The Haunting of Riley Watson

by Alexandria Clarke

  I used the staircase opposite his to exit the lounge so he wouldn’t have an audience as he hobbled from the lounge. Jazmin and Riley waited for me at the elevators.

  “What’s the plan?” Riley said, hopping up and down. Jazmin pushed on her shoulders, but Riley’s bunny bounces were hard to suppress.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You convinced Detective Hawkins to let us go,” she said. “That must mean you have a plan in mind, right?”

  “Fine, I have a plan,” I said. “But it doesn’t involve either one of you. You’re both going up to the suite.”

  The elevator dinged and opened, but neither Jazmin nor Riley got inside.

  “No way!” Riley protested.

  “I’m with the kid on this one,” Jazmin said. “Do you expect us to wait around while you wander the resort on your own? It’s not safe, Lucia. Or have you already forgotten what happened to you this morning?”

  Odette’s visit was actually at the forefront of my brain, but not for the reasons Jazmin suspected. With Daniel and the others occupied, this was my chance to pay a visit to the old wing. Odette’s warning fell short. I didn’t have time to practice “controlling my energy.” I’d been to the old wing twice and survived both times. If the ghosts were pissed off about my presence, they could suck it up and deal with it. I was going in, and I couldn’t bring Riley and Jazmin with me. First of all, Jazmin was right. It wasn’t safe. Second, the paralysis was worse with Jazmin around. Riley and I were connected too. If I had to worry about their energies in addition to mine, I might never walk again.

  “Look, this is all one big crap show.” I stuck my hand in the elevator doors to keep them from closing. “You can’t come with me for this. I have to know the two of you are safe while I’m gone. Please go up to the suite.”

  “Not without you,” Jazmin said.

  “Tell you what,” I offered, coaxing the two of them into the elevator. “If I’m not back in hour, come find me.”

  “Where are you going?” Riley asked.

  “The old wing.”

  “Lucia, don’t you dare—” Jazmin warned.

  It was too late. The elevator closed and ascended, taking Jazmin and Riley with it. Riley pressed her nose to the glass, shouting at me. I gave her a thumbs up, something to let her know I would be okay, but the gesture felt more dismissive than reassuring.

  The old wing was accessible through the resort’s seasonal restaurant and abandoned ballroom. I snuck through the barren restaurant’s kitchen and into the ballroom. It was no less grand and no less spooky than it had been the last time I was here. Stuck in the 1940s, when King and Queens was the finest ski destination in the United States, the ballroom looked as though spirits from the past might spring from the wallpaper and dance above the marble floor, though the ghosts of King and Queens seemed far too irritable for dancing.

  I slipped through a gap in the chained doors and shuddered as I emerged in the resort’s old lobby. The once-beautiful craftsmanship was burnt to bits. The front desk lay in pieces. The curtains shriveled up in ash and dust. The floor and walls were blackened as if the devil himself checked into King and Queens. When the prickle on my neck started again, I clapped a hand to my skin, bracing myself for the numbing paralysis, but it was just my instinct to run rearing its ugly head. Not a ghost.

  The last time I’d been in the abandoned portion of the resort, I’d found Riley screaming her head off in the library, eyes rolling back in her head in classic “someone find me an exorcist” style. My guess wasn’t that she was possessed. Rather, the spirits of King and Queens had another type of hold over her. They manipulated Riley like they did Odette. I hoped I wasn’t as malleable as my younger companions.

  Despite Odette’s warning, the old wing was absent of spirits. I crept along as quietly as possible. I had no idea what might wake the ghosts, but I was going to do my best to keep them at bay. Starting at the farthest point from the ballroom—the demolished emergency stairway that led to inhabitable guest rooms—I worked my way through the old wing, searching every inch for clues as to what might have caused the fire. The resort wasn’t giving up any of its secrets without a fight. Everything I touched—papers, books, personal items like wallets and passports—crumbled in my grasp. The guest ledger, blown across the lobby in the same explosion that had murdered the front desk, was gone except for its sturdy leather cover. There was no way to tell who might have been staying at the resort when the fire broke out.

  “This would be a whole lot easier with Wi-Fi,” I muttered as I picked through more of the debris in the lobby. “I could Google those names in a second.”

