Talk of the Town (10 page)
Her name came back to me out of the blue. Amanda-Lee, I think she’d said earlier on that day, but it’d been hard to hear with all the racket of the rainstorm.
Buddy Ray’s radio crackled, and he had to head outside to answer it. Radio reception was never good in the Daily Hotel building.
I figured now was my chance to rattle off a heartfelt apology to the guests without having to insult Buddy Ray right to his face. I waited while Carter ducked off into his room and then come back out wearing an orange T-shirt that said SPCA on the front. “I’m real sorry for the inconvenience to you folks. I hope y’all don’t take this as a sign of Daily hospitality. Donetta would be mortified, just mortified, I’ll tell you—if she wasn’t at the eBay, that is. She wanted y’all to enjoy your stay at the Daily Hotel.”
Amanda-Lee crossed her arms over her chest and took a step toward her room, like she was about to grab her stuff and hit the road. If she did that, it’d break Donetta’s heart, so I laid on some more sweet talk. “Having y’all here really did make Donetta’s day—well, her week, month, and year, actually. Her family’s operated this place for generations, and a lot of her childhood memories are tied up with the comings and goings of guests, sometimes even famous ones. Back in the forties, a scene of the movie
Bonnie and Clyde
was shot right down there in the hotel lobby—of course, that’s the beauty shop and exercise area now. She’s been awful sad about having to close down the hotel these last years.”
Oh shoot, Imagene, you shouldn’t have told them that. Big mouth
. “I mean, not that the hotel’s not open for business now, because it is. Sure enough. You’re both here.” I flashed a big toothy grin, but only Carter smiled back. The girl wasn’t sold. Which was a problem, considering that she was the one renting all the rooms for the weekend. “By the way, Amanda-Lee—I hope I said that right—this is Carter, and Carter, this is Amanda-Lee.” Couldn’t hurt to perform introductions. If I was a young lady and someone introduced me to a fella that looked like Carter, I’d stay. “You two are the very first guests in the newly reopened Daily Hotel. Except for the ghost, that is.”
Shoot, Imagene. Blabbermouth. You’re gonna talk the guests right out the door
. “But he don’t need a room, since he don’t really exist.” I flashed another big smile.
Carter smiled back, then turned to Amanda-Lee. “Nice to meet you . . .” He paused on the name but extended a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name. I guess we’re neighbors.”
She didn’t look one bit thrilled about the idea. She stuck out one hand halfheartedly, keeping the other crossed over her stomach. Her feet were still pointed toward the door, ready to turn tail. “Mandalay Florentino.”
She had the strangest way of saying Amanda-Lee, and that last name was a mouthful.
“Carter Woods.” Carter glanced down at his SPCA shirt. “Sorry about the clothes. I was just on my way down to exercise.”
Amanda-Lee didn’t answer, so I piped in, “
Yoga With Yahani
is still in the VCR down there. If you want, I can show you how to turn it on.”
Carter grinned kind of sheepish-like. “Thanks, Imagene, but I think the exercise bike and the weight machine are about all I can handle for tonight. Have to do something to wind down before bed. Insomniac.”
Lands, that boy had a smile that could melt butter.
He remembered my name
, I thought, then I pictured what he was seeing—a fat old lady in a bathrobe—and I felt a little silly. Still, it was nice that he remembered my name. It made me feel like a real person. When you’re a woman past your beauty years, sometimes people look right past you. I doubted if little Amanda-Lee could have understood that.
Carter turned that charming smile on her. “Well, it’s a pleasure having you next door. Sorry I scared you, coming in. I didn’t realize there was anyone here.”
Amanda-Lee relaxed the frosty posture, uncrossing her arms. I had a feeling she’d decided to stay. “I’m sorry I called the police.” The last word came out with a chuckle. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she shook her head and giggled again, like she was picturing the two of them spread-eagle against the wall. “That was really stupid.”
“I’ve been handcuffed in worse company,” Carter said, and Amanda-Lee glanced at him in a way that brought to mind an old saying,
Engaged with words don’t mean a thing. Engaged ain’t engaged until sweethearts buy a ring
. Amanda-Lee wasn’t wearing a ring. I saw Carter check.
