The Second-Best Haunted Hotel on Mercer Street

by Cory Putman Oakes

  It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “It’s not Cuddles’s fault,” the man behind the desk was saying. “This happens every time he eats anything besides the Good Ghouls treats. Who’s been giving him Living food?”

  “Maybe it was a guest?” the headless woman ventured.

  “We don’t have any guests!” the man thundered back.

  The fluff ball made a tiny whining sound. The woman holding him set him back down on the ground, and he scuttled away, looking vaguely ashamed as he wove between the ankles of the two women in chef’s hats who had just entered the room.

  “I think Cuddles is Fading,” announced the older of the two chefs. “He’s forgotten his obedience training.”

  “Molly, look out!” the younger chef yelled, then darted over to steady the headless woman, who had just blundered straight into a bookcase.

  “I’m so sorry about all of this,” the woman with the camera said, drawing Evie’s attention back to her. “How can we help you?”

  “Are you a guest?” asked the headless woman, sounding hopeful, as the young chef guided her over to a couch. The sharply dressed man had produced a pooper scooper and was dealing with the mess behind the desk.

  “Er, no,” Evie started. “I’m here for—”

  “Pierce, can Living guests smell ghost poop?” the younger chef asked.

  “I don’t think so,” the dour-looking man answered.

  “So sorry,” the camera woman said to Evie again, shooting a severe look at the rest of the ghosts in the room. “You were saying?”

  But just then, Willow came into the lobby. “Pierce, I think Cuddles may have stolen my sandwich. Have you—” She stopped, catching sight of Evie. “You’re here! Does this mean you’re accepting the job?”

  “Job?” The sour-faced man—Pierce, Evie supposed—suddenly stood up straight, pooper scooper still in hand. “What job?”

  Willow gestured grandly toward Evie. “Everyone, this is Evie. I’ve offered her the job of Terrifying Phantasm.”

  “You—you—” Pierce stammered. He turned toward Evie and looked her severely up and down before turning back to Willow. “Her? She’s the new Phantasm?”

  “Yes,” Evie said, her whole body prickling with annoyance.

  “You can’t just go around hiring people,” Pierce complained to Willow. “For one thing, the Ivan doesn’t have the money—”

  “Yes, we do,” Willow corrected him. “There’s the Rainy Day Fund, remember? I used that.”

  “How?” Pierce demanded. “You’re twelve! Who authorized—”

  He cut himself off as his eyes slid accusingly toward the woman holding the camera.

  “It’s her money,” the woman said with a shrug. “And anyway, it’s not like she wanted it so she could go shopping, Pierce. She’s trying to help.”

  Pierce sighed and looked away. Evie could have sworn she saw the camera woman wink at Willow behind his back.

  “The Ivan’s not the Ivan without a Terrifying Phantasm,” Willow said as she turned to Evie. “You’re definitely taking the job, right?”

  “Sure,” Evie said, looking around uneasily. She’d really envisioned having this conversation with Willow in private. “I need to talk to you about my other job, though . . .”

  “The one at the library?”

  “Um, yeah . . .” Evie bit her lip and thought fast. She couldn’t very well tell an entire lobby full of ghosts from the Ivan that she actually worked at a Hauntery—and as a Spooky Little Girl, no less.

  Not now, at least. Not until she got to know everybody.

  “I have to keep my, er, other job, too,” she said finally. “For personal reasons.”

  Willow looked relieved. “Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “We scheduled our last Phantasm’s hauntings around his drag show schedule. We can schedule yours around your library duties.”

  “Great!” Evie said, looking around the room at her new coworkers. The two chefs looked only mildly interested in what was going on. The headless woman—Headless Horse-woman, Evie corrected herself, noticing her spurs—wasn’t really looking anywhere, due to her lack of eyes. Pierce was still glowering at her.

  Only the woman with the camera was giving her anything close to a welcoming smile.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Willow said, “I officially call this staff meeting to order. I was hoping my father would be able to make it,” she added, glancing at her phone, “but he must have forgotten. You can meet him later, Evie.”