  Defeated, I aimed a frustrated kick at what was left of the front desk. The fragile wood splintered beneath the toe of my boot, and a small drawer fell open. Inside, a shiny silver glint caught my eye, a spot of brightness in the dark. I pulled out an old key, one that looked like it might open a chest or safe. It was the sole object that had survived the fire unscathed. I turned it over to examine it, but there was no room number etched into the side or anything of the sort. Enamored with its discovery, the smell of something burning was lost on me until thick tendrils of black smoke snaked around my ankles.

  The spirits of King and Queens had risen. They stood—hovered, floated, whatever—around the lobby, too many to count. Their bodies were compiled of the same dark smoke that drifted around my ankles. Each spirits bore no eyes. Rather, a small fire burned in their empty sockets. My heart thudded against my rib cage as they watched me. None of them moved. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe I could just leave. I took a step forward, the key clenched in my palm, toward the chained doors that led back to the ballroom.

  The lobby exploded. Everything was aflame. Fire licked the walls and spread across the floor as if someone doused the place in gasoline. The heat seared my skin, roaring as it engulfed the building. It lit the old wing alight, and the smoky spirits danced through it, screaming and laughing as I fought for a path to the ballroom. Flames licked at my body. I could smell my own burning hair as I ducked under a fallen beam and sprinted across a stretch of marble not yet destroyed. I wasn’t going to make it.

  But I did. I got to the other side of the room and ducked under the rusty chain. When I looked back, the old lobby was exactly how it had been when I arrived earlier. No fire, no ghosts. Something stung my hand, and I unfurled my fist to see the silver key resting in my palm. I’d clenched it so tightly that it had bitten into my skin and drawn blood. I put the key in my pocket, wiped my hand on my sweater, and left the ballroom.

  “Oh my God, what happened to you?” Jazmin gasped when I returned to our suite on the top floor. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted on the wall. The fire, though it came and went like a nightmare, left its mark. I was coated in soot and ash, and there was a big red welt on my forearm.

  “Odette was right.” I turned the kitchen faucet on. The water was absolutely frigid. I held my arm beneath the flow, moaning as it soothed the burn. “I shouldn’t have gone back to the old lobby on my own. They were waiting for me.”

  “Odette told you that this would happen and you went anyway?” Jazmin said, incredulous. “Lucia, how could you be so stupid?”

  “I’m not stupid,” I snapped, sharper than intended. Jazmin fell quiet. We never spoke to each other that way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so rude, but I’m frustrated. How am I supposed to get to the bottom of this if all my leads are off limits?”

  Jazmin went into the bathroom and came out with a bottle of aloe vera. She turned off the faucet, patted my arm dry, and applied the gel to the burn. “I wouldn’t say all your leads are off limits.”

  “What are you talking about? Where’s Riley?”

  She ducked her eyes, distracted by her first aid duties. “Funny you should mention that—”

  “Jazmin, where is she?”

  The door to the suite beeped, and Riley bounded in, my camera in her grasp. “Jazmin, I think I got someth
ing! Is Lucia—oh, crap.” She stopped dead when she noticed me, hid the camera behind her back, and adopted a shit-eating grin. “Hey, Lucia. Did you find anything?

  “Where have you been?” I demanded. “I told you to stay in the suite. What have you been up to?”

  “Don’t yell at her,” Jazmin said, wrapping clean gauze around my forearm. “I sent her out.”

  “You sent her out?”

  “Jazmin, you don’t have to cover for me,” said Riley. Sheepishly, she set the camera on the desk next to my computer. “I appreciate you trying though. Lucia, it was my idea to leave the suite. When you told Detective Hawkins to watch the employees when they thought they were alone, I thought it was a good idea, so I tracked down a couple of them to film. I wasn’t sure if I’d find anything, but I might have some information that could help you.”

  It was hard to scowl at Jazmin when she so gently taped the bandage over my arm. “Did you agree to this or did she sneak out?”

  “She tried to sneak out,” Jazmin said. “But when I caught her and she explained herself, she convinced me that it was a decent idea. If it helps, I made her wear a body cam. I’ve been watching her from here every step of the way.”

