The Second-Best Haunted Hotel on Mercer Street

by Cory Putman Oakes

  “Deena Morales wouldn’t give up,” Evie pointed out again. “Besides, I should be thanking you. Being a Phantasm is my dream—and you made it happen for me!”

  “Well, I owed you one,” said Willow.

  “Friends don’t keep score,” Evie said seriously.

  “Fair enough,” Willow agreed with a smile. “No score.”

  Then, on a sudden hunch, Willow got up and walked to the other side of the piano, near where her mother had disappeared.

  “Willow?” Evie said quietly. “There’s something I need to—”

  “Hey, look!” Willow pointed down toward her feet. “Molly’s head! I found it!”

  Evie hurried around the piano. There was a severed head covered in brown curls at Willow’s feet. Evie picked it up.

  “Great,” Evie said, and it seemed to Willow that her voice had suddenly gone choky.

  “Sorry, what were you going to say?”

  “Nothing,” Evie said quietly, cradling Molly’s head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Just . . . I think we’re going to do an amazing job for the inspector tomorrow. I can feel it.”

  “Me too,” Willow said.

  “Me three!” Molly’s head chimed in. “It’s about time you found me. I’ve been down there for days! Cuddles must have had an accident somewhere nearby, because it smells dreadful!”

  CHAPTER 16

  EVIE

  Mr. Renard, the hotel inspector, arrived at the Hotel Ivan at three p.m. sharp the next day.

  Evie fingered her hair. She’d made it long, dark, and straight today, not wanting to take the slightest chance that Mr. Renard would recognize her as one of the Spooky Little Girls he’d seen perform at the Hauntery just yesterday.

  Louise had been all smiles when the inspector checked out of the Hauntery that morning, so Evie could only assume that the rest of his stay had gone as well as the beginning.

  But Evie tried to put that, along with the very existence of the Hauntery, out of her mind. It was the Ivan’s turn to impress Mr. Renard. And so far, everything was going according to plan.

  After he’d checked in and been shown his room, Mr. Renard had been invited back down to enjoy a cocktail reception in the lobby with the other guests—and from the smile on his face, it seemed to Evie that he was really enjoying it. And so were the other guests.

  Not that they were real guests, of course. The Ivan hadn’t had any of those in weeks. It had been Bree’s idea to comb through the Ivan’s Zagged user ratings, find the raviest of rave reviews, and invite those guests back for a free weekend that would coincide with Mr. Renard’s visit. Between Bree’s efforts and the local news coverage they’d received, two parties had accepted their invitation: the Prescott family (composed of Mr. Prescott, Mrs. Prescott, and their thirteen-year-old daughter, Kylie) and Ms. Loustrous, an elderly woman who had brought her identical twin sister, also called Ms. Loustrous, with her.

  Evie watched through a crack in the door of the STAFF ONLY room as Mr. Renard examined the painting above the fireplace. His mop of blond curls looked even fuller than it had the day before, as though he’d puffed it up. He had a Ms. Loustrous on either side of him, and he was smiling politely at each of them in turn. On the other side of the room, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott were helping themselves to apple cider and scones from the buffet. Kylie Prescott was stretched out in an armchair, looking at her phone.

  Cuddles was curled up at Kylie’s feet. Willow and Pierce were behind the front desk, and Bree was loitering inconspicuously on the other side of the lobby, dressed as a corpse bride, phone at the ready to livestream the scene to the Hotel Ivan’s YouTube channel.

  Molly and Mr. Ivan, also both in costume, were in position outside the front door, awaiting their cues (hopefully).

  “OK, everyone,” Evie whispered, mostly to herself, since everyone except for Pierce and Willow was too far away to hear her. “Exactly like we practiced.”

  She nodded to Bree, who nonchalantly reached her hand through the front wall of the hotel to signal Molly.

  A moment later, Molly, head attached, clad in her neatly pressed murder victim business suit, strode into the hotel lobby.

  “Your line, Willow!” Evie reminded her. “Remember to enunciate.”

  “Why, hello, Baroness Morales,” Willow said loudly and only a bit stiffly. “Welcome back to the Hotel Ivan.”

