by Leona Karr
The incident of the ribbons was puzzling. The more Josh thought about it, the more convinced he became that someone was trying to scare Stacy into leaving the hotel. There were still things that could be carried off and sold for a buck or two if the place remained empty. Someone snooping through the cellar storage room must have recognized the ribbons in Glenda’s old suitcase and decided to make use of them as a scare tactic.
Stacy had seemed distant and rather reserved when they’d shared the pizza, and she hadn’t talked much. Maybe she was embarrassed about sharing her personal life with him when they ate on the terrace? Obviously, she had been deeply wounded and her guard was up about letting any man get too close. The few times that they’d connected sexually with a look or touch, she had visibly distanced herself from him.
Josh turned restlessly in the narrow bed. Stacy Ashford was a damned attractive woman, and he’d controlled the way his hormones fired with purposeful intent when he was physically close to her, but his imagination was threatening to have its way. He couldn’t help thinking about her curled up against him, warm, supple and inviting. Inviting? He mentally scoffed. She needed him, and that was the only reason she was willing to put up with his quest to find Renquist. If he stepped across the personal line she’d drawn, she’d hand him his hat. Scared or not, she’d bow her lovely neck and bid him a firm goodbye. All the mental arguments that flowed through his head didn’t change anything. He still wanted her.
THE NEXT MORNING, when Josh told Stacy he was going into Timberlane for a couple of hours, she just nodded and didn’t volunteer to go with him. He promised to bring back a battery for the Jeep and didn’t tell her that he was really going to pay Sheriff Mosley a visit.
“When Chester and Rob brought back the lumber yesterday, I told them where I wanted them to start today.”
“I’ll keep my eye on them,” she promised.
All the way to town, Josh’s thoughts centered on the answers he wanted from the sheriff. Where was Mosley when the hotel’s wine cellar was being emptied, for instance. Why had the sheriff turned a blind eye to all the looting that had gone on under his nose? Josh was convinced that Mosley could have been the one who helped Renquist get away the night Glenda fell. Maybe Renquist was so grateful he gave the sheriff carte blanche to everything left in the place.
By the time Josh pulled into the parking lot behind the small station, he was silently fuming. If Mosley even looked at him crosswise, he’d have trouble keeping his temper. The only deterrent against openly accusing the sheriff of breaking the law was the surety that Mosley would toss Josh in a jail cell for slander.
He let the door slam behind him as he entered the sheriff’s office. Irene Bates sat behind the reception desk and her dishwater-blond head came up with a jerk. When she saw who it was, her frown changed to a welcoming smile.
“That’s one way to get noticed,” she teased.
“I’ll do anything to get the attention of a pretty lady,” Josh returned.
A woman in her late thirties, Irene was pleasingly plump, and her pleasant disposition was a miracle to everyone, considering that she’d worked for Mosley since he was elected ten years ago.
“Some men are all talk,” she chided. “And no action.”
“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”
“That’s not what I hear.” She winked at him. “Playing house with some city gal sounds like plenty of hanky-panky to me.”
“All business,” Josh assured her with a dismissive wave of his hand. He wasn’t surprised that tongues were wagging. Well, let them. Neither he nor Stacy had to account for their actions to anyone. “Is your charming boss in?”
“Yes, he’s here, but disturb his morning siesta at your own risk.”
Josh didn’t even hesitate. He could have knocked on the door first, but he took childish pleasure in walking in on the sheriff without warning. Expecting to find Mosley leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, maybe even snoring, Josh was taken aback when he opened the door and came face-to-face with the sheriff standing there, ready to come out.
“I should have known it was you, Spencer, banging doors and disturbing the peace. Were you born in a barn or something?”
“No, I believe that was the Lord. Only it was a stable, not a barn,” Josh corrected.
“Damn smart-ass,” Mosley swore as an ugly flush crept up his thick neck. “What in the hell do you want?”
“Some answers.”
Mosley sat down behind his desk, and glared at Josh. “What’s the question?”
“Who’s been looting the hotel, Sheriff? And is there some reason why haven’t you stopped it?”
“You’d better be careful, Josh,” he warned. “That sounds like an accusation to me. If someone wanted twenty-four-hour surveillance, they should have hired a guard.”
“Did you know about the wine cellar being emptied?”
“Maybe it was empty before that loony Willard died,” Mosley countered. “I never checked the place out after he bought it.”
“But you were a regular when Renquist had the hotel, weren’t you? And surely you looked over the premises carefully when my sister died. I mean, Renquist was nowhere around when her body was discovered. He’d already taken off. Weren’t you the least bit interested in finding her murderer?”
Mosley brought his hand down on the desk with a bang. “When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that your sister jumped off the balcony on her own. Maybe she was so high on dope that she thought she could fly. Hell, I don’t know, but Renquist didn’t push her.”
“Did he tell you so?”
“Dammit, I never saw him that night.”
“Then why did he run?”
“Because of hotheads like you, and I’m glad he had the sense to get the hell out of here.”
“I’m going to find out the truth about Glenda’s death,” Josh promised as he leaned over the sheriff’s desk. “You may want to give Renquist fair warning—just in case he happens to get in touch.”
