“Damn it.” I shouldn’t have given my secrets away. Plus, I already felt guilty enough about giving Kyle alcohol (even though, despite my best efforts to get him help, he spent all his money on it anyway).
“You can keep investigating with me, or you can come home with me,” said Isaac. “Either way, you’re stuck with me.”
Why did that second option have to sound so tempting?
“Fine,” I conceded. “What’s your big clue?”
“You’re in the wrong place.”
“I’m under the hotel.”
“Sandra Keene used to live in room 1205, directly under me,” said Isaac.
I shook my head. “So what? She didn’t die there.”
“But there might be evidence there.”
“How could there be evidence there?”
“I think Sandra Keene was the murderer.”
“You think what?”
“I think that Sandra Keene was the murderer,” he repeated.
I heard his words, but I didn’t understand.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Isaac
I explained my theory to Roman as succinctly as possible. It was so obvious, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Of course the first thing my spirit board told me was the killer’s name. Sandra. Everything in this case circled Sandra Keene. The room under mine. Her name showing up everywhere. Her relationship with Mr. Partridge.
I always believed in coincidence over fate, but if I’d learned anything recently, it was that sometimes coincidences deserved investigation.
“Think about it,” I said. “Those first three murder victims. Barbara Hennessey. Laura Olivier. Catherine Vaughn. Most men would have been able to overpower those women easily, but there was always a sign of struggle. The victims managed to fight back.”
Roman nodded soberly. He was hard to read, but I was pretty sure I had him convinced.
“So I checked with Kyle when I came in,” I continued. “I asked him to check the digital records, and guess what?”
“Now is not the time for guessing games.”
“In the digital archive — which has records from 1995 to now — no one has ever checked into room 1205.”
“Oh,” said Roman. “That’s very interesting.”
“So what if Sandra never gave up room 1205 when she got married?” I asked. “What if she still used it, or kept it to store her things? And what if Mr. Partridge kept it for her after she died? What if that’s what the board was trying to tell me?”
“That makes sense,” said Roman, eyebrows creasing in typical Roman fashion. “Do you think there’s evidence in there?”
I nodded. Had we cracked the case? I thought this would be more satisfying, but without hard proof, I felt tenser than ever.
“It can’t have been a heart attack that killed her,” I muttered, half to myself.
“No,” Roman agreed. “My research indicates it takes years before a spirit gathers the strength to hurt someone. Sandra died in 1993, fifteen years after the first murder- her first kill. It was probably one of her own victims that got to her.”
My mind went a million miles a minute. My heart was pounding out of my chest. “But there was a guy attacked on the stairs in ‘97. That’s only four years.”
Roman’s face darkened. “Remember when we were talking about Lance and his dad?”
“What about them?”
“You thought he might have picked up where his dad left off?”
“You think Sandra had an accomplice?” The more we pulled the evidence together, the more I sweated. I was clammy, nauseous.
“There was another heart attack in 2006. My guess is that was her first kill as a ghost.”
“Thirteen years.” It fit better with our evidence.
Roman set his jaw and nodded. “We need to talk to Mr. Partridge.”
I remembered Mr. Partridge’s violent reaction when I implied his wife was a malevolent spirit and his insistence I was a con man when I said she was harmless. He knew. He knew what Sandra was like. That’s how he had known I was lying.
“He won’t talk to us.”
“He’ll have to talk to us,” Roman said. “If we know what we think we know.”
“He could be dangerous,” I warned. “He could be helping her.”
“That’s one hell of a thing to do for a person. I don’t think I’d become an accomplice to murder for anyone. Not even you.”
There was an odd silence that came over us after the words were out of his mouth.
Not even me. Did that mean that Roman would do almost anything for me? I sought eye contact with him, but he looked away and stared into space, as shocked as I was by what he said. I cleared my throat. Not the right time.
“So you don’t think they’re working together?” I said. “You think it’s safe to talk to him?”
“I don’t think Mr. Partridge was in that spirit board. I think if he is dangerous, he’s human.”
“Your ghost taser doesn’t work on humans,” I pointed out.
He paced a wide circle around me, muttering. “If ghosts need closure to leave a haunting, how do we get rid of Sandra?”
“Maybe she wants notoriety,” I suggested.
“What if she wants to keep killing?”
I didn’t have a good answer for that. “There’s only one person who might know.”
“Mr. Partridge.” It circled back to him again.
I sighed. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“At this time of night?” said Roman.
“Would you rather do it when Ben’s here?”
“Okay,” said Roman. “Let’s go.”
“You can’t come with me. He’ll talk to me more than he’ll talk to you.”
“He hates you. He thinks you’re a scam artist.”
“So what? I am a scam artist. I want to get him talking. I don’t need him to say nice things.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with a murderer.”
“He’s like, 80,” I said. “I think I can handle myself against an 80-year-old, murderer or not.”
“What if Sandra shows up?”
“I’ll message you.”
“What if you can’t get to your phone?”
