Two companies were interested in buying the place. One wanted to exploit the haunted reputation, and the other simply wanted to exploit the land. Sam had no preference as to who won, just so long as the check cleared.
Almost no one who worked for him knew that, of course. All negotiations had been done on the quiet, because a Crider had always owned and run the property and, it was assumed, always would.
He wanted nothing more than to shake the dust of this place off his shoes and get back to his real life. He’d been in the middle of his fifth documentary film when his father had died. Shit, it was ten months ago. The time had gone by in a blur.
He missed the old man. They’d been close. The bond had taken root when Sam was thirteen and his mother had died of breast cancer. It hadn’t been strong enough, however, to give Sam a love of the hotel, or a desire to carry on the family tradition. The sale would make it possible for him to continue making films, and no longer on a shoestring budget.
He’d finally have enough money to hire some help, like sound professionals and a full-time assistant. Not to mention the massive upgrade in equipment he’d be able to afford. He could stop thinking local and travel anywhere the stories dictated, film for as long as necessary to get what he needed. He’d have the cash to submit his films to all the important festivals. He’d actually be able to move out of the glorified Brooklyn broom closet he currently called home base.
So ghosts it was, and would be for the next week. Not only to curry favor with the convention people, but also to wow the potential buyers, both of whom were coming to check out the grounds.
That had been a neat trick. As he’d been told by his attorney, his accountant and his real estate broker, no one conducted sales by having the competing parties survey the place at the same time. But Sam had no interest in playing games. Representatives from both companies had already checked out the property, the numbers had been crunched and recrunched, now all that was left was for the CEOs to do a walk-through before actually making bids.
Sam had told the two men that he was having one showing, and that was that. They could take it or leave it. Luckily, they’d both taken it. Turns out they knew each other, had figured they’d both be interested in the place, and were looking forward to seeing each other. But now that it was happening, Sam worried that they’d both say no, and he’d be back to square one.
He surveyed the lobby slowly, trying to see the place with fresh eyes. It wasn’t possible. He’d grown up here, had slept in almost every one of the thirty-six guest rooms. He’d eaten in the restaurant—good cooks and bad—learned to shoot pool in the small pub. He’d lost his virginity in the Old Hotel, and had his heart broken sitting in front of the big stone fireplace that dominated the lobby.
He’d miss it all, but not tragically. It was just a building, just land, just a view. He’d already made sure that both the buyers were amenable to keeping the permanent staff, so no guilt there. And he’d found a great retirement place in Denver for his Aunt Grace. If there was one fly in the ointment, it was Grace. She’d lived here all her life, residing in the attached apartment that had once been his parents’ home.
But she was getting on in years, and she shouldn’t live this far away from medical care anyway. He was doing the right thing, for himself, for the employees, and for Grace. He’d sent her off to her friend’s home in Miami for a couple of weeks. She’d been happy to go, to be somewhere warm. He just hoped she’d be half as excited to move when it was time.
He heard the door behind him, and turned to find his old friend Jody Reading bringing him a hot beverage and what looked to be a dessert. Jody was an executive chef, a damn fine one, who’d agreed to come in for the week. She would wow the guests with her superb meals and drive them insane with her prize-winning pastries.
“I thought you’d like to try this before the deluge.”
He peeked in the mug to find coffee—a latte, from the looks of it—and a large piece of a layered napoleon, his favorite. “You’re ruining me. I’ll be a French-pastry junkie and end up living in some alley behind a patisserie.”
“As long as it’s not my patisserie.”
He really shouldn’t indulge now, not when the shuttle was due to arrive any minute, but the dessert looked so delicious, he took his plate and the fork and dug in. His moan wasn’t particularly manly, but it seemed to please Jody.
“My work here is done,” she said. She gave him a friendly swat on the ass, then went back to the kitchen.
Luckily, he was alone, at least for the moment, because he downed the pastry way too fast, which was a crime. But he didn’t want to be caught by a guest, and there was a strict rule about eating at the front desk.
Just as he lifted the last forkful to his mouth, the lobby door opened, bringing a gust of cold wind along with eighteen paying guests.
He dropped his fork on the plate, then shoved the plate under a newspaper. He smiled and rang the bell that would bring Patrick from the office. Patrick was the manager of the hotel, and he would handle the registration, while Sam schmoozed.
“You’re Sam Crider? The guy who owns the place?”
He nodded at the first person at the desk, Liam O’Connell, one of the conference coordinators.
Liam took the pen and began to fill out his registration card. “Bet you’ve seen a thing or two.”
“Oh, yeah. Things that would curl your hair.”
Liam laughed, considering he was mostly bald. “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever encountered?”
“Oh, I’m not going to give you guys any spoilers. You’ll find what you’re looking for, but the experience should be untainted.” Sam frowned. “You don’t have heart trouble, do you?”
Liam shook his head.
“That’s good,” he said, wondering if he’d gone too far. Seeing the big man’s reaction, and the wide eyes of the people behind him, evidently not. “Although we keep smelling salts at the ready. Things can get a little … tense around here.”
“Excellent.” Liam finished with his card, and then Sam moved on to Gina Fiorello, a friendly-looking young woman who had reserved a single.
“You’ve probably seen a lot of ghosts,” she said.
“Hey, I lived here for seventeen years. What do you think?”
“Wow.” Gina filled in her card.
Sam looked down the line, not surprised at the luggage-to-guest ratio. Ghost hunters were big on equipment. The number of gadgets indicated the level of commitment to the cause, and these folks were committed.
The hotel only had four luggage carts and two sturdy part-time students to do the toting. Maybe it would be better for him to put off the talking and help these people get to their rooms.
He slowed down when he caught sight of a tall, striking blonde. She was a beauty and he wondered if she understood what havoc she would cause in a hotel full of conventioneers. Maybe she was with someone; that might help.
She was. Only it wasn’t a guy. It was a woman, and Sam stood stock-still the second he saw her. She wasn’t very tall, maybe five-four, slender beneath her wool coat and her eyes were as dark as her long hair. Sam had seen her before.
He couldn’t remember where, but he remembered his reaction. He’d held his breath. His heart had pounded as if seeing a long-lost lover. He couldn’t remember why they hadn’t met, and he supposed it didn’t matter now.
He didn’t believe in reincarnation. Certainly didn’t believe in destiny. But he’d