Читать книгу Shiver / Private Sessions: Shiver / Private Sessions - Jo Leigh, Tori Carrington - Страница 12

THE BALLROOM WAS BIGGER than Carrie had imagined. And much more crowded. There had to be at least sixty people milling around, most of them in line for food or drinks. She recognized some of the people from the shuttle, including Elbow Guy, who looked as though he’d showered, and the lovely lady who’d spoken so musically. Most of the crowd would fit right in at Comic-Con, the biggest and most extravagant of the comic conventions she attended. Tonight T-shirts were the hot ticket, ninety percent of them with some kind of paranormal picture, quote, or both. Of course, the TV Ghost Hunters show was the most popular, although Halloween itself ran a close second.

Despite Erin filling her in about the hobby, Carrie had no idea there was so much ghost paraphernalia. Not that she was one to talk. She wrote online comics. Graphic novels. She had her own online merchandise store, which did a brisk business. Kudos to the spirit world, although she doubted the ghosts were making any royalties.

Two bars had been set up on either side of the long room, and she’d bought three tickets for herself at the registration table in the hall. Erin had purchased a couple, but she’d also brought a thermos to fill with coffee, her favorite tea bags, a recorder, a notebook, two different sweaters, a pair of sweatpants, a scarf, a blow-up pillow and three paranormal books to be autographed, all carried in a tote bag that was nearly as large as her suitcase.

“Oh, man, the treats look utterly yummy.”

Carrie turned at the rapture in Erin’s voice. The food tables lined the front wall by the entrance, and it looked more like a brunch spread from the Four Seasons than a Podunk Inn an hour from Denver. Not only was the fruit artfully arranged, but there was also an ice sculpture in the middle of the biggest table.

As for the pastries, Sam hadn’t exaggerated. It was an astonishing array. Éclairs, petits fours, napoleons, petits pots au chocolat, tarts, cheesecakes, sponges. It was a veritable cornucopia of deliciousness, and Carrie could already feel the pounds expanding her hips. The closer she got to the table, the harder it was to care.

Not that she could get too close. Those who weren’t standing in line for drinks were attacking the desserts like starving wolverines. No one was talking, and if someone didn’t back down, there would be bloodshed near the petits fours.

“Think maybe I’ll get a drink,” Erin said.

“Shouldn’t we mark our territory first?”

They both turned to the rows of seats facing the stage. Carrie was impressed by the high-tech equipment on display. A movie-theater-sized screen, several big monitors and a sound board, which was weird. She nodded at the stage. “What’s with all the TVs?”

“Only a few people at a time can go to the Old Hotel. Everyone else watches remotely from here.”

“Watches what?”

Erin got that look in her eye. “Apparitions, sometimes. Flashes of light. They’ll see whoever’s in the hotel, of course, and then there are all the monitors for sound, temperature fluctuations, electromagnetic shifts. It can be pretty compelling stuff, if you open your mind. I know there’s activity here. I’ve already felt … things.”

“Hands on your ass, perhaps?”

“Carrie. Stop it.”

“Sorry. I promise. I’ll be good. So when do you get to go to the scary hotel?”

“First shift. Midnight,” she said, right before she frowned. “Tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope there are apparitions and specters and flashes and everything you’ve ever wanted, but not until you’re there to see it in person. Seriously.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but me, too,” Erin said.

Carrie wondered yet again how she’d gotten so lucky to find such a good friend. The thought was interrupted when she got a load of the chairs set out for those who didn’t get to freeze all night in a rickety death trap. They looked intensely uncomfortable, but then Carrie wasn’t planning to be in one for too long.

Erin headed out, readjusting her tote as she walked. “I need to put this thing down.”

Carrie hurried to catch up, but Erin was tall and she was fast. “As long as we’re not …”

Erin put her tote bag down in the front row.

“… in the front row.”

“We’re at the end. You can still get out when you need to escape.”

Carrie waved at her to shush. She’d already gotten dirty looks from people. “Fine. I wasn’t going to get alcohol, but you’ve changed my mind.”

“What booze goes with chocolate?”

“Enough of either one, and it doesn’t matter.” Carrie led her friend to the bar on the right. “But I’m going for a Kahlúa and coffee.”

“Oooh, that sounds good. Did you look at your program?”

“Yes. I did.”

“So you know about Marcia Williams.”

Carrie had no clue. “Absolutely.”

Erin folded her arms over her chest. “As often as you lie, you really should be better at it.”

“All right. Who’s Marcia Williams?”

“Only one of the most famous mediums in the world.”

“Oooh,” Carrie said, trying to sound as excited as Erin had about the Kahlúa.

“I bought you a reading.”

“Erin. You don’t have money to throw away like that, especially since you’re moving.”