“Then I’ll scream,” I said. “You can wait right outside.”
“Okay.” He breathed in deeply. “This is our only option, isn’t it?”
“It’s the only option I can think of.”
“I’m trusting you,” he said darkly.
“At long last.”
***
We didn’t make it to the thirteenth floor as fast as we wanted. A crumpled body on the sixth-floor landing waylaid us. The neck was twisted from a fall down the stairs, and there was a squishy red stab mark in the chest. I couldn’t tell which injury had killed him. I thought I was going to throw up.
“That’s Kyle,” Roman gasped. He got to his knees next to the body. I already knew that this time, his first-aid skills would be useless. There was no life in Kyle’s glassy eyes.
A small choking sound escaped Roman’s lips. “He’s dead.”
“We have to keep going,” I said. I needed to leave this place, get away from the frozen expression of terror on Kyle’s face. I already knew I’d never escape this sight. I knew that when I slept, the memory would flash into my mind. I would never forget the torsion of Kyle’s spine, or the black shoe scuff marks on the linoleum, or the constricting yellow walls that seemed to close in around me the longer I stood there.
“Keep going?” said Roman. “No. We have to tell someone-”
“Someone else will find the body,” I said.
“Isaac-”
My throat was closing up. “He’s not going anywhere. The people who find a body are always the first to get interviewed by the police. Do you think the police will let us continue what we’re doing?”
Roman’s voice was broken when he spoke again. “Why Kyle? He’s- He’s harmless.”
“Sandra might know we’re get
ting close to the truth. She might be trying to make sure we don’t find proof.”
“Do you think she knows we suspect her husband?”
“We’ll find out soon.” I gulped and stepped over the body. Roman didn’t move at first. I grabbed him and pulled him with me. He stumbled. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him stumble like that.
“How can you be so unaffected?” he asked. The hair on his arms were standing on end, bristling against me.
“Believe me, I’m not unaffected,” I said. I fought the nausea and terror welling up in my chest. “I’m bottling up all of my emotions for later.”
“I- I’ve never-”
“I know. Look, it might not be supernatural, he-”
“He might have drunk too much?” said Roman shortly. “And fell down the stairs? That would make it our fault.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, although I felt guilty too. Perhaps Kyle would have had sharper instincts if not for us. Bottle that away, I reminded myself. “Falls don’t usually stab you in the chest.”
“True.” Roman drew in a shuddering breath.
“If this is too much for you, I can go to Mr. Partridge alone. You can stay with Kyle.” Although I hated the idea of leaving him alone with a body. Roman was traumatized enough.
“Like hell I’m letting anyone else get hurt tonight,” said Roman. He squared his shoulders and matched my pace up the stairs. His eyes were wide and wild.
Roman talked the talk about how ghost hunting was dangerous, but this kind of peril was out of his league. I was well-acquainted with real world danger, I knew how to keep my head in a crisis.
Roman hung out of sight in the corridor while I knocked on Mr. Partridge’s door. I hadn’t come up with a tactic yet. I’d work it out when he opened up.
Which he didn’t, at first.
Kyle’s dead face flashed into my mind.
“I need to talk to you!” I yelled, banging on the door harder.
Finally, the door opened a crack. “Isaac?” Mr. Partridge’s voice was shaky. “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here? Are you okay? Today, you were-”
“I got better. I need to talk to you about your wife.”
“I already told you, I’m not buying your services-”
He went to shut the door in my face, but I jammed my foot in the doorway.
“Please. I talked to her spirit. For real this time.”
He picked up his glasses from on their beaded chain around his neck and balanced them on his nose, observing me shrewdly. I couldn’t help noticing his hands were trembling. “What did she tell you?”
“Let me in, and I’ll explain.” As long as Mr. Partridge held the door, he held the power.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“I’m not lying.”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Please, Mr. Partridge. This is serious.”
He bit his lip. I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. If Roman and I were right, he would let me in. He’d want to know what kind of proof we had.
“You better come in, then,” said Mr. Partridge. He unhooked the security chain.
Despite all the time I’d spent in the Cressley Hotel, I’d never been in any room other than 1405. Mr. Partridge’s room was almost identical to my own, except for the personal decorations and furniture he had accumulated over the years.
Photos of a pretty, blonde woman perched on every surface and hung on every wall. Everywhere I looked, I ended up staring at someone who could only have been Sandra Keene. She was the opposite of how I’d envisioned her. I’d imagined someone sharp and emotionless, with keen eyes and an unmistakable air of apathy.
But Mr. Partridge’s Sandra Keene was pretty and demure. In every photo, she wore unexceptional blouses and skirts, except for in the wedding photo on the wall. Either she was an excellent actress, or she loved Mr. Partridge after all, because the look in her eyes was the farthest thing from apathy I could imagine.
“Take a seat,” said Mr. Partridge. He was shakier than usual. Sweat clung to the lines on his face.
