“We’re more than just alive!” Bree announced, rushing into the hallway behind Evie. “We’re trending.”
“We’re what?”
“Trending! On all platforms! I’ve been streaming snippets from the whodunit since yesterday,” Bree explained. “And about forty-five minutes ago, somebody named Angelina Garcia mentioned us on Twitter—”
Willow’s breath caught in her throat; next to her, Evie made a tiny, high-pitched noise.
“Angelina Garcia?” Willow choked out. “The author of the Deena Morales Mysteries?”
“The very same! She says, and I quote, ‘Check out this amazing haunted hotel! Exactly what I was picturing as I wrote The Clue in the Old Inn!’”
“Wow!” Willow and Evie both exclaimed.
“Wow is right! Ever since then our posts have been retweeted, regrammed, and shared more than fifty thousand times. She must have like two million followers!”
“Wait, Bree, did you post the part at the end?” Evie asked, her voice filled with dread. “The part where I—”
“Of course I didn’t post that,” Bree assured her. “I did a bit of editing with the last piece of footage so that it left everybody hanging. Then I said that if they wanted to know whodunit, they’d have to make a reservation to stay here and solve the crime themselves. And it worked! We’ve had hundreds of reservations just in the past half hour!”
“Hundreds?” Willow breathed.
“We’re going to be busy,” Bree said with a wink. “You’d better hire a new housekeeper, Willow. I don’t think you’re going to be able to do that job yourself anymore.”
She went back into her office, leaving Evie and Willow staring at each other.
“We did it! And Angelina Garcia helped!” Willow turned toward her mother. “Mom, did you—”
She broke off. Mrs. Ivan was almost invisible now, and the parts Willow could see were flickering even faster than before.
“I’m going to go tell the others!” Evie enthused, not appearing to notice Mrs. Ivan’s state. “We have a lot to do before Tuesday. We can’t do the exact same mystery again, obviously, now that it’s gone viral. But maybe if we just tweak the clues a bit . . .” She dashed out of the room, still planning out loud.
“She seems smart,” Mrs. Ivan observed.
“Frighteningly smart,” Willow muttered, then shook her head. “Mom, are you . . .?”
“Moving On?” Mrs. Ivan asked. “Yes, I think so.”
“No!”
“Willow—”
“Don’t you want to stay?” she asked desperately. “If Alford and Leo could choose to go, can’t you choose to stay? Don’t you want to be here at the Ivan? With me?”
“Of course I want to stay. But I’m not like the others, Willow. I’m a WISP. I only ever had one foot in this world, and it was never going to be for long. I was never meant to be a ghost.”
Willow could only shake her head.
“Your father has let me go. I’ve let go. The only one keeping me here now, Willow, is you. This is my Last Gasp.”
“No!” Willow said firmly. “You’re wrong. It can’t be!”
Mrs. Ivan put her hand alongside Willow’s cheek again, the closest she could get to touching her. “It was my fault, Willow. All of it. How could you and your father be expected to move on with your lives when I was still here, wandering the halls? Not sure of who I was or what I was doing? I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”
“You can’t go,” Willow implored her. “The whole point of saving the Ivan was to save you!”
“Then save me, Willow. Save me from haunting you and keeping you from living your life. Save me from making a ghost of you. Let me go. Let me go as me, before I lose myself again.”
Willow scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.
She’d said goodbye to her mother a hundred times in the past few months. Or she’d thought she had. At the hospital, at the funeral . . . but none of those times had been real. Not when her mother’s ghost had been standing beside her the whole time. She’d gone from shock to crushing grief to numbness, and somehow, she’d gotten stuck there. She wanted to feel again. She was ready to feel again. But how could this possibly be the way?
“It’s not fair,” Willow pleaded.
“No, my love, it’s not,” her mother agreed with a small sigh. “Life almost never is.”
“What about death?
“I’ll let you know.”