  Evie nodded. Willow quickly introduced the rest of the Hotel Ivan staff to Evie by name, then cleared her throat importantly.

  “I got an email from the Zagged Guide this morning,” she announced. “They said that their hotel inspector, a Mr. Renard, will be arriving here in four days to look over the Ivan. He’ll be spending the night at the Hauntery the day before.”

  “Why does the Hauntery get to go first?” the Headless Horsewoman—Molly—complained.

  Willow shrugged. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. This is our last chance. We have to get that inspector to give us back our number-one spot, or . . .” She trailed off, then cleared her throat loudly. “So we have four days to come up with a plan. Anybody have any ideas?”

  There was a deafening silence.

  “Anybody?” Willow asked hopefully.

  “Maybe we could spiff up the lobby a bit?” Francesca, the younger of the two chefs, suggested.

  “I could pull the good china out of the attic,” Pierce added.

  “And I will almost certainly find my head by then,” Molly offered.

  “Good, all good,” Willow said. Evie thought she was trying very hard to sound encouraging, but it ended up coming out a bit sad.

  “Francesca and I will come up with a fantastic menu,” the elder chef, Antonia, promised. “We’ll stuff that inspector so full of delicious meals, he won’t know what hit him!”

  “Good!” Willow said, a tad more enthusiastically. “Food is good. Maybe that will be enough. Between good food and nice china and the, er, the spiffing . . . maybe that will be enough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Evie said before she could stop herself, “but no, it won’t be.”

  Every eye in the room came to rest on her.

  “How can you know that?” Pierce asked. “You’ve been here what, five minutes?”

  “I know what Haunteries are like!” Evie countered, then bit her lip. “I mean, I—I stayed in one once. The guest spaces are nice. Like, super over-the-top nice. They have ballrooms and swimming pools and a million ghosts on staff—”

  “Are you saying the Ivan isn’t ‘nice’?” Pierce growled accusingly.

  “We are down to a three-point-two Zagged rating,” Molly admitted. “The Mercer Street Hauntery has a perfect five. I checked this morning. Before I misplaced my head.”

  “The Hauntery shouldn’t have a perfect rating,” Willow said. “After Leo and I visited, we gave them a bad review. Has it not shown up on the site yet? That’s strange . . .”

  “The Ivan is very nice,” Evie said. She looked around the lobby again, which, she had to admit, could definitely use some spiffing. And which definitely still reminded her of something. “It’s homey in here. Friendly. Inviting. It’s the kind of place you can relax in. Haunteries aren’t like that.”

  “So what are you saying?” Pierce asked impatiently.

  The woman with the camera—Bree—stepped forward. “I think what she’s saying,” she interjected with a nod toward Evie, “is that we’re not going to beat the Hauntery at its own game. We’re never going to be fancier or more luxurious, no matter how much we spiff. And I agree. Evie’s saying we should do what we’re good at. Right, Evie?”

  “Right,” Evie said, smiling gratefully at her.

  “What we’re good at . . .” Willow mused. “I guess we’re good at making people feel comfortable? Giving them a good experience?”

  “We were good at that,” Molly said sou
rly, “until recently.”

  “We’re still good at that,” Willow insisted. “But how do we show the inspector that? How do we make sure he has a once-in-a-lifetime experience here?”

  At that exact moment, Evie realized what the Ivan’s lobby reminded her of. She snapped her fingers. “The Clue in the Old Inn!”

  “The what?” Chef Antonia asked.

  “Deena Morales Mystery #2! This place looks exactly like the inn from The Clue in the Old Inn!”

  “You’re right,” Willow said, looking around. “I can’t believe I never noticed that before!”

  Evie looked meaningfully at Willow.

  Willow looked meaningfully at Evie.

  Pierce scowled. “What’s happening?”

  Willow turned to face the others. “The Clue in the Old Inn is a murder mystery,” she explained.

  “An old-fashioned whodunit,” Evie added.

  “A who-what-it?” Francesca asked.