Josh stalked out of the office and avoided looking at Irene as he slammed the front door behind him. He was still fuming when he finished buying the battery and signing the invoice for the materials Chester and Roy had picked up. Looking at the charges, he hoped Stacy was right about there being no problem reimbursing him.
It was almost noon when he stopped at the Pantry and bought two baked chicken meals to take back to the hotel. Ted was at the cash register as he checked out, and he chided Josh’s preoccupied abruptness.
“Things not going too well with the new job? Or with the lady?”
“I haven’t started the job, and the lady’s fine.”
“What’s got your tail in a kink then?”
“Mosley.”
Ted nodded. “Enough said. What’s happening now?”
“Nothing. That’s the problem. Looters have had a field day carrying out all kinds of stuff from the place, and the sheriff’s done nothing. We’re changing the locks, but it’s a little late. Have you heard anything?” Josh asked, knowing that Alice’s Pantry was like Mission Control when it came to spreading information.
“No, but Nellie over at the bank let it slip that the sheriff’s job must be paying more these days.”
“Anyone selling some of the looted stuff on the black market in Denver could clear a nice bundle.”
Ted just shrugged. “I wouldn’t go around town talking like that if I were you, Josh. You never can tell who has the dirty hands.”
Josh stewed all the way back to the hotel about what he should have said, and, more importantly what the sheriff didn’t say. His mood wasn’t improved when he got back to the hotel. Chester and Roy hadn’t accomplished much that morning, so he set a hard pace the rest of the day and worked off some of his bad humor.
Stacy stayed out of the way, watching him swing a sledgehammer and use a buzz saw on upright studs until a wall fell. The muscles in Josh’s arms and back rippled like hard cords, and she wondered
at the hidden fury behind his driving actions. In a way, she envied his way of releasing pent-up emotions. The day had been a long one for her, and she dreaded the night that lay ahead.
That evening, Josh could tell that Stacy was putting on a front about being perfectly at ease spending another night alone in the apartment. He tried to persuade her that he’d be perfectly comfortable sleeping on the couch again, but she’d refused his offer. Finally, he bid her good-night and made her promise to lock the apartment door. He left his hall door open in case she called.
THE TICKING OF Stacy’s small travel clock mocked every passing second of another sleepless night. She lay stiffly in bed and stared up at the ceiling. The fact that the renovation work had actually begun should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. She couldn’t dispel the feeling that they were being drawn into some madness of her uncle’s that was going to reap disaster. She had the authority to shut everything down and leave. Why didn’t she?
Given that she was just a pawn in Josh’s obsession to vindicate his sister’s death, she’d be doing him a favor. She could turn her back on him and forget all about these last three days and nights. She wasn’t interested in any kind of romantic relationship with him, was she? He certainly wasn’t. A hint of a smile touched her lips. What if she crossed the hall and crawled into bed with him? How would he—?
The question was swept from her mind as a high-pitched whine, with a terrifying intensity, suddenly sliced the nighttime silence. The ceiling above her began visibly vibrating and the keening sound grew louder with each second.
She leaped out of bed in her short summer pajamas and dashed into the living room as the walls in the whole apartment seemed to be vibrating.
“Josh!” she screamed as she unlocked her door and flung it open. If anything the noises were even louder in the narrow hall than in the apartment.
As she hesitated in the doorway, Josh came rushing out of his room, barefooted, no shirt, and hastily securing the fastening on his pants.
“What in the hell—?” he swore. “Sounds like the whole damn attic is falling in. We’ve got to get out of here before the ceiling collapses.” He grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the staircase.
Taking the stairs at breakneck speed, they raced across the first floor and out the front door as quickly as they could turn the lock. When they were a safe distance from the building, they turned and looked back at the hotel.
The night was clear, but chilly, and Stacy shivered in her skimpy pajamas as Josh put an arm around her. His first thought had been that something like a tornado was tearing off the roof, but there was no sign of any natural cause for the vibrations. He kept his eyes glued to the apartment windows and the slanted roof and attic dormer windows above.
Nothing visible seemed to be happening. The cacophony of sounds that had assaulted them on the second floor couldn’t be heard where they stood.
“What…what could it be?” Stacy stammered.
“Damned if I know.” A second later, he exclaimed, “Wait a minute! Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“A flash of light inside one of the attic windows? Just above the apartment balcony.”
She looked hard where he was pointing. All of the dormer windows were dark as far as she could tell. “I don’t see any light.”
He kept staring at the attic window directly above the apartment balcony. “There it goes again!”
This time Stacy saw it—a quick flash like that of a revolving searchlight.
Josh dropped his arm from her shoulders. “I’m going to check it out. You stay here.”
As if she hadn’t heard, she kept pace with his hurried steps as they returned to the building. Once inside, he ordered her again to stay put until he came back.
“No.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to find and I can’t be worrying about you. You do what I tell you.”
“I don’t take orders from you. I’m the boss, remember?” She was a lot more terrified of being alone than of facing any danger at his side.