  “Thank you!” said Molly equally loudly as she leaned against the front desk, facing the rest of the lobby. The Ms. Loustrouses nudged Mr. Renard. Mr. and Mrs. Prescott both gestured to Kylie to put her phone away. Everyone seemed to sense that something was about to happen. Even Evie, who had presided over the rehearsal of this scene at least fifty times, felt a tingle of excitement.

  Molly took off her coat and swung it over one shoulder. “I’m thrilled to be here. Is my room ready?”

  There was a pause.

  “Pierce!” Evie whispered through clenched teeth. “So help me, if you don’t—”

  “But of course your room is ready,” Pierce drawled in a reluctant but pitch-perfect Transylvanian accent. “We’ve been dying to have you back, Baroness.”

  Molly chuckled grandly, and Evie thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t had to come up with a real threat.

  “Thank you, my dear Count Pierce,” Molly said. “I’m looking forward to—what in the world is that?”

  Willow signaled Bree, who turned off the lights. All of the drapes had been drawn before the party, so the room plunged into darkness, and Evie let out a loud scream. Not exactly a Phantasm cry—that would come later. This was just enough to give the room a taste of something scary.

  A crash of thunder ripped through the three ancient speakers Pierce had resurrected from the attic and mounted in different parts of the lobby. Evie yelled again.

  The lights flickered back on.

  Molly was now lying facedown on the floor, her severed head several feet from her body.

  The Hotel Ivan’s murder mystery whodunit had begun.

  “She’s been murdered!” Bree shrieked, still filming the scene. “Baroness Morales has been beheaded!”

  The Ms. Loustrouses tittered with glee and dragged Mr. Renard closer to the scene. The Prescotts closed in as well, until Molly’s body was ringed with spectators.

  “Someone call the police!” Willow screamed, and Evie looked expectantly toward the front door, hoping that Mr. Ivan remembered his cue.

  But the man who walked through the front door of the hotel wasn’t Mr. Ivan in his makeshift police uniform. It was a taller man clad in a real policeman’s uniform, carrying an open notebook.

  “Uh-oh,” Evie muttered as Officer Myers walked to the middle of the lobby.

  “The police?” he asked. “Who called for the police?”

  Willow took a step around the desk, presumably to go deal with Officer Myers.

  “No!” Evie whispered loudly, causing Willow to stop in her tracks. “You’ve got to hide. I’ll deal with him.”

  “What?” Willow asked, looking confused.

  “That’s the truancy officer!” Evie hissed. “He’s got a photo of you. Hide!”

  Willow immediately ducked down behind the front desk. Evie wondered briefly how the officer had missed seeing Mr. Ivan, who was supposed to have been waiting just outside the hotel for his cue. But she didn’t have time to dwell on that just now.

  “Oh! A fake police officer!” one of the Ms. Loustrouses cried. “How fun!”

  “I am a real police officer, madam,” Officer Myers corrected her. “Officer Harry Myers, Department of Truancy. I’m looking for—”

  “Officer Myers!” Evie enthused, running through the front desk to intercept him before he could speak to any more guests. “Welcome back! Your timing is perfect!”

  “Oh?” The officer raised an eyebrow. “Has Ms. Ivan or her father returned?”

  “Er, no. But they’ll be back tomorrow morning,” Evie lied, motioning Officer Myers toward the far corner of the lobby, out of earshot of t
he other guests. “I promise they’ll give you a call then. Now, if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “I do mind, actually.” Officer Myers stood his ground and pulled out a yellow piece of paper. “This here is a warrant to search the Hotel Ivan for any evidence of Mr. Ivan and/or Ms. Willow Ivan.”

  “A warrant?” Evie gulped.

  “Yes,” Officer Myers sniffed. “I won’t be leaving here without answers.”

  “Of-of course not,” Evie stammered, thinking fast. “It’s—well, I was sure they’d gotten in touch with you about the private, VIP-only event? I know they meant to.”

  “I—VIP? Um, no, they didn’t.” Office Myers peered over Evie’s shoulder at Molly’s prone body. “That woman there. Is she—”

  “She’s fine,” Evie said quickly. “That’s Molly. You met her yesterday, remember?”

