  I don’t want to admit it, but the room gives me the creeps. I know Evan set it up to entertain and scare the guests. Either he’s planted the sound of two human hearts galloping unevenly, a larger slower one and the tiny ticking of a fetus inside, or I’m imagining it, along with the scent of baby powder and the tiny gurgles and coos coming from the bassinet.

  “All I hear is your heavy breathing,” Todd says as he leans beside me, making the bed creak. “Let’s make sure this luxuriously furnished old-fashioned bed is safe and functional.”

  I heartily agree. My heart jumpstarts, and my lips are on his as soon as he pulls me on top of him. He kisses me, hot and hungry, and I should be all over him—especially since I’m on a bed alone with him.

  But we’re in a freaky, creepy, supposedly haunted room, and my skin crawls with the sensation that we’re not alone.

  “We shouldn’t test this.” I nibble on Todd’s lips and back off. “It’ll be extra work for the staff to restore all of the effects.”

  “What’s wrong? You scared?” Todd touches my face gently.

  “No, yes, I mean, not of the haunt effects per se.” After all, I’m the owner of this hotel of horrors. “It’s us. Actually.”

  “Us? Like we’re defiling this bed which has never been slept on? Would this be Baja Angel’s bed?”

  “Yes, and she cursed every man who slept on her bed and might have impregnated her.”

  He lifts from the bed and pats down the pillow. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Neither am I. But we don’t have all day. I can’t activate all of the special effects. We were only supposed to check security, like making sure a room can’t be broken into. This room is a vault, and it’s safe. It doesn’t even have a heat vent, just the old radiator in the corner.”

  “Where a ghost can keep herself warm,” Todd says in a low, undertaker’s voice.