Page 47 of All You Want
I can think of several crimes I would like him to arrest me for: indecent exposure, public sex (with him), and shoplifting his cock, to start with.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, I pull my Datsun 280ZX Turbo into the covered garage in back of the Bee Sting. Todd and I are so cloak and dagger thanks to all of the strange things going on. It’s sure lucky our town has such a dedicated sheriff who wants to bust ghosts.
Works for me.
“Hey, big guy,” I say as he saunters out of his big SUV. “Ready for the tour? I called ahead, and the kitchen is preparing lunch for us. Should I ask them to put it in a picnic basket?”
“Depends.” He grins and glances at the mountains behind the property. “Weather’s nice for now, but I heard there’s a storm front coming toward us.”
I scoff at the forecast. The two losers running the weather station are bored stiff and like to hype up their measurements to the weather agencies.
“It’s supposed to miss us. Nothing to worry about.” I tap his chest and brush by him. “You know how the weather is here—unpredictable, and I have it on good authority, we’re in for a perfect fall weekend.”
“Who’s your authority?” He catches up with me at the staff entrance.
“Why, none other than Madam Goldilocks herself.” I waggle my eyebrows and stifle a yawn. “Evan says he spoke to her in a séance, and she promised him lots of haunting footage.”
Evan’s due to return in time for the grand opening with a camera crew and do a segment for his ghost-hunting show. He’s bringing EMF meters, IR and thermal detectors, cameras and recorders, scanners, wands and probes, night-vision goggles, and all sorts of beeping and pulsing devices.
He'll put on a show and lead the party guests through the haunted stairway from the basement to the attic—if they dare. I’m sure he’s booby-trapped everything, and everyone will have plenty of selfies and scares.
“Wooo. I’m impressed.” Todd lets out a long, low hoot. He steps through the service entrance to the kitchen area.
“Hey, everyone,” I greet the cooks and servers. “This is Sheriff Todd Colson. Most of you know him, but if you’re new here, he’s the man who’s going to keep us safe.”
“We prepared a special lunch for you two in Madam Goldilocks’s Boudoir,” Monica, the head chef, says. “Hope you like eyeball soup and spider leg salad.”
“I’m not a picky eater.” Todd laughs and puts his arm over my shoulders. “Time to do the security check.”
For the next half hour, I take Todd on a tour of the hotel. We explore the storeroom, check the freezer for an escape handle in case anyone gets trapped inside, and make sure all the window locks work.
“You been down in the basement yet?” he asks after we finish inspecting the guest rooms. The amount of detail he takes in will make him an excellent childproofer. He even tucked lamp cords behind dressers and verified the window cord wind-up mechanisms worked.
“You mean Baja Angel’s room?” I make the tone of my voice spooky. “There’s nothing down there but the boiler.”
“Just want to check that the sloped exit doors to the basement are secure.”
“I restored the original and added a wrought iron frame. I’m sure it’ll hold against a horde of zombies.” I remember I’m supposed to be scared so I can hold his hand and add, “Baja Angel’s basement scares me.”
“Why is that?” He unlocks the basement door and turns the knob.
I shudder and suck in a breath. “Be prepared.”
“I’m sure you guys got a new boiler so there’s no body in the coal bin, so to speak.” Todd flips on the overhead light bulb and starts down the creaky stairs. The air is dank and musty, and there’s a ticking sound I can’t explain. He looks back at me, gesturing with his hand. “You coming?”
I reach out and grab it since he offered. Swallowing hard, I say, “We only restored half of the basement and walled off the rest.”
“Why’s that?” He flicks on a flashlight to help navigate the shadows of the bins and boxes shoved near the walled-off area.
“Too much debris and junk down here. I’d have to get an environmental permit to haul out the coal bin and dump the contents. Better to leave the old coal underground.”
The new boiler is firing up on the cleaned-up side, and Todd verifies the basement emergency exit is secure. He moves over to a set of rough-hewn wooden doors with wrought iron grate and hinges. “What’s behind those?”
“The Baja Angel Studio. It’s a guest room.”
“Who’d want to stay down here?” He jiggles the hasp and opens the door. It creaks, sounding a little like the mewing of a small and distant baby.
Todd stiffens as he flicks the light on in the studio. He points the beam of his flashlight onto a solitary covered bassinet in the center of the room.