Mrs. Ivan smiled. And something inside of Willow—something that had been clenched tight and carefully tucked away for months now—finally let go. Her mother’s outline grew blurrier and blurrier until finally, everything except her smile was gone.
Willow’s throat closed up. Suddenly, there were a million things she wanted to say. A million things her mother needed to hear. A million things she knew they didn’t have time for.
How do you pick the last thing you’re ever going to say to your mom?
“The piano needs tuning,” Willow finally choked out. “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”
The fading smile widened.
“I know you will.”
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER 22
EVIE
A few months later . . .
Evie lingered outside the front gates of the Mercer Street Hauntery.
The hotel was officially closed now. In fact, in the last few months, almost one-third of all Hauntery properties worldwide had been shut down.
It had been a relatively simple matter to convince Officer Myers that the ironclad evidence Evie had stolen from Mr. Fox’s office was far more interesting than a boring old truancy case against Mr. Ivan. Once word got out about the rigged Zagged reviews and the fake scientific findings of Professor Torrance (who, it turned out, wasn’t really a scientist at all), the FBI ended up taking over the investigation. But not before Officer Myers was finally able to transfer to the NCE Relations unit.
Most of the Hauntery’s Corporate management, including Mr. Fox, had ended up in prison. The corporation itself, in deep financial trouble after the ensuing public relations scandal, was eventually bought by Kathleen Deetz. The ghost billionaire overhauled the entire company, closed down all of its questionably historic properties (like the one on Mercer Street), and pledged to devote herself to better working conditions for her NCE employees.
The Hauntery Corporation was now the largest ghost-owned business in the world. A lot of its NCE employees decided to stay on. But some, like Evie’s parents, had decided to go elsewhere.
Evie watched as her parents walked down the front steps of the defunct hotel toward the waiting Phamazon van.
“Evie!” her mother exclaimed. “Have you changed your mind? Will you be joining us at Phamazon?”
“No,” Evie replied, trying not to gag at the thought. “I told you guys, I already have a job.”
“Are you sure?” her father pressed her. “There’s still a market for Spooky Little Girl hauntings. Maybe you and Louise could patch things up and get the act back together?” He gestured to the front door of the hotel, from which Louise had just emerged.
“No thanks,” Evie said firmly. “I really just came to say goodbye.”
Evie’s mother and father both enveloped her in a hug.
“I can’t believe we won’t all be together anymore,” her mother lamented. “I don’t want to lose you, Evie.”
“You’re not losing me, Mom,” Evie assured her. “I’m not upper-case Moving On. I’m lower-case moving on. To a place that’s perfect for me. The Ivan is where I belong.”
“It really is quite a charming hotel,” Evie’s mother admitted. “But if you get tired of it, just say the word! You can join us at Phamazon whenever you like.”
“You know what they’re saying, right?” Mr. Ivan added. Then he puffed up his chest and announced in his Phantasm voice, “Phamazon ghosts never Fade!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evie promised as her parents climbed into the van.
Louise hesitated at the top of the steps, and Evie noticed that she was wearing plain jeans and a sweater. The regular clothes looked strange on her. Evie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her cousin wearing anything other than her Spooky Little Girl dress or her internship suit.
“What?” asked Louise, noticing her staring.
“Nothing. You just look different, that’s all.”
“So do you. I thought you hated dresses.”
Evie looked down at the blue sundress she was wearing. “I like some dresses,” she said. “When I get to pick them for myself.”
“Huh,” was all Louise said.
“So, are you moving to another Hauntery?” Evie asked.
Louise shrugged. “They offered me a job at one of their other properties. But now that Mr. Fox is in prison, my internship is over. All the work I put into it is gone. I suppose that makes you happy?”
“I thought it would,” Evie admitted. “I thought it would feel good to see you miserable. But it doesn’t.”
Louise didn’t say anything to that.
“Did it feel good to you?” Evie asked her. “When you blew my cover at that dinner party?”