Hmmm . . .
Some meddlesome part of me that enjoyed sorting out other people’s lives raised its head and found a voice. “Well, you two young folks just make yourselves to home here. Enjoy the exercise area. There’s a TV down there, too. Y’all just use the building like it was yours.”
“You’re sure the ghost won’t mind?” Carter checked the dark corners of the hallway and made a spooky motion with his hands.
“Oh no, he won’t mind a bit.”
Amanda-Lee shuddered and threaded her arms again.
“I mean, there ain’t
really
a ghost,” I rushed out. “That’s just a legend, on account of this old building makes noise sometimes. My daddy, rest his soul, probably started some of those stories himself. Many was the evening my daddy sat in the café with Donetta and me and told us whoppers about our town.” As a girl, I never gave a conscious thought to how lucky I was to have a daddy who took me to dinner. All Donetta’s father ever did was work all day and fall asleep at night with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
“My daddy could weave a ghost story that’d make you feel a cold breath on the back of your neck. He used to tell us that some folks thought the swinging bookshelf downstairs was put there so settlers could escape Indian raids, or so moonshiners could hide liquor when the regulators came to town, but Daddy knew it was from the Civil War. Confederate leaders in the hotel built it so they could take secret documents and slip away if there was an attack. Daddy claimed that underneath the café was a tunnel leading to a cave on Caney Creek. He’d seen it once, back in the forties, when the café building got termites and Daddy oversaw the floor repair. Late one evening, he followed that tunnel all the way to Caney Creek, and even saw the bones of the ghost-man down there, counting a secret stash of Confederate gold in the moonlight.”
A little shiver went through me, just thinking about my daddy telling that tale, and then I wondered how I got off on that tack in the first place. I laughed, to show the guests it was just nonsense. “My mama never much appreciated him spouting that kind of stuff, but he was Irish, so he couldn’t help it, I reckon.” Amanda-Lee looked more nervous than ever, so I added, “I’m sure it was him that made up the ghost—all in fun, you know.”
Forgive me, Lord, that was a little white lie, but I did it for Donetta
. The legend of the Daily Hotel ghost had been around for at least a hundred years. “There’s no tunnel, either. My daddy always claimed the hatch was hid under at least three layers of linoleum—that’s why we couldn’t see it—but we kids searched for the cave entrance on the creek and we never found it, just like we never saw any ghost.”
Heard strange things a time or two though
. “It’s all just blarney. Small towns and Irish folks are a lot alike—full of blarney.”
Carter nodded, like he knew about small towns, but Amanda-Lee checked the shadows at the end of the hall, where the other rooms sat dark and empty, except for stacks of junk.
“I shouldn’ta told that story.” I reached out and touched her arm, and she jumped. Her skin was cold as ice and covered with a goose rash. “You two will be just as snug as bugs in a rug here. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I’m not worried.” Running her hands up and down her arms, she straightened her shoulders and smiled halfheartedly. She had the sweetest face—thick eyelashes like a little china doll’s and the kind of fully, pouty lips I always wished I had. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Sure it has,” I agreed.
Carter gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry for getting you arrested.”
She chuckled and shook her head.
Buddy Ray was clomping back up the stairs with his radio crackling, so I figured it was a good time to get out of there, while the guests were getting along so well and nobody had handcuffs on. “I’ve bent your ears enough. Y’all two have a good night. Just help yourselves to anything you need.” I started backing away, and to my relief, neither one of them followed. “We’ll see you in the morning. ’Night, now.” Capturing Buddy Ray, I tugged him down the stairs while he babbled about having to fill out a report.
“Buddy Ray, you hush up and come on. You caused enough trouble here tonight. It ever cross your mind to ask some questions before you go pulling out your gun and slapping handcuffs on folks?”
Outside the door, Buddy Ray stood with his clipboard, his face blank as the summer sky. “Nope,” he said, and I had to feel sorry for him. He looked a little crestfallen now that there was no one to take to jail.
“Well, no harm done.” There really wasn’t, except that I’d missed
Dancing With the Stars
.
