Haunting at the Hotel Page 8

  * * *

  “LET’S TALK TO Cricket,” I say. “Since she’s right here.”

  As we approach her desk, I can see her playing some candy game on her phone. I’m guessing, from the way she jumps and hides her phone as we approach, that she probably shouldn’t be doing that at work.

  Then again, it’s not like her job is super busy, with only one guest and four detectives roaming the hotel.

  “Can I help you?” she says in a friendly voice.

  “We wanted to ask you more questions,” I say.

  “Ask away,” she says with a wide smile. Her front two teeth have a gap in between them. “It’s, like, literally my job to answer questions!”

  * * *

  TO ASK CRICKET WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WORK FOR THE WINTERS FAMILY, CLICK HERE.

  TO ASK CRICKET WHETHER SHE’S SEEN A GHOST, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  I WANT TO examine the clue Eliza sees on Cricket’s desk. Having a solid clue in our hands would be worth two ghosts in the bush. Or something like that.

  “Okay, Eliza, what did you find?”

  She points to a piece of paper—one of the many scattered across Cricket’s messy desk. “That piece of paper on Cricket’s desk. What does it look like to you?”

  I pick it up and examine it. It looks like nothing. Random scribbles. Absolute gibberish.

  “I think it’s just scrap paper, Eliza.”

  She hums thoughtfully. And she goes on the other side of the concierge desk. She starts pulling out drawers—the top two are normal drawers with typical office supplies: pens, paper clips, tape, scissors, Sugarcrest Park Lodge stationery. The second one is full of guest keys. The third one opens, but it has a solid top that requires a three-digit code in order to get to the contents of the drawer.

  “That scrap paper,” Eliza finally says, “isn’t so scrap. It’s how we’re going to get into Cricket’s bottom drawer.”

  “How?” I say.

  She grins, her eyes lighting up like they always do when she encounters a good puzzle. “Open your mind, Carlos. Look at the problem . . . from a different angle,” she says, and then she laughs to herself.

  * * *

  IF YOU THINK THE ANSWER IS 349, CLICK HERE.

  IF YOU THINK THE ANSWER IS 327, CLICK HERE.

  OR TO ASK ELIZA FOR A HINT, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  “TELL US ABOUT this driver’s license,” I say, laying it on the countertop in front of Fernando. “Is it yours?”

  Fernando—or Stefano, I guess—looks down at his feet. Usually when people look down at their feet during a conversation, it tells me they’re trying to avoid the topic, or even thinking up a lie. But this time, the gesture just seems . . . full of sadness.

  “It’s mine,” Fernando says. “I’m undercover.”

  Undercover?

  “Are you a SPY?” Frank says in awe. “I wanna be a spy when I grow up. A SUPER SECRET AGENT SPY.”

  “Are you a detective? A federal agent?” Mom asks.

  “No . . . I . . . I’m my own spy.” We all look at him, confused expressions on our faces, until he continues. “A long time ago I had an accident that ruined my life. I slipped on ice, hit my head, and got amnesia.”

  “Amnesia?” I say blankly.

  “It’s a loss of memory, due to some sort of traumatic brain injury,” Eliza explains.

  “When did this happen?” I ask.

  “Years ago.”

  “Where?” Mom says shrewdly, like she already knows the answer.

  Fernando looks up at her defiantly. “At the Sugarcrest Park Lodge.”

  My brain is spinning. Why would he come back to the Sugarcrest Park Lodge, the site of the accident that ruined his life? There would be no reason to come back here, except for . . .

  “Revenge,” I say out loud. “So you are the ghost!”

  “No! For the millionth time, I’m not! I came back here, undercover, to gather evidence for my negligence claim. I need to document the ways in which the Sugarcrest staff practices unsafe standards, so I can sue the hotel for intentionally putting my health and safety at risk. Years ago, on the night in question, there was a raging storm, and the Parks sent me out for firewood on unsalted pathways frozen over with ice—they knew it was dangerous. I didn’t even have insurance, working for them. I went bankrupt paying for my own medical care. My memories came back little by little, but I could never get back the time or income I lost. So I’m ruining them the best way I know how: legally, through the court system,” he finishes grandly.

