“I want you to find everything you can about Mr. Graves. Start with the Malibu University yearbooks.”
“You’re definitely jealous.” She chuckles. “Why don’t you investigate the real crimes? I heard your mom might have been involved in the kidnapping of little Jessica Patterson.”
There she goes again, picking up on gossip and embellishing it with innuendo. My mother, if nothing else, was the hero this summer when the kidnapping and arson went down. But all the same, it looks like I have to explain again.
“Salem Pryde was caught on the webcam footage taking the puppy, and witnesses say she lured the girl from church. The case is closed, and we have a warrant out for her arrest.”
“Where is she? Did you just let her vanish in thin air?”
“She escaped on her ziplines before I had any idea they were there.”
“Your mother doesn’t have an alibi,” Molly says. She holds her hand, palm up, as if asking me to grease it.
“My mother was busy reporting the crime. She was too scared to approach the trailer, so she called the tip line. Too bad Salem jumped her and stole her phone. After that, she panicked and tried to hike back to town, but when she saw the fire, she ran around in circles, unable to decide what to do. She didn’t have a phone to use. She’s an old woman, and she didn’t know how to fight the fire. What exactly would you have done in her shoes?”
“I think her story’s full of holes.”
“What do you know? You weren’t around.” I try to keep my voice calm.
“If I were, I would have solved the mystery.” She clicks through several websites as if the answers lie there.
I slap my hand over the mouse and take it from her. “I need you to concentrate on Spooky Fest. Run a check on every person listed on Miss King’s event application. We need to look ahead, not back.”
“Won’t help,” she says. “They might all have fake names. Oh, by the way, King George wants to see you at the bank.”
I’m already running late for my meeting with the mayor, but he’s my uncle. He’ll understand. Tami’s father, Mr. George King, is another matter.
I can’t keep him waiting, so I put on my hat and stride across the town square to the Royal King Bank founded by Tami’s ancestor, Hank the Yank King, with his legendary fifty-pound pure gold nugget.
My skin crawls as soon as I step into the smoke-filled office. It has the typical green lantern bankers use to help them count money. His office is wood paneled and also includes a collection of Gold Rush era scales, a set of pans and a field test kit, along with old photographs on the wall.
“You may shut the door,” George says. He gestures for me to take a seat. “I trust you’ll be approving Tami’s event permit?”
“I have to speak to my uncle about the budget for additional security.” Even though I know Mr. King controls the city’s finances, I can’t let myself be pushed around. Men like him need to be checked or at least resisted, or they’d run roughshod over everyone.
“You’re trying to milk these events for all you can get.” He taps the ash from his cigar into an 18-carat gold ashtray engraved with the King family coat of arms. “What? You’re not satisfied with that big honking Tahoe I bought the department?”
“The PPV is well appreciated.” I give him an acknowledging nod. “However, we had a serious problem during Gold Rush Week, and we were understaffed.”
“The kidnapping and fire had nothing to do with the festival, and you know it.” He sucks hard on his cigar and blows a smoke ring at me. “I want you to approve the permit and make sure my little girl is safe.”
“I need to ensure the entire town is safe, as well as the additional visitors to what used to be an abandoned red-light district. We’ll need parking lot monitors, traffic control, as well as additional foot patrol. I’m also meeting with the interim fire chief about the lack of an evacuation plan over the single-lane bridge.”
“Excuses. Excuses. If your jackass uncle and the council had done their jobs, the bridge would have been rebuilt. But no. You had it designated as historical.”
“Hangman’s Bridge is historical.”
“Then build another bridge and blast a tunnel out the other side of the mountain.” George points the cigar at me.
“No budget.”
“Because you’re too stupid to see the chicken and egg problem. You won’t have a budget if you don’t have businesses. And you’re not approving building permits and events because you have no budget. Well, the buck stops here. You tell your drunk uncle I’m running for mayor and taking over this backwards town. I’ve been too patient with you Colsons for way too long.”