I awkwardly did as he said. Mr. Partridge and I were playing a game, each trying to work out what the other man knew. The air around us was a hot vice, and it would squeeze information from us both. Who would get the most valuable information was up to me.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Mr. Partridge asked stiffly.
“No thank you.” I’d rather not risk it, in case Roman was right. Yelling for him wouldn’t do me any good if Mr. Partridge slipped me something. Roman’s fanny-pack seemed like magic, but I doubted he walked around with an antidote for antifreeze.
Then again, this was Roman.
“Suit yourself.” Mr. Partridge lowered himself onto the seat opposing me. His knees jittered. “Why do you think you communicated with Sandra?”
“I used a spirit board and it spelled out her name.” I offered the first kernel of truth. An olive branch.
“What did you ask?” He was probing. Seeing how much I knew.
Time for a lie. “I asked who I was speaking to.”
“Did she say anything else?” His words were knife sharp. My mind, unbidden, fled to the image of Kyle with a stab wound in his chest. Was that why Mr. Partridge was so jumpy? Had he killed a man less than an hour ago?
I paused to steel my nerves before I answered Mr. Partridge’s question. This was delicate. Last time we spoke, I had ruined things by pretending his wife had been nice to me. At the same time, I could hardly say ‘I think your wife is a murderer, you might be too, and I want to know where to find the evidence’.
“She spelled out the numbers 1205.” Now this had transformed into a bald-faced lie.
Mr. Partridge blanched so much he looked sick. “1-2-0-5?”
“She lived in room 1205, didn’t she?”
“Why would she tell you that?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he said sharply. He crossed his legs. “It’s irrelevant. She lived with me here since 1980.”
His assertion made me feel like that it was definitely relevant. “I don’t know, then,” I said. “All I know is that she’s here.”
“Of course she is,” said Mr. Partridge. He narrowed his eyes. “She wouldn’t leave me on my own.”
“And she’d never leave this hotel, either, would she?”
He stared at the floor. “She loves the Cressley.”
“Why?” I probed. “It’s not exactly 5-star accommodation.”
“Sandra had special memories here. What’s the point of all these questions?”
“What kind of special memories?” Murdering other women?
“Like meeting me here.” Mr. Partridge clenched his jaw.
“How romantic.” This was my chance to get him talking. I softened my face and uncrossed my body, even though it felt unnatural, unsafe to be so open to him. “Who approached who first?”
“Whom.” His face grew wistful, but he remained guarded and twitchy. “We were both long term guests here. I saw her in the elevator, and I thought she was beautiful. Eventually, I built up the courage to ask her on a date. We were married six months later.”
“What a nice love story.” Sweet. Simple. Nothing like whatever was happening between me and Roman. Of course, it would have been nicer if neither of the couple were murderers. “Did Sandra move into your room after you were married?”
“Of course she did.”
I would bet money she never gave up room 1205. “What was Sandra like?” I asked. “When she was alive?”
“She was my little spitfire. She was the light of my life.”
“That sounds like a wonderful relationship.”
Mr. Partridge glanced over his shoulder. “We had ups and downs, like any couple.”
“What was she like when you upset her?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious what she was like as a person.”
Mr. Partridge s
miled, baring his pointed teeth. His incisors looked like yellow fangs. It unnerved me. “Sandra wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“So she never got angry? Never violent?”
“I don’t think I like what you’re implying, young man.” His eyes were wide and frightened, but his voice was resolute and his smile unwavering.
“I don’t think you’re giving me a straight answer.”
“She never got angry or violent.”
Never angry? I couldn’t buy that. Everyone got angry. “Even after she died? Most ghosts are angry. They lash out.”
“Not my Sandra. I do everything she needs.”
Everything she needs? The skin on my arms prickled. I gulped. “What sort of things does she need?”
“What are you accusing me of?”
He was too defensive. An innocent man wouldn’t react like that. I was convinced now. Sandra’s husband was helping to carry on her legacy.
“Should I be accusing you of anything?” I said.
“Perhaps you should be leaving. Aren’t you supposed to be banned from the establishment, anyhow?” There was that smile again. It wasn’t the friendly smile you’d expect from a little old man, it was dark and twisted, frightening even though his face was tense with nerves. “After your boyfriend’s scene earlier?”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
The walls rattled. The familiar sound filled me with dread. If I had any sense, I would get away now, go back to Roman.
But I didn’t have any sense. “I know what’s going on here. Can you live with yourself if you help her?”
“I betrayed Sandra once.” Now his voice was finally starting to crack. “I won’t do it again.”
“You betrayed-” I cut myself off. “Is that why this all started? Because you cheated on her?”
“She was a drama queen, my Sandra. I loved her.”
Neither of us were saying the words, but we both knew what we were talking about. I knew what he and his dead wife were doing. He knew I had no way to prove it, but he was on edge. I was sure I could slip him up.
“Did you cheat on her with Barbara Hennessey?” I asked. Had he cheated with all the victims?
“No.”
“Then why-”
“Why what?” His eyes narrowed.
The New Paranormal Page 26