  “And the letter from Luther—it was about Luther being your court witness, right?” I say, finally understanding. “He’s going to help you try to win your claim against the Winters family.”

  “Not the Winters family, the Park family. It’s Reese’s maiden name. Her parents owned the hotel at the time of my accident. But I still think I deserve compensation from the hotel for all my suffering. I hope a judge will agree.”

  “Okay,” I say, “but if you’re not the ghost, then who is?”

  Fernando shrugs. “I don’t care at all about the ghost. I’ve barely been paying any attention to it. I suppose Luther Covington has mentioned to me once or twice how much he wants to buy this property for cheap.”

  “He’s mentioned that to us too,” I say.

  “He might have a scheme. I’m not part of it, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He seems like the kind of person who always gets what he wants, one way or another.”

  I nod. Luther is very much like that.

  “Anyone else?” Mom says.

  “Reese and her daughter have fought quite a lot lately—”

  “We knew that already,” I say.

  “January doesn’t want to be homeschooled anymore, but Reese won’t let her go to public school.”

  “It’s a moot point,” Eliza says. “January’s been helping us with our case. She helped us distract you yesterday.”

  Fernando nods. “Well, the only other person I can think of is Sunny Park, who has a good reason to be bitter.”

  A weight drops in my stomach.

  “Sunny Park?” I turn to Eliza.

  “Park?” she croaks. “As in the Sugarcrest Park Lodge? As in the former owners of the hotel?”

  Fernando scrunches his brow. “Yes, Reese and Sunny, the Park sisters. Surely you must have . . .” He looks at all four of our dumbstruck faces, and knows instantly that we surely did not know.

  My thoughts are on a racetrack. For some reason, Reese left out a very convenient piece of information: that her housekeeper, Sunny, is also her sister. No wonder Sunny always seems so miserable! Her sister gets to manage the hotel, while she’s stripping bedsheets.

  But why didn’t anyone tell us about Reese and Sunny’s relationship? I could understand why Sunny wouldn’t want to say anything, but why didn’t Reese tell us? That seems like a huge oversight! Especially when her sister might have a ton of motive, in the form of resentment and anger!

  “We have to go,” I say, dragging Mom, Eliza, and Frank out of the kitchen. When we’re alone in the hall, I add, “We have to find Sunny.” More and more, I think I’ll see her behind the mask of the ghost.

  “If Sunny’s the ghost,” Eliza says thoughtfully, “then she’s always been a step ahead of us. We have to get ahead of her. I know we wanted to wait until daylight to follow the map your mom found in the firepit, but we have to pursue it now. Maybe Sunny was burning it for a reason.”

  We look to Mom, who smiles. “I’m letting my junior detectives take the lead on this one.”

  * * *

  TO FIND SUNNY, CLICK HERE.

  TO FIGURE OUT THE MAP CLUE, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  I RIP THE insulating foam out of the walls and throw it at Sunny.

  She laughs.

  And laughs.

  And laughs.

  “What were you planning to do with that—keep me warm?”

  She holds it in her hands and closes in on me. I scream, but
it’s muffled by the soft, springy insulation.

  “Huh,” Sunny says as she wraps me like a burrito. “This actually comes in handy.”

  They fetch Mom, Eliza, and Frank—and wrap them in the insulation too. Our cries and shouts are muted as they load us one by one into a pickup truck.

  We drive for hours, or possibly days. At last the truck stops, and when I look up and out the top of my foam roll, I can see we’re at a dock near the ocean.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asks.

  “This foam is about to become sea-foam,” Sunny says, rolling us over the edge.

  We float away, to a far-off island, and there’s not one ghost of a chance we’ll get back to save the Sugarcrest Park Lodge in time.

  CASE CLOSED.

  “WHY ARE YOU doing this?”