I stand and lean over his desk in a dominant posture. I know I’ll pay for it later, because my uncle wants to remain on good terms with Mr. King, but when it comes to public safety, I’m the top dog.
“You’re free to run for mayor in the next election,” I say evenly and slowly so there’s no misunderstanding. “I’ve made my decision. No approval for Tami’s Hallowed Haunts Grand Opening unless she cuts the guest list to twenty.”
“Twenty? That’s ridiculous.” Mr. King’s jowls rumble. “How the hell is she going to turn a profit with twenty guests? That hotel holds at least fifty, and she’s setting up campsites for the rest.”
“She’s got about twenty rooms in that boarding house,” I retort. “Twenty guests is about right.”
“Not if they’re a family of four or five.” Mr. King pounds the table. “Besides, not everyone attending the festival will stay at the hotel.”
“The red-light district is not set up for a festival.” I stick to my guns. “She can have a booth at the town square like all the rest of the businesses.”
He jabs his cigar at me, flicking ash onto my shoes. “You either approve my baby girl’s permit, or I’m running a candidate for sheriff next election.”
“Fine by me. Until the election, my uncle’s mayor and I’m sheriff.”
“I’m aware of that.” He moves his bulky body around the desk and clamps his fleshy hand on my shoulder. “By the way, when are you coming to dinner? Tami talks so much about you, and this grand opening means a lot to her.”
I can’t believe how smoothly he segues from hostile to falsely friendly, but I’m not going to fall into his trap. He would like nothing better than to have a cop in his pocket. He and the retired Sheriff Weaver go back a long way, and I don’t have time to look into every dirty deal they did or dig up unsolved crimes, but it’s not happening on my watch.
“I’m going to pass on dinner, Mr. King.” I put on my ten-gallon hat and sidestep out of his grasp. “Can’t have any conflict of interest. I’ve a job to do.”
“Wouldn’t be a conflict if you’re dating my daughter. Approve Tami’s permit.”
“It’s approved.” I whip around and head for the door.
“I knew you’d see things my way,” he says, chuckling heartily before sucking hard on the cigar, making the tip glow red.
“Good. Then you’ll understand why I’m approving it for ten guests.” I grab the doorknob and leave.
A cigar flies by me, and George bends double in a paroxysm of coughs and curses.
Seven
~ Tami ~
I storm into the police station as soon as my father calls me with the bad news. I can’t believe my Toddkins would backstab me so badly especially since we have a super-secret picnic date tonight.
“What can I do for you?” Molly Sutter, the dispatcher, looks like she’s caught in the act as she clicks away from the solitaire game on her computer.
I whip my head around, looking for Todd, but it’s obvious he isn’t here. “I need a word with Todd.”
“Sorry, he’s at a public safety meeting with the mayor. Is something wrong?”
I’ve been meaning to get to know Molly better. She grew up above the snowline in a shack that got snowed in every winter. Her father was a claim-jumper who dug through abandoned gold mines he had no business mining. After an acciden
t, he ended up in a care home, and Molly was sent to a foster home down in Sacramento. Apparently, her father had messed around, and the woman she thought was her mother didn’t want her.
“Do you know why Todd only approved ten guests for my grand opening? It’s utterly ridiculous. I had way more people at the flash mob, and nothing bad happened.”
“I’m hungry,” Molly says, taking her grungy boots off Todd’s desk. She spits into her palm and wipes her hand over the skunk stripe in her otherwise black mane of hair.
“It is close to lunchtime. Want to go to the diner or the saloon?”
“Saloon. I need a stiff drink,” she says, picking up her backpack.
“My treat,” I offer, even though I already know I’m paying. Being the town’s rich girl means I’m expected to be generous. We get into my car, and I take the curves fast up the road toward Hangman’s Bridge.
The Sixty Miners Saloon is my primary competitor. Besides the Over Easy Bed and Breakfast, which my mom owns, it’s the only other place in town that rents rooms on a temporary basis. The bar is a dive, and most of the patrons are locals, which is why with a bit of creativity, my Hallowed Haunts Hotel will be the premiere tourist destination of Colson’s Corner.