He growled his displeasure but stopped arguing. He grabbed up a flashlight and a hammer from the pile of tools that Chester and Rob had brought back. Not much of a weapon, but somehow in his gut he knew the commotion was man-made.
“How do we get to the attic?”
“There’s a door on one side of the landing, opening to some steps,” Josh told her. “I’m betting they lead to the attic.”
“I never noticed,” she said, wondering how many more things had escaped her attention. She didn’t even know where the fire escapes were located.
The door was narrow and so were the attic steps. There was a light switch at the bottom, but nothing happened when he flipped it. Using the flashlight, he led the way with her following at his heels.
“What do you think we’ll find?” she asked, her chest tight with apprehension. The battery of weird sounds still vibrated through the building, increasing in volume.
Josh didn’t answer. If he believed in evil spirits haunting a place, he’d have nominated the Haverly Hotel, hands down, but his pragmatic mind wouldn’t accept such aberrations. Whatever was happening had a logical cause and he was determined to find it. He just wished that he could investigate without the added burden of keeping Stacy safe. He’d never forgive himself if they stumbled into a danger that he couldn’t handle.
They climbed upward towards a closed door at the top of the stairs. The weird sounds were sharper now. More distinct. Varied in pitch. Blending into a deafening clamor. A flicker of intermittent light showed under the door.
Josh motioned for Stacy to stay behind him as he eased the door open and stepped into the attic. The circulating light that they’d glimpsed outside crossed his face, blinding him until the beam passed.
“What the—?” He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and Stacy stood frozen beside him, unable to utter a sound as she stared at the scene in front of them.
A bright beam of a spotlight rotated around the attic, illuminating all kinds of weird shapes, grotesque creatures and bizarre machines. Every single contraption was animated, and as each whirled, pounded or wheezed, the movement created the cacophony of unbelievable noises. Every form was fashioned from pipes, rusted metal, gears, rods and indefinable discarded parts of machines. The scene was totally macabre.
“I don’t believe it,” Stacy finally managed to whisper in a tight voice.
“I guess we know now what Uncle Willy was doing with all the junk he’d been collecting.”
The noise, erratic movements and nightmarish creations assaulted Stacy’s already frayed nerves. The evidence of her uncle’s craziness was there before her. His twisted genius had created worthless, bizarre forms that grated and repelled. An icy prickling rose on her skin.
“I wonder if this is what he had in mind for Willard’s Museum?”
No, it couldn’t be! Even as she rejected the idea, she knew Josh was right. Her uncle had intended to remodel the hotel to show off his worthless inventions. A quiver of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. She had become the means of carrying out his craziness.
“What a sick joke on me,” she gasped, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.
“It’s no joke, Stacy,” Josh told her soberly. He knew what a shock this must be to her, but he was concerned with something more pressing than her uncle’s craziness. “Someone had to turn on the switches to set all of this in motion.”
Her thoughts reeled in a different direction. Who had been here, just minutes before, to start the bedlam? Were they still here? Except for the rotating light sending grotesque shadows on the walls, the rest of the attic remained dark and forbidding.
“There has to be an attic light,” Josh muttered, and as the light whirled in their direction again, he caught the brief reflection of a metal casing around a wall switch placed a few feet from the door. At his touch, overhead bulbs bathed their end of the attic in bright light.
Stacy reeled from anoth
er instant shock.
In front of them was a workshop where all kinds of machines and tools were spread on several long tables. In one section were a sleeping cot, clothes rack, houseware items, and a two-burner stove. Her uncle had lived in the attic with his weird creations. The attic was like an animal’s burrow. Stacy was sickened, thinking of the living, breathing man who lived here, caught in the morass of his peculiar mind.
There was no sign of anyone in this section of the attic, but Josh found a master switch that turned off all the gyrating forms, and he knew for certain that someone had deliberately turned them all on.
“They all have separate switches and can be turned on one by one,” Josh observed.
“That’s why the chandelier was moving,” Stacy declared with sudden insight. If someone had turned on a gyrating form placed above the chandelier in the apartment, the vibration in the ceiling could easily have caused it to move. She hadn’t been hallucinating, after all.
“But why?” Stacy asked in a choked voice.
“Does someone else inherit this property if you fail to renovate the place according to your uncle’s wishes?”
“No, the money goes to the homeless. Why?”
“If there were a second beneficiary, contingent upon your defaulting, it’s conceivable that person might want to do everything possible to discourage you from carrying out your uncle’s wishes.”
“No, he made me a beneficiary because there’s no one else. There has to be another reason for someone trying to scare me to death. That brings us back to square one, doesn’t it? Who? And why?” She shivered as she hugged herself.
“You’re cold,” he said, eyeing her short pajamas. “Let’s get you back downstairs.”
Shutting the attic door firmly behind them, he held her as they descended the steps. His physical closeness helped her regain some semblance of well-being. Without his presence, she would have crumbled, both physically and emotionally.
She was grateful when he insisted on searching the apartment. The door had been left wide open in their haste. Maintaining as much composure as her frayed nerves would allow, she waited in the hall as he checked all the rooms, closets, and even the balcony.