  “Who. Done. It,” Willow spelled out. “Six strangers all check into an old inn on the same weekend. One of them is murdered, and the rest of them have to piece together the clues to figure out who did it. The whole thing ends with this awesome dinner party scene where teenage detective Deena Morales solves the mystery and the murderer is revealed!” She turned to Evie. “Could we do something like that?”

  “Sure we could!” Evie could practically feel her brain whirring into action. “We could stage a fake murder, hide some clues, then do the dinner party. Maybe without the poisoned goblet, though,” she amended.

  “The what?” Pierce exclaimed.

  “No, not the goblet,” Willow agreed quickly. “We should totally do the séance, though!”

  “Oh, definitely the séance!”

  Pierce’s eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about books? The Deena . . . Munroe . . . Murphy . . .”

  “Deena Morales,” Willow corrected him.

  “Whatever! You’re saying we should base the most important night of our careers and the future of this entire hotel on a junk novel?”

  Willow and Evie both gasped.

  “They are not junk novels!” Evie insisted.

  “They’re bestsellers,” added Willow. “And there’s a reason for that—people love mysteries!”

  “They have a point, Pierce,” Bree said thoughtfully. “Actually, this might be exactly what we need to keep up social media interest! My ‘Meet the Ghosts of the Ivan’ series has been going pretty well. We’ve gained a bunch of new followers lately. But a murder mystery dinner party would be even better! Maybe we could livestream it?”

  “And we could come up with such a wonderful menu!” Francesca enthused, shaking Antonia’s arm.

  Evie looked triumphantly at Willow. But instead of happy, Willow looked suddenly uncomfortable.

  “It’s a good idea,” she said, wringing her hands. “But before we go any further, there’s something I need to say.”

  Evie frowned—was Willow blinking back tears?

  “We have to face the possibility that this might not work. Even if the inspector has a good time, he might not rank us number one. We might not get any more guests. After what happened to Anna, and to Leo and Alford . . . I know you’re all starting to Fade.”

  There was a loud cacophony of denials, but Willow waved them off.

  “You’re all trying to hide it from me. But I’m not an idiot. You’re all struggling. Even Cuddles is . . . well . . .” She gestured to the site of his latest accident. “There’s enough money left in the Rainy Day Fund to keep things running until a few days after the inspector is here. But that’s it. If the inspector doesn’t give us a number-one ranking in Zagged, we’ll have to fold.”

  Evie took a deep breath. She’d suspected that things were worse than Willow had let on, but she’d had no idea things were this dire. What had she gotten herself into?

  Bree, Pierce, and Antonia all exchanged pointed glances.

  “We’ve been talking about that,” Bree said. “The Ivan’s money situation, I mean.”

  “I don’t have much to offer,” Antonia cut in. “I’m still paying off Francesca’s culinary school loans. But I have a little bit saved.”

  “And I’ve been saving to open my photography studio,” added Bree. “But if you need the money—”

  “I’ve got a bit put away in a bank account,” Molly added. Then, after a pause, “I’m not entirely sure which bank. But I’m sure I could figure it—”

  Pierce waved them all silent. “If the Ivan needs a loan, I’d be happy to oblige,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of money.”

  “You do?” Evie exclaimed, unable to hide her shock. Even though most ghosts were paid fair wages, the government put such an enormous death tax on NCE earnings that most ghosts had trouble saving money. With the exception of Kathleen Deetz, the ghost billionaire, wealthy ghosts were almost unheard of.

  “I’ve been working at the Ivan since 1619,” Pierce informed her. “That’s four hundred years of wages. I’m not a billionaire or anything—I’ve made a few bad investments here and there—but I have enough to help.”

  “That’s very generous of you guys,” Willow said. “But it wouldn’t be fair for the Ivan to take your money. And even if it was,” she added hastily when Pierce opened his mouth to argue, “it’s not really money we need right now. Mercer is a small town. There’s not enough room, and not enough guests, for two haunted hotels. We need the Zagged Guide to rank us number one again so the guests will come back. If we can’t do that, all the money in the world won’t matter.”

  “And you really think this murder mystery idea will work?” Pierce asked.