“No, I thought it would, but it didn’t. I wish you’d told me about your job at the Ivan.”
“Are you serious?” Evie asked incredulously. “If I’d told you, you would’ve gone running straight to Mr. Fox and gotten me in trouble!”
“No, I wouldn’t have!”
Evie gave her a look, and Louise threw up her hands.
“All right, I probably would have. But only because you were doing better at advancing your career than I was. I was so jealous when I found out what you were up to.”
“Jealous? Of me?” Evie squeaked, then shook her head. “I don’t get you, Louise. I never have. I mean, did you actually like being a Spooky Little Girl? Wearing those stupid outfits? Saying our dumb lines?”
“I didn’t mind it,” Louise said quietly. “But I never took it as seriously as you did. For me, it was just a job. The dress was just a costume. The lines were just words I memorized. None of it ever defined me. I thought if I did it all well enough, it would lead to other things. Better jobs, better costumes. I always told you I wasn’t planning to be a Spooky Little Girl forever. Why do you always have to take everything so personally?”
“I don’t know,” Evie said. She’d never really thought about it that way before.
Then again, Mr. Fox hadn’t treated Louise the way he’d treated her. He’d always been nice to Louise, giving her compliments and advancement opportunities. Evie was willing to bet that Louise would have felt differently if Mr. Fox had told her that her worth was based on her ability to smile and giggle. It was hard not to take things like that personally.
Evie looked at her cousin. “Why didn’t we ever talk like this before?”
Louise shrugged. “I don’t know. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I ruined your Phantasm act that night. I’m glad it didn’t cost you your job.”
“Thanks,” Evie said. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to apologize for bringing down Mr. Fox—she’d never apologize for that!
“You’re a Terrifying Phantasm now, right?”
“Yep.”
“Just like you wanted. That must feel good.”
“It does,” Evie said, unable to hide her smile. “It really, really does.”
“Maybe one day I’ll get what I want, too.”
“What do you want, Louise?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Louise mused. “For now, I’m going to go back to school. Maybe one day I’ll try to get an internship at another hotel. Or maybe not. Now that I know I don’t have to inspire fear to keep from Fading, it seems like there are a million things I could do! I have my whole afterlife ahead of me, you know?”
“I do know,” Evie said. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good luck, Louise.”
“Good luck to you, too. Uh, Evie?”
“Yes?”
Louise sucked in a breath. “If it makes any difference, you’ve always been terrifying to me. I don’t know why Mr. Fox couldn’t see it.”
Evie grinned even harder. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
CHAPTER 23
WILLOW
A few months after that . . .
Willow breezed into the lobby and stashed her backpack behind the front desk.
“I’m home!”
Nobody answered her. Curious, she stuck her head in through the STAFF ONLY door, but the small room was empty.
“Dad?” she called uncertainly, swallowing an unwelcome feeling of dread.
“Here!” her father called, coming in from the back of the hotel. “I was just signing for the linens.”
Willow let out a relieved breath. Her father bent to wipe a speck of dust off of his new shoes. They were brown leather and decked out with the ugliest leather tassels Willow had ever seen.
She couldn’t stop smiling at them.
“How was school?”
“Good. I invited a few friends over after school tomorrow, if that’s OK?”
“Fine by me. Are you off to your piano lesson?”
“No, that’s Thursday. Today I have a shift at the front desk,” Willow reminded him, settling herself on the stool.
“Are you sure?” her father asked. “I can cover it if you have homework.”
“I did it all yesterday so I’d be able to enjoy this,” Willow informed him. “I only get one shift a week now, remember?”
“I remember,” her father said with a smile. “Well, if you really don’t need me, then I’ll go to my appointment with Dr. Strode . . .”
“Go ahead,” Willow told him, putting both hands on top of the front desk and sighing contentedly. “I’ve got everything under control here.”