Her friend looked wounded. “Really? You’ve decided to go there on the first night?”

People were looking. But that wasn’t why Carrie moved closer to Erin. “I’m sorry. I meant thank you.”

The anger disappeared in a blink of Erin’s blue eyes. “No fair. I have every reason to be mad.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that. And ample opportunities, I’m sure. So let’s get drunk and fat and then meet and greet the hell out of this crew.”

THE BUYERS WERE ON their way from Denver, and instead of pacing the lobby until he drove himself crazy, Sam headed for the banquet room, which was packed.

He walked through the crowd, checking that the floor was clean, that the glasses and dishes were being bussed, that everyone seemed happy. He didn’t worry about the bartenders. Both of them normally worked in the pub, and they knew what they were doing. Gene had worked here over ten years, and he’d met his wife, Felicity, when she’d come on board. They’d been married in the garden right here on the property. Sam had been filming in Atlanta that summer. His father had signed their gift from the both of them.

Carrie was in Felicity’s line. She wore slim black jeans and a snug green sweater, and when she turned his way, he felt as if he’d been hit with an electric shock. Just a buzz, diffused through his chest and lower, a reminder of what his trip to the forest had told him. This was a woman he wanted to know better. Intimately. He headed her way.

It was clear the moment she noticed him, and he let out a held breath at her smile. There was nothing forced about it, nothing faked. He’d caught her by surprise and her first instinct was to welcome him. Excellent.

“Hey, you have any pull around here?” she asked. “We’ve been in line for hours.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hours, huh?”

“At least three. Maybe five. I’m too parched to be sure.” Carrie had lost the grin, and replaced it with complete sincerity. It was Erin, and the fact that the ballroom had only been open for about twenty minutes, that gave her away.

“She’s like this all the time, Sam. It’s awful. You’ll see.”

“I think I can handle it.”

Carrie grinned prettily. “You can get us our drinks?”

“Sure thing. As soon as we reach the bar.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“It’s only the first night,” he said. “I can’t go playing favorites. Yet.”

“Oooh.” Erin bumped Carrie’s shoulder with her own. “You’d better not hog all the good ghosts, missy.”

Carrie laughed, but when her gaze caught his, she stopped as if she’d just realized whom she was joking with. A stranger. An innkeeper in a haunted hotel. One who did peculiar things to her mind and her body.

“This looks fantastic,” Erin said, filling in what had just begun to feel like an awkward pause. “I can’t wait to get my hands on some of that dessert. Who is this chef? Some star of the Food Network?”

“She’s been on Iron Chef before. And won.”

Erin stepped out of line into his personal space and shoved his chest. Kind of hard. He didn’t mind exactly, although he was surprised. “You are kidding me.” Her voice had gotten half an octave lower, and he took another step back.

“Nope. Not kidding.”

“I have to meet her. Can I meet her? I love Iron Chef. Almost as much as Ghost Hunters. More than Ghostly Encounters. About the same as Hauntings. But I love Hauntings so much.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to these earnest declarations until he looked behind Erin to find Carrie laughing. Hard. Trying to hold it in, and failing miserably. Sam grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Seriously,” Erin said, and she did sound incredibly serious. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I think you two are about to lose your place in line.”

“She’s an architect,” Carrie said, as she stepped backward to guard their space. “Honest. A really good one. She makes buildings in between watching TV shows.”

“I see. And you’re an architect, as well?”

“Nope. Graphic artist. I don’t watch enough television to play in the big leagues.”

Erin frowned. “Mock all you want. I’m very well-rounded.”

Sam wished he was here on vacation. Free to hang out with these two just for the laughs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed and damn, he was attracted to Carrie. He couldn’t stop looking at her. That smile was really something. His cell rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Yeah? “

“Where the hell are you? They’re almost here.”

Hit with a hard dose of “what was I thinking?” Sam flipped the phone shut. “Gotta go.” Then he almost ran out of the ballroom, and did run down the hall to the lobby, cursing under his breath the whole way.

He skidded to a halt on the hardwood floor just before it became the lobby. Putting on his best businessman smile, he walked his most confident walk to the registration desk where Ben Heartly and Kunio Mori were sharing a laugh. As he neared the two men, he thought their good humor looked genuine, that the trip in from the airport had been a good one.

None of this was emotional. It was strictly business for them, just as it was for Sam. Buying the place would work for one or both of them, and it all boiled down to the bottom line. Sam had done extensive research into their companies, and these two men. They had the resources, now all Sam had to do was let the Crider Inn show itself off.

“Gentlemen,” he said, putting out his hand. “How was your ride in?”