  “It’s a good idea,” Willow said hesitantly with a glance at Evie. “But I don’t know if I can ask you all to risk your afterlives on it. None of you has to stay at the Ivan. I can go on GhouledIn right now and give you all the highest possible rankings, the most glowing and enthusiastic references. None of you would have any trouble finding other jobs. Maybe even at a Hauntery, where you’d never have to worry about Fading.”

  “But Willow, if the Rainy Day Fund is almost gone, what will you do if we all leave?” Molly asked. “And your mother! What would happen to your mother?”

  “You can’t think about that now,” Willow said quickly. “You all have to think about yourselves.”

  There was a long silence. Evie held her breath as the staff of the Hotel Ivan looked around at one another. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be the first to speak.

  Finally, Bree cleared her throat. “When I died, it took me nearly twenty years to learn to manipulate objects on the mortal plane. Far longer than most. Willow’s grandfather, Hector Ivan, kept me on anyway. An office manager who couldn’t do a lick of work for twenty years. ‘This is your home, Bree,’ he said. And it’s still my home. I want to open my own business one day—hopefully someday soon. But I’m not leaving while the Ivan is in trouble. I’m staying, Fading or no Fading.”

  The rest of the staff looked uncertain. Evie saw Willow look over at Pierce.

  Pierce let out a tremendous sigh. “Back when I was Living—a long, long time ago, mind you—I was a sailor on a, er, Spanish trading vessel—”

  “It was a pirate ship,” Bree whispered to Evie, loud enough that the entire room could hear. “Pierce was a pirate.”

  “What?” Willow asked incredulously.

  “I was a merchant sailor,” he corrected, looking a shade more annoyed than usual. “But I didn’t care for that life. So when we made landfall in Florida, I left the ship and headed north. I had no money, no prospects. No manners, really. But Gracey Ivan—your five-times-great-grandmother, Willow—had just built a hotel called the Ivan. She hired me to work in the kitchen. I wanted to repay her for her kindness. And I did, for decades. But then, one night, I left a lantern too near the woodpile . . .”

  He trailed off.

  “That’s how that fire started?” Willow asked. “I never knew that!”

  “It was me,” Pierce said reluctantly.
“I burned down the whole kitchen, half of the Ivan, and myself. Gracey knew. She forgave me. She never told anyone. She could have, and I never would have found another job. I almost certainly would have Faded within the year. Instead, she asked me to be the Ivan’s first resident ghost.”

  Pierce swallowed. “I don’t know about this plan. A whodunit? A séance?” He winced. “What I do know is that this hotel has been my entire death’s work. I remember every moment I’ve spent here. I intend to have many more moments here before I Fade. I’m staying, too.”

  Willow nodded, and Evie was standing close enough to hear her let out a very long, relieved breath.

  “I haven’t been here as long as some of you,” Chef Antonia said. “But I have finally managed to organize the pantry and the freezer exactly how I like them. Only an idiot would walk out on that much work.”

  Francesca laughed out loud at that. “I’m staying, too,” she announced, linking arms with her aunt. “I still have a lot to learn.”

  Molly stood up. “I’m in as long as I get to play the murder victim!” she declared. “I may not remember how I died the first time, but at least now I can fake die for a good cause!”

  “That makes sense,” said Willow with a smile. She looked around the room with tears in her eyes. “I love you all so very much. Thank you.”

  Evie shook her head in disbelief.

  “What?” Willow asked her.

  “Nothing,” Evie said. “This is just a very different kind of staff meeting than the ones at my other job.”

  “Welcome to the Ivan.” Willow smiled. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  CHAPTER 11

  WILLOW

  Willow stretched, adjusting her position on the overstuffed red couch while being careful not to disturb the laptop balanced on her knees. Behind her, Evie was pacing the length of the lobby with one finger tapping her chin.

  “Read me back what we have so far?” the Ivan’s new Phantasm requested.

  Willow frowned down at the laptop. “Lights up on a cozy hotel lobby,” she read. “The hotel guests have assembled for a cocktail party. Hotel employees are arranged about the room. Vampire Concierge is behind the front desk. Murder Victim enters—”