Molly looks green in the gills after we get out of my sportscar. I can’t help it. I drive fast cars, and I never miss a chance to set off Todd’s radar.
Too bad, he’s not out patrolling, because we arrive at the Sixty Miners without being pulled over. We find a corner booth away from the main bar, and Molly immediately orders a gin and tonic.
I order mineral water.
She goes for the Iron Stomach Chili, and I have to settle for the Lean-But-Not-Mean Chicken Caesar Salad.
Being on a perpetual diet sucks, but my belly and hips are a magnet for fat cells, and I have to budget calories the way Ebenezer Scrooge pinches pennies.
Molly doesn’t open up until well into her second drink paired with a rich lava bomb chocolate fudge cheesecake.
Not fair when I’m chewing on ice cubes.
She licks her chocolate spoon and eyes me with a smirk. “You ever wonder why Todd never gives you speeding tickets?”
“I figure he’s an old softie. Gives warnings but doesn’t like to arrest anyone. What I want to know is if he told you why he’s denying my permit.”
“I think he’s jealous of Evan. Doesn’t want him to have a big opening night.”
“Why should he be jealous of Evan? I’m the owner of Hallowed Haunts Hotel, and he should want me to have a successful grand opening. We’re going to have a film crew, a ghost-hunting adventure, and every guest is guaranteed an encounter.”
“Really? How will you pull that off?” Molly finishes her cheesecake with lots of lip smacking.
“It’s top secret.” I twirl my hair, a nervous habit. “The Bee Sting Bordello was home to quite a few notorious painted ladies, and Madam Goldilocks wasn’t the best manager. The result was a lot of turnover, crime, and quite a few love stories.”
“Quite a few murders, too,” she says. “You’ve heard of Ma Belle, haven’t you?”
“She passed through these parts.” The feeling of ants walking across the back of my neck gives me the shakes. “Ma Belle was rumored to be a French lady by way of New Orleans, but she’d as soon slit your throat as serve you a cuppa sweet tea.”
A cup of poisonous tea, I refrain from adding. Which is why I’m a coffee drinker. No tea for me. No thank you.
“She left quite a trail of spurned lovers who still haunt these parts—the walking dead.” Molly sloshes her drink and tinkles the glass against my ice water. “How about Pickaxe Polly? Think what she could have done if she had a chainsaw instead of that bloody old axe.”
“I just thought of something,” I exclaim. “I can add the sound of axe thuds to her haunt effects.”
“I like it. Haunt effects. What are they exactly?”
“Recordings of squeaky doors, footsteps, chain dragging sounds, windows opening and closing on their own, the usual.”
Molly’s eyes gleam with interest. “Are you hiring people to play back the sounds?”
“Yes, Evan’s recording voice actors and actresses to tell the stories of the residents.”
“You mean of the ghosts who’re still hanging around?” She leans forward with an eager smile. “I studied theatre in community college. I was pretty good at it.”
“We already have the voices of the historical figures. Evan’s reusing the ones he created for his TV series.”
“No, no, no. You need to change things up.” She talks so fast, spit flies from her lips. “If the tourists report the ghosts saying the same things, then they’ll call your place a fraud. I’ve seen these ghost adventures, and if you want to spook people for real, you have to get personal. Find out about them, and then have the ghost mention their great uncle Ned and how he died or tell the location of a family heirloom.”
“That’s true, but it would require too much research.” The wheels start turning in my mind. “But then, you have a point. I can look through social media and say something vague, mentioning an event from their past.”
“Awesomesauce.” Molly slams her fist on the table. “I’m a pro at internet research. You give me the guest list a week in advance, and I’ll personalize their haunt effects.”
“Oh, goodie!” I clap my hands and bounce on the squeaky vinyl padding on the booth. “We’ll make such a big splash on the weekend my HEX sisters are booked. They’ll spread the news and put Hallowed Haunts on the map as the world’s greatest Gold Rush ghost adventure ever. Which is why Todd absolutely must approve more guests, including campers and trailers. We can even have a mock cemetery full of fake gravestones for the trailer hookups and put speakers and haunt effects in there, like knocking on the gravestones, fingernail scratch sounds, the works.”