  To prove the point, Riley unzipped her hoodie to reveal the camera strapped to her chest. “See? We were safe. Besides, I’m small. No one noticed me. I promise.”

  I checked Jazmin’s handiwork. The bandage was perfect, but the burn stung even with the aloe vera gel. I sank into the armchair across from the desk and waved at Riley to plug in the camera. “Fine. Show me what you got, but this doesn’t mean I approve of your escapades. I want to know where you are every second of the day. Got it?”

  Riley couldn’t contain her excitement. She bounced on the balls of her feet while she hooked up the camera to the laptop and explained herself. Jazmin sat on the ottoman next to me and offered a cup of tea and a warm biscuit. Reluctantly, I accepted both.

  “I wasn’t sure where to start,” Riley said as the images loaded on the screen. “First, I had to track someone down. I found Nick first, but he was hanging out in the library like I told him to. Boring. Dad was asleep in his room. He didn’t answer when I knocked. Then I went to the kitchen in case the killer wanted to pay Tyler a postmortem visit.” She shuddered at the thought. “Ugh. Anyway, Matisse and Karli were in there again, baking or whatever. That’s where I got the biscuits. Before I went inside, I recorded some of their conversation.”

  She pressed play and the video began. The frame quivered as Riley leveled the camera through the porthole window in the kitchen doors. Karli and Matisse stood at the preparation table. Karli’s face was in plain view, but Matisse’s broad shoulders and wide back were to the camera. His meaty hands were spread flat across the stainless steel of the prep table, but his fingers kept rolling in and out like inchworms with their back ends taped down.

  “I shouldn’t be relieved,” Karli said as she blotted her face with a dish towel. Her mascara clumped around her bottom lashes, damp and runny from her tears. “But I am.”

  Matisse’s hands did the thing again. He attempted to wipe a tear from Karli’s cheek but only succeeded in smearing a thick black line of mascara across her nose.

  “Sorry.” He offered her an individually-wrapped wet napkin from a drawer full of them. “You don’t have to be ashamed of your relief. We’re all glad that Tyler’s gone. Deep down, I bet Mr. Watson’s not upset either.”

  “What a thing to say,” Karli muttered.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Matisse added. “I’ve been working here since I was a kid. I grew up with Tyler. We went to the same high school. He was always a jerk, and his dad never cared. It wasn’t until Mrs. Watson died that Mr. Watson bothered to pay attention to Tyler. By then, it was too late. When you told me what he did to you” —Matisse leaned his forehead into his hands— “Karli, I was so mad.”

  “Hey,” she said softly. She lifted Matisse’s chin with the tip of her finger. Their eyes met. “It’s over now. Tyler’s gone. We don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  She kissed him. Riley wolf-whistled and paused the video.

  “See?” she said.

  “See what?” I replied. “Who cares if Karli and Matisse are making out? I could have seen that coming a mile away.”

  “No, no, no,” Riley said. “You don’t get it. Matisse has had a thing for Karli ever since she started working here, but she never noticed him. Not while my brother was around. Girls were obsessed with Tyler, even though he was a giant idiot. Karli wasn’t any different. You know why she and my brother broke up? Because he got arrested for punching her. You’d think she would’ve sued my dad and left the hotel, but she kept doing her job. Every time Tyler walked into the bar, she stared at him like he was one of those sour candies. You know, crap on the outside, more crap in the middle, but at least the crap in the middle tastes good.”

  “Riley, what are you trying to say?” Jazmin asked, trying to bring it back to the point.

  “Matisse was invisible to Karli,” Riley explained. “He got friendzoned hardcore. Karli never had any interest in dating him. Until now.”

  “So what?” I said. “You think Matisse killed Tyler in order to get to Karli?”

  Riley shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had a confrontation. After Tyler got released for punching Karli, he came back to the resort and went straight to the Eagle’s View to find her. She wasn’t working, but Matisse was. He’d seen the whole thing, and he went nuts when he realized Tyler made bail. He came out of the kitchen like a madman, tackled my brother to the floor, and started punching him in the face. He kept screaming, ‘How does it feel?’”

  “God, that’s awful,” Jazmin muttered.

  “The other employees had to break it up,” Riley said. “By the time they did, Tyler was unconscious.”