“Mrs. Doll?” Buddy Ray’s thick eyebrows knotted as I fished my keys from my purse.
“Yes, Buddy Ray?”
“Did you know you come downtown in your housecoat and slippers?” It figured that, with his keen investigation skills, he’d just now be noticing.
“I was in a hurry, Buddy Ray.”
“Oh.” He jotted something down as if that was valuable information.
“Probably no need to mention it in your report.” Heaven forbid if this was to get around town. Folks would figure I was one biscuit short of a basket, for sure. “Matter of fact, we could just not tell Donetta about any of this. It’d only get her upset. You know what a nervous Nellie she is.”
“Oh.” Buddy Ray scribbled out his notation. “I reckon.” Folding up his pad, he headed toward his cruiser. “’Night, Mrs. Doll.”
“’Night.”
He grabbed the car door handle and it was locked. Kicking the cement, he peered through the window, probably looking for his keys.
“You need a ride to the sheriff’s office for the spare set?” I asked.
“Reckon,” he said and headed my way, his shoulders slumped over. Sometimes it was hard to believe Buddy Ray had six whole months of criminal justice education.
“Don’t guess we need to put this in the report, either,” I said as we climbed into my van.
Buddy Ray nodded, looking relieved. “Reckon not, Mrs. Doll.
Reckon we’d best just forget the whole thing.”
My new neighbor and I stood in the hallway, watching Imagene and the sheriff’s deputy disappear down the stairs. I had the strongest urge to run after them and tell them I wanted my money back—I couldn’t possibly stay here.
You’re such a wimp
. The voice in my head sounded like my brother and big sisters chanting
baby, baby, baby
back when they were way-cool teenagers and I was the dorky caboose kid, ten years younger, with stork legs, bad hair, and Coke-bottle glasses. Aside from that, there was Ursula, all five feet eleven inches of her, saying,
“I vant you to book rooms in the town. You vill do the job . . . understandt?”
Carter was watching me speculatively. Come to think of it, his being here did present another reason to stay. I could keep an eye on him and try to figure out what he was up to. He was a little too smooth, a little too confident and polite to be just your average paparazzo. I couldn’t picture him jumping out from behind bushes and trash barrels with a camera on rapid-repeat. Freelance celeb watchers were fast-moving and brash, rude and completely mercenary in issues of personal space and social courtesy.
Carter was none of those things. He was cordial, friendly, and charming, with a slow-talking ease that reminded me of the South Carolina bartender who’d been a contestant early in the season. Lenny worked in a cabana by the shore and was half beach bum, half southern good ol’ boy.
American Megastar
had chewed him up and spit him out, just as it eventually would poor little Amber. The paparazzi had had a field day with Lenny—always convincing him to do things that looked deliciously stupid on camera.
If Carter wasn’t one of those entrepreneurial photographers, who was he and why did he look vaguely familiar to me—as if I should know him? Could I have met him somewhere before, crossed paths at a convention or a studio party? Ursula had warned me about the recording company in Austin, but Carter didn’t seem the type, and if he was here to secretly meet with Amber, why show up two days early? Why waste time driving out to the fairgrounds and whatnot?
Photographer or reporter was a more likely scenario. That would explain his casing the joint, doing some research before Amber showed up.
Carter clapped his hands in front of himself, sending a sharp sound echoing down the hall, and I jumped. He raised a brow, smiling slightly. “Guess the rest of the evening’s going to look pretty dull after this.”
I found myself smiling back, thinking maybe I was just being paranoid about Carter. Maybe he was in town visiting long-lost relatives or doing business—what kind, I couldn’t imagine. “Yes, I guess it will.” Part of me said,
If you’d ever seen him before, Mandalay, you’d remember. Whew
. I wished Paula were with me. I could have introduced them and won her undying gratitude. Paula would have been show-me-to-the-altar crazy over Carter. Not many guys looked like that in gym shorts and a T-shirt. And his were the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, outside of color-enhanced Hollywood headshots. I caught myself checking for tinted contacts, but Carter’s eyes were natural.