“Then you have to find some way of bribing him to up the number of guests,” she says brightly.
“Me?” I flutter my hand over my chest, acting innocent. “It’s not like all the food I bring works. He still denied my permit.”
“Approved for ten guests isn’t denied.” She sucks on the cherry that came with her cheesecake. “Todd doesn’t want the traffic and crime that comes with a big gathering. Your stunt with the selfie contest caused a backup all the way to the interstate. He got a complaint from the fire chief—”
“I wish his brother, Scott, was still the chief. That guy’s cool. He would have approved my permit.”
“Scott’s freaky. Always disappearing. I hear rumors he’s out there chasing female entities—not ghosts, but real flesh and blood.” Molly cranes her neck to get the attention of the waitress.
“I do wonder about Scott.” I crunch on another ice cube while she orders another drink. How many has she had? And how does she eat and drink so much and still keep her petite figure trim and fit? “He was supposed to investigate the arsons, but he hasn’t come up with even a single suspect. Doesn’t that make you wonder where he was when Grady’s place burned?”
“Todd never asked him for an alibi.” Molly cracks her knuckles one by one. “I heard he was out and about with his bloodhound, but when it came time to search for that little girl, no one could find him.”
“I don’t think Scott was involved in the kidnapping.”
“But if he were, what does it say about Todd that he’d cover up for his brother?”
“Todd wouldn’t do that. That man’s a stickler for the law. I think he’s overworked, and that Donnelly guy’s a slacker. Where was he when Linx’s barn burned down?”
“Let’s just say if I had been around, I would have kept track of everyone’s comings and goings.” She licks her lips and takes the third or fourth gin and tonic from the waitress. “Maybe I already know.”
“What do you mean?” I lean forward. “If you know something about the fires, shouldn’t you tell Todd?”
“He’s the last person I’d tell.” Her cheeks are rosy, and alcohol fumes waft from her br
eath. “You might think he’s such a do-gooder, but I’ve seen him sneaking around the woods talking to weird people.”
“He has to investigate crimes,” I declare hotly. “Detective work. Everything falls on his shoulders.”
“Then you’ll understand why he pulled your permit.” She downs the rest of the drink.
“We’ll just have to change his mind.” I stir my ice cubes with a straw. “I mean, if you want a job doing ghostly haunt effects, then I’ll need enough money coming in to hire you. Otherwise, I’ll have to go with the canned sound effects.”
“You have to spend money to make money.” She rubs her thumb and fingers together. “It’s not like you’re without assets.”
“I can’t bribe him. He’s too honest!”
“I didn’t mean money.” She rolls her eyes. “What do you think Madam Goldilocks did to get her whorehouse approved?”
“Boarding house,” I clarify.
“Oh, sure, but the city fathers back in the day taxed her extra for permits. Did you know whorehouses paid for police and fire services? That’s how popular they were back in the day.”
“Won’t work,” I declare hotly. “He can’t be bribed. God knows, I’ve brought casseroles, crock pots, pies, cakes, and goodies all the time. The three of you scarf it up and laugh at me, I bet.”
“Then flash a boob.” Molly laughs. “You’re Miss Tami King. Your dad’s the town kingpin. I bet he never told you how he got so rich.”
“He doesn’t have to. Our family always had money thanks to my great-great-grandfather parlaying that giant gold nugget into buying up all the mining claims and selling them to out of town investors. Took the profits and rolled them into the Royal King Bank, and here we are.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Molly jiggles her water glass, tinkling the ice. “That’s the official story. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
“Why? What do you know?”
She mock punches me. “I’m teasing you. Of course, your ancestors all came upon their fortune honestly and uprightly. But I’m sure you can find another way of getting Todd to change his mind, and it has nothing to do with money.”
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