  “Because you don’t scare easily. I thought that putting Detective Serrano in the Dead Room for a spell would freak her out enough to leave this place for good.”

  Mom and I look at each other. Neither one of us will admit it to Sunny, but it almost did make her flee.

  “No, I mean . . . why are you terrorizing the hotel?” I ask.

  Sunny doesn’t answer. “You know, we ran those guests out of the hotel with a single scream, but we pull out all the stops for you, and it still doesn’t work.”

  “We?” I say.

  “Wee wee.” Frank snickers.

  We. Does that mean what I think it means? All this time we’ve been looking for the culprit. But we don’t have just one culprit . . . we have two.

  “Who’s your partner in crime?” Mom says.

  “Like I would tell you!” Sunny snorts.

  “A spy on the inside,” Eliza says. “Only three people are on the inside of the Winters family suite.”

  Harris. Reese. Or January.

  I think back to the conversation we had with Harris. He seemed so innocent. And even more than that: he was the one who hired us, against Reese’s wishes.

  Could Reese be working with Sunny to haunt her own hotel? That’s a wild theory . . . it couldn’t possibly be true! Or did Sunny convince January to team up with her against her own mom? Or was Harris lying to us all along? And why would one of them team up with Sunny—for what purpose? My brain is on a merry-goround, and I can’t get it to stop.

  “I need this to go my way. Tonight’s haunting is going to be . . . killer.” Then, after a pause, Sunny says, “I never expected you to catch on to my little secret. The ghost or my partner. Too bad you won’t be able to know about the latter.”

  “Pity,” Mom says, as she gestures to Eliza to start examining our only exit.

  “Yes, yes, a deep shame. You’re just too good at your jobs. Let that be some comfort to you as you dehydrate to death beneath the Sugarcrest Park Lodge.” Sunny chuckles. “Maybe the Sugarcrest will really be haunted now. Or maybe not.”

  “YOU BIG MEANIE!” Frank shouts into the speaker. But he gets no response. I have a bad feeling we’re already cut off.

  * * *

  CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  WE HAVE TO move closer to the ghost. It’s the only way we’re going to get to the truth. And as dangerous as our rooftop situation is, I didn’t come here not to solve the mystery!

  Frank and I tiptoe across the roof like we’re acrobats on a wire.

  I can’t see the ghost, though. Not through its mask. If I want any information, I’m going to have to ask the ghost a question.

  “Who are you?”

  “Your worst nightmare,” the ghost replies, from underneath the mask.

  Something about ghosts talking makes them much less scary. And besides, I recognize the voice. It’s just who I thought it would be.

  “Sunny,” I say.

  She doesn’t take the mask off.

  “You caught us,” I say with a shrug. “So . . . six weeks ago you must have found out somehow that you’re the true owner of the Sugarcrest Park Lodge.”

  She pauses and cocks her head to the side. It seems like that’s information that maybe she didn’t know.

  “If you stop all this ghost-haunting business, if you stop trying to murder Frank and me, then maybe you can walk away with the hotel and everything you want.”

  She cradles one wrist. “How do you know?” she replies, her voice muffled.

  “Take off the mask, and we’ll talk about it.”

  She reaches up and pulls off the mask. It drops next to her, in the snow on the roof. “Tell me more,” she demands.

  “Frank and I found a will with your name in it. In Reese’s office. It looks like she was trying to hide it.”

  Sunny snorts. “You tricked me into removing my mask! That’s an old will.” She laughs, but she sounds miserable. “Nothing has changed for me after all,” she says sadly. “I was supposed to be the owner of the lodge—all my life, our parents were preparing me for the role. But then, a month before they both died, they secretly changed the will to make Reese the owner.”

  “And you think Reese had something to do with that?”

  “Of course I do,” Sunny says. “She’s always wanted the lodge, ever since we were girls. But I was the one who was groomed for the position. It was a shock to me when they read the will, but Reese . . . my sister didn’t react at all. It was like she knew it was coming.”

