Page 43 of It takes a Psychic

She rezzed up a bright smile. “Why don’t we think of our association as a win-win relationship?”

“That works only if we both get what we want in Lost Creek.”

Chapter Eighteen

The manager of the LostCreek Inn had introduced herself as Edith Fenwick. She was a robust middle-aged woman with a haircut that was several years out of style. She wore a plaid flannel shirt and jeans designed for comfort, not fashion. Roxy charmed her immediately.

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing?” Edith chuckled. “I love that adorable little hat. I don’t generally allow animals in the rooms but I think I can make an exception for an emotional support dust bunny.”

“Thank you,” Leona said.

Roxy was perched on the front desk, admiring a bowl of wrapped candies. She blinked her bright blue eyes a couple of times. Edith got the message. She picked up a foil-wrapped chocolate and offered it. Roxy took it with perfect manners and set about unwrapping it as if it were an impossibly expensive gift of gold amber.

Edith smiled and turned back to Leona and Oliver. “You two gotlucky,” she said. “You made it into town ahead of the big storm. It’s due to hit later tonight. Now, will that be one room or two?”

“Two, please,” Leona said before Oliver could reply.

He gave her a not-so-subtleI’m in charge herelook and switched his attention to Edith. “We’re in town on business,” he said, adjusting his black-framed glasses. “I’m the director of the Rancourt Museum. Dr. Griffin is a consultant who specializes in authenticating objects with a paranormal provenance. We’re here to examine an Old World journal in the collection of a local resident. Norton Thacker. Perhaps you know him?”

Edith snorted. “Everybody knows Thacker. Lives in the big house up in the woods. He’s what folks like to call eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” Oliver repeated.

“That’s the polite term for it, I guess. If you ask me, the right word ishoarder.”

“I see,” Oliver said. “I’m looking forward to viewing a document he wants to sell. I hope we haven’t made this long trip for nothing.”

Leona resisted the urge to lift her eyes to the ceiling. Somewhere between parking the car in the small lot in front of the inn and walking into the rustic lobby, Oliver had gone through a transformation. He was no longer the quietly competent, possibly dangerous man she had sat beside during the long drive from Illusion Town. Instead, with the aid of the glasses, a dark jacket and trousers, a button-down shirt, and a worn leather messenger bag, he was back in his nothing-to-see-here antiquities-expert persona.

“So, you two work for a museum?” Edith asked.

“To be clear,” Oliver said, “I am the director of the museum. Dr. Griffin is currently employed by me.”

“I’m an independent consultant,” Leona said crisply.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Edith shrugged. “Makes a change. We don’t get a lot of academic types here. Most of my guests are folks who take awrong turn fifty miles back on the highway and get stuck here overnight. They don’t hang around long.”

“What about the other guests?” Leona asked. “The ones who come here on purpose?”

“You mean the Vance tourists.” Edith snorted again. “We get a few of those, all right. Mostly in the summer, though, not this time of year.”

“What’s the definition of a Vance tourist?” Oliver asked.

Edith handed him a pen to sign the register. “There’s an old story that claims Vincent Lee Vance used Lost Creek as his base of operations when he was firing up the rebellion.”

Oliver made an illegible scrawl on the page. “It’s not completely outside the realm of possibility. For decades historians have speculated that Vance recruited his early followers from somewhere in the Mirage Mountains.”

“I’ve heard that,” Edith said. “But as far as I know, the Vance tourists haven’t ever found any proof that Lost Creek was his headquarters.” She winked. “Except for the ghost, of course.”

Leona smiled. “You’ve got a resident ghost here in Lost Creek?”

“They say Vance stayed right here in this inn. The tourists like to think he still haunts the place.” Edith raised her brows in a sly manner. “I don’t mind admitting I’ve made some money off that story. No harm in it. But to tell you the truth, I’ve operated this inn for over thirty years and I’ve never seen a ghost.”

“Not surprising, since ghosts don’t exist,” Leona said.

“Do me a favor. Don’t tell the Vance tourists.” Edith leaned against the counter. “So, you’re planning to buy some old document from Thacker, hmm? Word of advice. Be really careful when you go inside that old house.”

“Why?” Leona asked.

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