“Excellent,” Heartly said along with his firm shake. “Gorgeous sunset and good company. Although I’d like to take a look around tomorrow to see if there’s space for a landing field.”

“I’ll see to it.”

He turned to Mr. Mori.

“I look forward to the scenery on the way back, when it’s still daylight.”

“It’s beautiful country. Would you gentlemen prefer to go straight to your rooms to freshen up? The alternative is to make a quick stop in the ballroom, and then dinner in the restaurant.”

“I could do with a meal,” Heartly said. “But I’m happy to wait if Kunio would prefer.”

“No, I’m starving.”

“I’ll have your luggage sent to your rooms, and if you’d like, I can take your coats and then we can begin.”

Once that had been accomplished, Sam walked with them, pointing out some of the hotel features, some of its history. He itched to call the kitchen, to make sure everyone was on red alert, but he trusted his staff. The important thing now was not just to know he had no power to alter the outcome, but to believe it.

DRINKS IN HAND, Carrie and Erin stood in their second line of the night, this one a trip to the dessert table, which, as luck would have it, had been replenished. It was like going to Disneyland. Not that there were any large cartoon creatures walking around, but because of the goodies at the end of the wait.

“I’m getting one of everything,” Erin said.

Carrie nodded. “I can get behind that.”

“Do you think the food’s going to be like this every time there’s a talk in here?”

“Nope.” Carrie sipped her coffee, very, very glad someone brilliant had invented Kahlúa. “I think this is a one-time deal. Next talk, we’ll probably get raisins and cold Pop-Tarts. It’s the only way they’re going to make any money off this conference.”

“Hey.”

It was a male voice, a little bit behind them and to the left. As a unit, Carrie and Erin turned. Surprise. It was Elbow Guy from the shuttle. His name, according to his tag, was Elton.

“I remember you from the bus,” Carrie said.

“Shuttle,” Erin said.

“Whatever,” Elton added. He stuck out his hand to Carrie, although he stared at Erin the whole time. “I’m Elton.” He helpfully pointed to his name tag. “Like the singer. No relation.”

Carrie managed not to laugh. “Nice to meet you, Elton. I’m Carrie. Like the book. Also no relation.”

He nodded, causing his dark, shoulder-length hair to fall forward and back. “So you seen any ghosts?”

“Not so far.”

He seemed surprised that Carrie was talking to him. “I mean, ever.”

Carrie shook her head. “Not a one. I’m just not lucky like that. But my friend Erin has.” She helpfully pushed Erin closer to Elton.

“Yeah? What kind? Like, scary?”

Erin faced her and scowled, but smiled before she turned back. “No, not scary. Why, was yours?”

Carrie left the conversation in Erin’s capable hands as she moved closer to nirvana. She’d narrowed down her picks from six to four, eliminating the fruit category. The petits pots au chocolat was the current front-runner, with the napoleon inching up.

“Right, Carrie?”

She straightened. “I’m sorry, I zoned out on treat selection. Did you ask me something?”

“Elton was saying that it’s really cool to be here where everyone knows that ghosts are real and living among us. Because sometimes, when he tries to talk to people about his experience, they don’t get it. And I was saying that he’s absolutely right. That every single person here knows ghosts are real.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” She looked at Elton, who must have been around twenty or so. He wasn’t a bad-looking kid, but his eyes were sad, and his shoulders slumped and his T-shirt was kind of generic. “I’d like to hear about your ghost experience,” she said kindly.

Elton smiled. “It was more of a poltergeist than a spirit.”

“They throw things around a lot, yes?”

“I’ll say. My parents still don’t believe me when I tell them, but I swear it’s true. The poltergeist knocked over a couple of vases, broke a chair and kept tilting all the pictures in the hallway. It happened for almost a whole year. I kept getting in trouble, and they sent me to the school counselor, but even Frodo, my dog, he used to bark all the time at like, nothing. It wasn’t nothing, it was the poltergeist, but even when I showed my dad, he just said the dog was as crazy as—”

A crash of breaking glass and thuds had Carrie spinning around to face the left corner of the ballroom. A big cleanup tray had fallen from a portable stand, leaving a mess of broken dishes. Only, no one was standing near that corner. Not a soul. The closest person was a tall woman with long dark hair who seemed as surprised as everyone else in the room. She couldn’t have knocked over the tray and gotten so far away in the time that had lapsed.

Someone must have put one too many plates on the far edge of the unsteady tray. Bummer for the cleanup crew.

Carrie turned back to Erin and Elton, but they were both staring wide-eyed and mystified at each other, then at the spilled tray and back again.

A crackle, a piercing screech of feedback, then a voice from the stage. A low voice, filled with intensity and just a little bit of fear. “Ladies and gentleman,” the man on stage said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “The party has just gotten started.”