  “But she’s—”

  “She’s acting. You see, we’re having a murder mystery here at the hotel tonight. And we’re in need of a police officer.”

  Unfortunately, Mr. Ivan chose that very moment to appear in the Hotel Ivan’s doorway. Luckily, Officer Myers had his back to the door and didn’t see him, nor did he appear to notice Evie’s pleading glance toward Bree.

  “A police officer?” Officer Myers asked, stroking his moustache.

  “Ours cancelled at the last minute,” Evie told him as Bree frantically rushed Mr. Ivan back outside. “If you could possibly fill in, I’m sure Mr. Ivan and his daughter would be so grateful—”

  “Ms. . . .”

  “Evie.”

  “Ms. Evie.” Officer Myers cleared his throat importantly. “As I’ve already told you, I have a warrant here to search the premises of the Hotel Ivan, and I can’t leave until—”

  “Oh, of course not! I’m not suggesting that you leave, Officer Myers!” Evie forced herself to laugh. “I’m suggesting that you stay. And search! And while you’re searching, you can also lead the others in looking for clues to our whodunit!”

  “Ms. Evie, this is an official police investigation, and I . . . I . . . Did you say ‘whodunit’?”

  “Yes! A haunted whodunit.”

  Officer Myers’s eyes grew wide. “I’ve always wanted to do one of those,” he whispered.

  “I remember,” Evie said.

  “I wonder if the Hauntery offers anything like—”

  “Oh, this one is much better,” Evie assured him. “Please say you’ll help us out? Mr. Ivan and his daughter will be back in the morning to clear everything up. And they’d be so happy to have you as their guest tonight. Dinner is included, of course.”

  “Dinner, you say?”

  “Yes. We do so need an expert on non-corporeal entities,” Evie added, doing her best to lay it on thick. “You’d be perfect for the job. Please say you’ll stay?”

  Officer Myers looked around, then glanced uncertainly at the warrant in his hand.

  “I’ll be able to talk to Mr. Ivan and his daughter in the morning?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Well . . .” He looked down at the warrant one last time, then folded it in half and tucked it back into his pocket. “Well, why not? Why not indeed?”

  He winked at Evie and strode toward the crime scene. “Detective Myers, at your service, folks! Give me some room, please. Beheading is a nasty business, and if we’re going to get to the bottom of this, we’re going to need to thoroughly examine the evidence.”

  Evie thought she might pass out with relief as she backed up to give the guests some room.

  “Are you crazy?” Willow whispered at her from behind the front desk. “I’m supposed to play the detective!”

  “Well, you can’t do that now,” Evie pointed out. “If he sees you, it’s all over. He’s going to have to be the detective. And the police officer.”

  “Why did you ask him to stay?”

  “I was improvising!” Evie shot back. “He said he wasn’t going to leave! Would you rather I let him arrest you and your father in front of the inspector?”

  “I guess not,” Willow said reluctantly. “But what are we going to do about the rest of the evening?”

  Evie took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Things just got complicated.”

  CHAPTER 17

  WILLOW

  “Pierce! Psssssst, Pierce. PIERCE!”

  Pierce, jumping slightly at the summons, motioned Willow back inside the office and poked his head through the STAFF ONLY door.

  “What’s happening?” Willow demanded. “I need an update!”

  As soon as Officer Myers, the inspector, and the rest of the guests had left the lobby to search the hotel for clues, Evie had waved Willow out from behind the desk and into the office. Willow had assumed it was a temporary move to keep her out of sight until they could come up with a new plan.

  But as the minutes passed and nobody arrived to tell her the coast was clear, Willow had started to feel like the walls of the tiny, windowless room were closing in on her. After what felt like days had passed, and after deciding that there was no way she was spending her hotel’s darkest hour trapped in an office, she had cracked open the door.

  That was when she’d spotted Pierce.

  “They’re all upstairs,” Pierce answered her. “They’re searching the guest rooms for the murder weapon.”

  “OK, then, maybe I can sneak out of here and—”

  “Better not,” Pierce argued. “If Officer Myers sees you—”

  “He won’t!”