  “Okay, but what I don’t understand,” I say, “is that Reese’s—I mean, your parents—died a few years ago. Were you just biding your time, waiting to drive her out at the first opportunity? What changed six weeks ago?”

  Sunny smiles. “I got a teammate.”

  “Boo!” says a voice in my ear, and I jump a mile.

  Behind me is the creepy “come play” pigtailed ghost. Or, as I call her when she’s not wearing the wig, January Winters.

  “See?” Frank says. “I told you she wasn’t Sunny! I TOLD YOU SO.”

  Like a bolt of lightning, everything clicks together for me. January was lonely on the mountain . . . she wanted to go to a real school . . . she told her mom she was interested in video editing and music, but her mom wouldn’t listen. She probably has all the equipment she needs to make ghost sounds—and the ability to play those recordings with speakers placed inside the walls. And she definitely made that sound bite of my mom screaming. She could torture Reese and Harris from inside their suite.

  “You really are an unpredictable team,” Sunny says. “My niece told me to watch out for you two, but I am surprised you got there first. . . .”

  I have to find an escape—fast! January is blocking the window, so that’s out. We could go down the chimney. There’s no smoke, so we should be all right. Or . . . we could jump off the roof into a snowbank. There does seem to be a spot where the snow blew higher . . . the fall might not kill us.

  “The detective and the smarty-pants haven’t caught up to you yet,” Sunny continues. “I was very glad to see you all split up. Taking on two of you isn’t nearly as challenging as taking on all four of you.”

  “Taking on?” I say, stalling for time.

  “My aunt misspoke,” January says in my ear. “She said taking on. She meant taking out.” Then she grabs Frank by the hair.

  I have to help Frank. . . . I must pry him away from January. But after that, where do I go? What do I do? I need an endgame plan—and fast!

  * * *

  TO CRAWL DOWN THE CHIMNEY, CLICK HERE.

  TO JUMP OFF THE ROOF, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  “THANK YOU, FERNANDO. I think that’s everything.”

  “Very well,” he says, clearly relieved. “Come a-back soon!”

  We exit the kitchen, and Eliza takes me aside, under the stairwell. “Why did you pull us out of there?”

  “Because,” I say, “there’s something more important than questioning him. We have to lure him away. So we can get a peek at whatever he hid in the wall.”

  Eliza thinks. “What would drive him away?”

  “An emergency,” Frank says.

  “But what kin
d of emergency?”

  “A foodmergency!”

  I snort. “What in the world is a foodmergency?”

  “Like when you need a pizza, and you need it NOW. That is a foodmergency!”

  “Okay, well,” I say, after I’ve gotten my snickers under control, “if the three of us called him away from the kitchen, I don’t think he’d come.”

  “What about your mom?” Eliza asks.

  Somehow I don’t think he’d obey my mom’s orders either. I shake my head.

  “I’ll help!” says someone from above us. January Winters is leaning over the banister, eavesdropping on our conversation. “I can call him away from the kitchen,” January says. “He’ll listen to me.”

  I look up at her—from the neon headphones in her hair to her bomber jacket, from her ripped jeans to her doodled-on sneakers. “Why would you help us?”

  She shrugs and slides down the banister. She joins our huddle.

  January didn’t seem like she cared about the hauntings—or us—yesterday, but now her eyes glint with mischief. “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do around here. And now I want to know what Mr. di Cannoli’s got hidden in the wall.”

  I look at Eliza. Should we trust January?

  * * *

  TO TRUST JANUARY, CLICK HERE.

  TO REFUSE JANUARY’S HELP, CLICK HERE.

  * * *

  OKAY, I CAN do this. I’m not scared of a little maniacal laughter, right?

  “Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.” It comes again—a throaty, sinister cackle.

  I grab Eliza’s hand. “This way!”

  We run down the hallway of guest rooms, to the top of the stairs. But the noise isn’t coming from downstairs—it’s coming from the staff side. We turn the corner to the staff housing.