Also by Mary Billiter Resort Romances (Standalone Series) Do Not Disturb Book 1 Escape Clause Book 2 Rule Breakers Book 3 Spirited Away Book 4
Spirited Away © 2017 by Mary Billiter All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author. Spirited Away is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing. www.hottreepublishing.com Editing: Hot Tree Editing Cover Designer: Claire Smith Artwork: JCH Studios ISBN-10: 1-925655-22-9 ISBN-13: 978-1-925655-22-3
Chapter Three REESE “So this is the infamous 632?” I stood in front of a brownpainted door that had about as much personality as my last date. And caused the same reaction—I yawned. “Sorry my tour’s boring you,” Wild Bill said, showing off his dimples. I fanned away his remark. “I’m still working out the time difference between California and Wyoming.” “Aren’t we an hour ahead?” He unhooked the radio attached to the belt loop in his jeans and pressed the side button. “Base 365 to Toby 367.” “Uh, yeah, Wyoming’s an hour ahead, but somehow I can’t seem to get into a groove with my sleep, and it doesn’t help that I’ve had to stay in the hotel until my rental house is ready. Don’t you have keys?” I asked, realizing that when Wild Bill invited me to tour the rest of the hotel and meet the staff, I’d arrived empty-handed. “Oh, I’ve got keys.” He jangled the silver carabiner hooked to his jeans, and a plethora of keys clinked. “But the last member of the hotel’s inner circle that I want you to meet is Toby.” “Toby 367 to Base 365.” The radio barked. “What’s up?” “Your presence is required at suite 632.” Wild Bill held the radio sideways and spoke into it. Somehow I’d
imagined that to look sexier than it did. Instead, the way he held the radio just looked odd. Wild Bill was so attractive he looked better suited for the glossy cover of Cowboys and Indians magazine that we sold in the gift store. When I’d spotted the magazine, I was horrified, only to discover the politically incorrectly titled magazine was extremely popular among western enthusiasts. Millie, the gift store cashier, provided the 411 on the magazine. As a fellow California transplant to Wyoming, she reminded me that the western lifestyle wasn’t anything like the west coast. No argument there. I flipped through an issue and caught a glimpse of former Californian cowboy John Wayne on one page and Native American actor Adam Beach on another. It wasn’t a bad magazine, I just wasn’t crazy about its masthead. Cowboys and Indians, really? Now, I was in the presence of one of the hottest Native Americans I’d ever met. Hell, Wild Bill was probably the only Native American I’d ever met. In his denim shirt, faded Levi’s, and black boots, Wild Bill did not blend in behind the scenes of an old hotel, historic or not. Wild Bill was movie-star handsome, and I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him. “You okay?” he asked. I swallowed and tucked my long, reddish, wavy hair behind my ear. “Oh, of course. Did I daze off?” I rolled my eyes, trying to play off shamelessly gawking at my second in charge. “Lost in space.” I nervously chuckled and brushed my heel against the red and tan carpet. But no
matter how many times I swept the carpet with my foot, it didn’t improve the taupe weave that looked like random music notes scattered on a red backdrop. The carpet was so busy, it practically caused vertigo. “How old is this stuff?” Wild Bill’s laughter was sweetly rich and deep. “That is the new carpet.” “Who chose this design? A manic musician seeing double and having the shakes while weaving?” I said. “I did.” A fortysomething man stood before us with his hands on his hips. His plain brown hair and eyes matched the paint used throughout the hotel. But where his eyes may have lacked in color and pizzazz, the spark of a grin gave his face an abundance of warmth and energy. “What’s wrong with this carpet? It’ll hide more splotches than a barrel of concealer on high school picture day.” I laughed. “But it has no style, no substance. The carpet just lies there, takes up space and does absolutely nothing for the hotel,” I said. “Sounds like the carpet has an even better union than the staff,” Wild Bill said, chuckling. “Har har,” I said. “I just meant the carpet stands out, but for all the wrong reasons.” “Fair enough, but it’s not easy finding a carpet that will match with the rest of the hotel’s décor.” The man continued to stand with his hands on his hips. “I believe you. This hotel’s historic because it has a lot of things going on, from a bordello, which Wild Bill tells me actually existed on the seventh floor, to the saloon in the lobby. I don’t know if the architect or interior
designer, if they had such a thing in the early 1900s, knew what they were creating.” I laughed and held out my hand. “You must be Toby, who like my second in charge just happened to be on vacation when I arrived, which I’m trying not to take personally.” I giggled. He grinned. “Ah, it wasn’t personal, just a slow time at the hotel, so we took our vacation,” he said, accepting my handshake. His hands were thick and weathered, like the lines beneath his eyes. “I’m the chief engineer, head of maintenance, and overall guy Friday.” I smiled. “I’ve noticed people wear many hats here.” “Or feathers.” Toby elbowed Wild Bill. “We like to say the staff has been effectively crosstrained in various positions so that anybody can step in for anyone and fill a need,” Wild Bill said. “We come from a long line of people who have learned not to trust men in hats, no matter how many they wear.” Wild Bill was smart, good-looking, and clearly a leader for the hotel. The staff responded to him because he didn’t mince words. But he was also careful with how he phrased things. So, while I didn’t doubt his ability to step in and fulfill any need I had, I wasn’t about to let my libido lose the hotel its most valuable human resource. I just needed to use a little common sense—and perhaps a long, cold shower. “So who’s going to do the honors?” I patted the door to suite 632. Wild Bill unhooked his keys and paused before