As Willow’s father left out the back door, the front door of the Ivan swung open. Willow did a double take as she recognized the family who walked in.
“The Fosters!” she chirped. “How nice to see you again. Welcome back to the Hotel Ivan.”
“Thank you . . .” Mr. Foster said uncertainly.
“What can I do for you?”
“Er, well, it’s the darndest thing.” Mr. Foster scratched his head as Mrs. Foster and the kids went to the fireplace to greet Cuddles. “We had reservations at the Mercer Street Hauntery, but when we got there, it appeared to be . . . that is, it looked like it had been . . .”
“Shut down,” Willow finished for him. “They didn’t notify you?”
“Uh, no,” Mr. Foster said with a frown. “They didn’t tell us. I don’t suppose . . .” He suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “I mean, I realize I was quite rude the last time we stayed here, and now here we are, turning up at the last minute . . .”
“Would you like a room, Mr. Foster?” Willow asked, hiding her smile.
“Yes, please! If you have one available.”
“I believe I do,” Willow said, consulting the brand-new flat monitor that now sat proudly on the front desk. “Yes, we had a cancellation this morning, so we have one room available. Our honeymoon suite: the Alford and Leopold Room.”
“Perfect!” Mr. Foster beamed. “And I’m assuming the other activities . . . they’re still the same?”
“Yes,” Willow assured him. “Our resident Headless Horsewoman is available to guide you on rides. Our chefs are even at this moment preparing a gourmet meal for dinner—”
Willow paused as an earsplitting yowl crashed through the hotel, shaking the walls.
“I’m afraid you’ve just missed today’s Terrifying Phantasm Experience,” she added as Mrs. Foster clutched her children to her in a panic. “But don’t worry. Our Phantasm, Evie MacNeil, will be doing another show tomorrow. Did you hear that the Vermont Board of Tourism recently ranked her number three in the state?”
“Excellent,” said Mr. Foster shakily. “We’ll, um, be sure not to miss that.”
One of the kids squirmed free of Mrs. Foste
r’s grip and ran to the first-floor hallway. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing a finger at the closest portrait. The newest one, which had been hanging on the wall for less than a month.
“That’s my mother,” Willow answered, walking up behind him and swallowing a small lump in her throat. “She died last year. She stayed around for a little while, haunting the hotel, but then she eventually Moved On.”
“Oh,” the kid said. “Will you come back and haunt the hotel when you die?”
“Maybe. Who knows?”
“Will you be a scary ghost?”
Willow bent down so she was level with the boy’s face.
“Don’t tell Evie the Phantasm I said this, but between you and me, I think scary is pretty overrated.”
“Totally,” the kid agreed, then scampered off to follow his parents to their room.
Chefs Antonia and Francesca entered the lobby, wheeling an enormous cake between them on the tea trolley.
“Willow, are you coming?” Chef Antonia asked, gesturing toward the music room. “We’re all set up for Pierce’s party.”
“It’s not every day that one of the hotel owners turns four hundred and twenty years old!” Francesca added merrily.
Willow smiled. Pierce had been delighted when she’d shown him the paperwork she’d found on her mother’s desk, and he’d immediately agreed to sign it. His only stipulation had been that a small portion of the money he loaned the Ivan be set aside to rebuild Willow’s Rainy Day Fund.
Just in case.
“Pierce is going to hate this party,” Antonia pointed out. “He loathes being the center of attention.”
“He’ll like the cake, though,” Francesca pointed out. “I made it gluten free.”
“Gluten free?” Chef Antonia stared at her niece in shock, then looked mournfully down at the cake. “This is my great-grandmother’s recipe! How dare you—and Pierce isn’t allergic to gluten!”
“He has a sensitivity to gluten,” Francesca sniffed. “And it’s his birthday, not yours—”
“I’ll be right there!” Willow interrupted them. “Don’t start without me! And is Bree here yet? She said she—”
The Second-Best Haunted Hotel on Mercer Street Page 16