  “Your dad didn’t fire Matisse?” I asked.

  “Why would he?” Riley said. “Matisse is the best assistant chef King and Queens has ever had. He knows the menu like the back of his hand. Besides, we’ve already established that my father never cared about what Tyler did. Honestly, the fact that he’s so upset is weird to me. I’ve never seen my dad like this. He didn’t cry after my mom died, but Tyler gets slashed, and all of a sudden, he’s a garden hose? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe he regrets not paying more attention to his son,” Jazmin suggested. “Death can highlight a lot of our flaws.”

  “Maybe,” Riley said. “But I’m not so sure.”

  “We can discuss your nutso family later, Riley,” I said. “Let’s get back to Matisse. Did something else happen with Karli and Tyler? Maybe Matisse found out about it and decided to take revenge once and for all.”

  “Nothing happened to Karli that night,” Riley said. “Don’t you remember? Tyler was too busy being a jerk to me.”

  “How could I forget?” That was the night Tyler dropped Riley over the banister of the mezzanine. Riley could’ve broken her neck if Nick hadn’t caught her. “Then why would Matisse bother to confront Tyler a second time?”

  “Because Matisse loves me too,” Riley said. “He’s the big brother I wish I had. He started working here when he was fifteen, so he’s known me since I was two. He’s been defending me from Tyler for as long as I can remember.”

  “But you’re willing to give him up as a murder suspect,” Jazmin asked. “Do you not trust him?”

  Riley shuffled from one foot to the other, picking at the calluses on her palms she’d collected from manning her ski poles. It had been a few days since she’d been able to go out on the slopes. Skiing was her one outlet at King and Queens. Without it, she was more fidgety than usual.

  “I love Matisse,” she said. “But I’m not naive. I’ve never seen anyone else lose their temper like he does. I was there when he punched Tyler the first time. You should’ve seen his face. It was like Matisse wasn’t there. He was this big monster smashing his fist into my brother’s nose over and ov
er.”

  “Intentions don’t matter once murder is involved,” Jazmin added. “Even if Matisse killed Tyler to protect Karli and Riley, he’s still guilty of homicide. It’s playing God. No one’s allowed.”

  “Back up,” I said. “We don’t know Matisse is the killer. Don’t forget Riley’s mom’s death was orchestrated too. Daniel thinks the deaths are linked. Why would Matisse go to the trouble of sabotaging the ski lift to get rid of Thelma?”

  Riley sniffled and ducked her head. Though her brother’s death wasn’t on her to-cry-about list, her mother had been the most important influence in her life. My mention of Thelma was cold and distant.

  “Sorry, Riley,” I mumbled as I pulled her into my lap for a hug. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you’re right.” She wiped snot on my sweater, a small moment of revenge. “We have to think about this from every angle.”

  “Do you remember what you said when Lucia and I tried to leave King and Queens?” Jazmin asked her. “You thought you were next. Did the spirits tell you that?”

  “I panicked,” Riley said. “You two were going to leave me alone. Mom and Tyler were already gone. The ghosts kept screaming at me. I couldn’t understand any of them, but they were mad at me. I had a feeling if the two of you didn’t stay, I would’ve been dead in a few hours.”

  “Normally, I’d say a ‘feeling’ doesn’t matter as much as the facts,” I said, “but I think the case is different with me and you, Riley. We need to trust our gut.”

  “My gut is saying the same person killed my mom and my brother,” Riley said. “But my head is saying that Matisse killed Tyler. What does that mean?”

  I squeezed her around the waist, drawing her closer, as if my hug would protect her from anything in the hotel that meant to harm her. “It means we entertain both possibilities.”

  15

  If I wanted the truth from Matisse, I needed backup, and I had the perfect person in mind. There was one perk to being a psychic medium, so I left Jazmin and Riley in the suite to experiment with my abilities in the hallway. I paced back and forth, wringing my hands. This technically wasn’t the first time I’d called a ghost to me. I’d done it for every episode of Madame Lucia’s Parlour for the Dead and Departed, but that was before I knew I had power over the dead. It was different now, and the challenge lay in getting over my fear. Calling Odette came with the inevitable pain of my paralysis, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Not to mention, I had no idea how to do this without pandering to an audience.