inserting the brass key into the old-fashioned lock that still used keys. “Zavi told you the story about Campbell.” I nodded. “Yup. Apparently, he offed himself on his wedding night.” My tact was clearly lacking. My number two slowly nodded, as if to agree with my internal thoughts. “Legend has it Campbell committed suicide and his spirit hasn’t been able to rest since,” Wild Bill said. “Yes. That’s the ghost story.” I kept my hand on suite 632’s door and shook my head. “But, gentlemen, just so you know, I don’t believe in Sasquatch, ghosts, or anything else that goes bump in the night. I have a PhD in physics.” I glanced from Wild Bill to Toby. “It’s a long, complicated story, but suffice to say my resume said Dr. Pemberton, and when the Point Resort needed to transfer someone from one of their California properties to Wyoming, they thought they were getting a GM and a hotel doctor all in one.” I half laughed. “And you didn’t correct them,” Wild Bill said with a devil-may-care grin and raise of his eyebrow. “I did not.” I raised my hand off the door and held it in the air like I was swearing a solemn oath. “However, my doctorate work in physics will debunk the so-called Campbell ghost once and for all. People may have reported personal experiences, which most likely was unexplained phenomena to them, but not science.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “So, what usually happens in these situations is that, since these phenomena were experienced
by a layperson who couldn’t identify what they encountered, it’s easy to become convinced that the unconventional image was a ghost. Personal experience is flawed, but scientific evidence is not.” “Science? What science can disprove ghosts?” Toby said, and crossed his arms over his chest. His skepticism was all but a challenge. Game on, bubba. “In physics, the law of conservation of matter states that matter cannot be created or destroyed, so a ghost cannot possibly exist because it was not created and has no mass or volume. So all these mysterious or eerie Campbell sightings”—I widened my eyes and cut the air with my hands as if I were a magician and could magically make this nonsense disappear—“aren’t real.” “Well, since Campbell only reveals himself to females, you may just be able to set the record straight,” Toby said, with a grin that made me smile. “What do you mean only reveals himself to females?” I wagged my finger. “Nope. Zavi saw him. Or supposedly saw him right here in the women’s restroom.” I pointed down the hall toward the guest bathroom on the sixth floor. “The key here is that Zavi was in the women’s restroom,” Wild Bill said. I rolled my eyes. “Oh, brother. Are you telling me our ghost can’t differentiate between a man and a woman?” “Well, Zavi is pretty,” Toby said. I laughed along with Wild Bill. “Great,” I said,
“that’s all I need, a sexist, nearsighted, voyeuristic spirit. Can you imagine the legal mess and the bad press we’d get if a guest filed a sexual harassment complaint against a ghost?” “Not sexist,” Wild Bill said. “Campbell’s spirit shows himself to women or who he perceives are women, I believe, because the last woman he was with betrayed him.” “Betrayed? How do you figure that?” I backed away from the door to let Wild Bill access it. He opened it, and I got a hallway view of the suite. Seemed standard to me: king-sized bed covered with a drab gold-colored quilt, walk-in closet, bathroom, and two large picture windows overlooking Cheyenne’s depot plaza. “No, there’s no betrayal. From what I’ve heard, Campbell’s the one who couldn’t follow through on his wedding night. The only betrayal I see is that, instead of confronting the problem with his new wife, he killed himself. Granted, I’ve never been married, but that’d make for one lousy honeymoon memory.” I shook my head. “No, Campbell wasn’t betrayed. He was weak.” Wild Bill’s dark eyes seemed to absorb me with one glance in my direction. “The energy I’ve always felt isn’t weak, but sorrowful.” There was something about Wild Bill that made me pause. I’d only known the man for a handful of hours, but he just didn’t come across as the bullshitting type. In fact, he was such a straight shooter, I feared I wouldn’t be able
to measure up to his standards. “Okay, I’ll open my mind to the possibilities and allow myself to feel this energy,” I said. “Physics is, after all, concerned with observing and understanding the natural universe. So, I might as well study the subject that seems to be of such interest to the staff and guests alike in our corner of the Twilight Zone.” Wild Bill stood beside the door, and the only thing I felt was his magnetic energy when I brushed past him and into suite 632. For more: www.hottreepublishing.com/mary-billiter