Page 45 of It takes a Psychic

“I know, but it’s possible that he did,” Leona said. “You can’t blamethe locals for leaning into the Vance ghost story. There’s not much else here they can use to promote this town. It’s not exactly a vacation paradise.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Actually, it’s amazing anyone can even find this place. If we hadn’t had those old-fashioned paper road maps, we’d still be driving around looking for the right turnoff.”

“Something tells me the locals don’t want to encourage tourism,” Oliver said. “Fenwick was right about that oncoming storm, by the way. I can feel the energy building in the atmosphere.”

“So can I.”

She stopped in front of room 203 and used the old-fashioned key to rez the simple amber lock.

The door swung open on a small, narrow, gloom-filled room crowded with heavy vintage furniture. The one window looked out on the thick woods that surrounded the town.

“Well, at least the bed doesn’t date from Vance’s time,” Leona said. “No minibar, but hey, there’s a rez-screen.”

Oliver set her suitcase on the small luggage rack and studied the vintage rez-screen set. “I’m amazed there’s any reception in these mountains.”

Leona picked up the small brochure on top of the rez-screen. “According to this, there’s a local station. Channel one is available from noon until eight p.m.”

“So probably not much in the way of late-night adult entertainment,” Oliver said.

“Disappointed?”

“I’ll manage.” He headed for the door. “Give me a couple of minutes to dump my bag in my room. Then we can head out and get a drink and something to eat.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I’m good when it comes to plans.”

She thought about how he had grabbed the artifact at the reception, whisked her away from the scene of the FBPI, and then saved Roxy from the remote-controlled boat.

“I’ve noticed,” she said.

Chapter Nineteen

The storm struck during dinner.Leona was eating pizza with Oliver and Roxy in the Lost Creek Diner when the rain started. Night had fallen but they had a clear view of the inn across the narrow street. She watched a vehicle pull into the parking lot.

“Looks like we aren’t going to be the only guests at the haunted inn after all,” she said.

Oliver studied the man and woman who emerged from the car. “I wonder if they are Vance tourists or if they fall into the wrong-turn-fifty-miles-back-on-the-highway category.”

She studied the couple hurrying through the rain to the front steps of the inn. The two people were in their early thirties, casually but fashionably dressed. “I bet they’re in the wrong-turn crowd.”

“What makes you think that?” Oliver asked.

“Something about their attitude and their clothes. Also, Edith Fenwicksaid the Vance tourists usually show up in summer, not this time of year. Those two definitely took a wrong turn.”

“Whoever they are, they’re lucky they got here before the worst of the storm hit.”

“Very lucky.”

She was in the process of taking another bite of her pizza when a pickup truck parked in front of the diner. A man in a windbreaker, jeans, boots, and a cap climbed out of the front seat and jogged through the rain to the front door. When he walked inside, the handful of locals greeted him with easy familiarity.

The waitress smiled and came out from behind the counter. “There you are, Burt. I was getting a little worried about you.”

“You know better than that, babe.” Burt gave her a quick kiss and started to unfasten the windbreaker. “I’ve been living in these mountains my whole life. This ain’t the worst storm we’ve had, not by a long shot.”

“I know,” the waitress said. She went back behind the counter. “But it’s getting bad out there.”

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