  But Pierce remained where he was, blocking the doorway.

  “Don’t you think the police hauling away our hotel’s owner and his daughter might negatively affect the inspector’s report?”

  Willow sighed. “Where’s Dad?”

  “With the others. We’re passing him off as another hotel guest. He’s wearing a beard so Officer Myers won’t recognize him. He’s doing fine.”

  “Well, if he can be out and about, I don’t see why I—”

  “We can’t exactly put a beard on you, can we?”

  “Pierce!” Willow whined desperately. “I can’t sit here and do nothing!”

  “You can,” he said firmly, and Willow was annoyed to hear that he was using his best concierge-dealing-with-a-difficult-guest voice. “If you want to help us now, that’s exactly what you’ll do, Willow. We’ve got this. OK?”

  “Fine,” Willow grumbled as Pierce shut the door.

  Another fifteen minutes later, Willow’s head was throbbing. The items on her mental to-do list, unaccustomed to being ignored for so long, seemed determined to get her attention one way or another. Even if that meant digging through her skull and breaking out of her head, which is what it felt like they were trying to do at the moment.

  Had anybody gotten around to planting the rest of the clues? Would Bree think to set up a guest room for Officer Myers? Hopefully Evie had remembered to tell Antonia that there’d been a change to the guest list for dinner. And she needed to remind Pierce that three of the dinner plates from the blue china dining set were chipped, so he would need to use the red set even though it wasn’t quite as nice, and—

  “Ahhh,” Willow groaned, cradling her throbbing head in her hands.

  Do something, her head implored her. Anything. You. Can’t. Just. Sit. Here.

  Since there was nothing else to do, Willow got to her feet and set about straightening up the office. Luckily, most of it was a mess, so she was able to kill at least half an hour by organizing errant file folders, stacking up books, and dusting off the ancient computer monitor.

  Her mother had been itching to get a new computer. It’s time, she’d said, but Willow’s father had disagreed. He’d called the computer his trusty old girl and moaned about having to learn a new system. But Mrs. Ivan had been adamant. It’s time, she’d repeated, no matter what Mr. Ivan said in response. Their last argument about it had been at breakfast on that Friday. The last morning they’d all spent together before . . .

  Stay busy. You have to stay busy.

 
Willow backed away from the computer and sat down at the freshly decluttered desk on the other side of the tiny room. Most of the things on this desk were hers. This was where she’d done her homework, back when she’d had homework to do. There was a larger desk upstairs in her room on the fourth floor, but she’d preferred to work down here, while her father tapped away on his trusty old girl and her mother manned the front desk with Pierce. Antonia had brought snacks. Bree had helped her with the tricky math worksheets. And her mother had popped her head in when things slowed down in front to ask if she wanted a piano break—

  Busy. Busy. Keep your mind busy.

  There was a stack of schoolbooks on the desk. They were all from last year, and Willow wondered vaguely what the sixth-grade schoolbooks looked like. In fifth grade, she’d been required to read for thirty minutes every night, so there was also a stack of Deena Morales novels in here. She’d been rereading Mystery #13, The Mystery of the Mountain Hall, that Friday morning.

  She’d left the book behind when she went to school, but instead of coming straight back to the Ivan afterward, she’d called her mom to ask if she could go to a friend’s house. She couldn’t even remember whose. Her mom had said sure, and that had been the last time she’d heard her mother’s voice.

  She hadn’t been there when her mother collapsed in the lobby. She’d missed the 911 call, the ambulance, the paramedics, and the frantic ride to the hospital. She hadn’t been there to say goodbye to her mother, and she hadn’t been able to help her father. She’d missed everything.

  All because she’d been off with some friend. And she couldn’t even remember which friend it had been.

  Stay. Busy.

  She drifted to her mother’s desk. Immaculate as always, it was the only part of the room that didn’t need a clean-up. The surface of the desk contained a potted succulent that probably needed watering, a Hotel Ivan mug full of pens, several pieces of sheet music, and a neat stack of files.

  Willow opened the top file. She braced herself for the sight of her mother’s familiar, swirly handwriting. But instead, she found an official-looking typed document.