Page 33 of Oracles Always Win

Shetugged on her bright pink denim jacket and then gathered up her matching bedazzled purse. "Andit doesn't matter what it is.Believeme, you can't shock me."

Somehow,Idoubted that.

Andthen she was gone, andIwas blissfully alone.Finally.

Iwatched from the shadowy threshold as she drove away.Ipushed the button to activate the gates at the end of the driveway as soon as her car was clear.Mygrandfather had always insisted the gates be shut at night, but tonight was the first time in five monthsI’dbothered with it.

Assoon as the gates were closed,Islumped against the wall.Ishould finish cleaning up.Mop.Wipethe rest of the tables.Scrubthe kitchen.Cleanthe bathrooms.Stackthe boxes of empties.That'swhatIdid every night.

Butmaybe not tonight.

Withit beingSundaytomorrow, the bar would be closed.Andeven thoughIhad a few things going on, there would be time to clean up in the morning.Mydrop-in painting meet-up group didn’t start until the afternoon.Andon the off chanceIslept late—please, let me sleep late—Ishould still have a bit of time before people started arriving for my weekly potluck.

IknewIshouldn’t hold a potluck at the inn, what with health codes and all that, but no one seemed to care here, and it was only the locals who came.Itwas one of the perks of small-town living,Isupposed.

Yep.Thiswas my life: potlucks and painting with women old enough to be my mother.

Iknew local octogenarians with more interesting social lives than me.

Whatever.

AtleastIhad time for my art inWillowLake.And, thanks to my grandfather's bequest,Ididn't have any debt.Ididn’t have any excess either, but maybe living like a lethargic eighty-year-old wasn't a bad thing whenIdidn’t have any money.

Ichecked the lock on the bar door one more time.AsIdid,Istole a peek at the empty parking lot.Iwas truly alone.Nothingmoved in the shadows and no horse-people trotted by, which was even better.

Theshort, narrow corridor connecting the bar to the hotel was dark.Theinn wasn’t exactly a highly sought after destination resort, so we never had many guests.Buttonight,Iwas the only person here, soIfollowed the familiar route to the lobby without bothering to turn on a light.Iwanted the dark, soIcould confront my secrets with only the shadows for company.

Noone had stayed at the inn for weeks, which meant the inn had been locked up tight every night for quite a while.Wehadn’t even had any inquiries.Ibet the last person had left a scathing review somewhere on the internet.Tosay they’d been unimpressed with the accommodations would be an understatement.Theycomplained about everything from the towels not being fluffy enough to hearing an animal howling outside in the middle of the night.

Ipaused…Huh…I’dbeen alone in the inn last night too.So, if my kiss withGagewas real, how did he get inside this morning beforeIunlocked the doors?HadIforgotten to secure everything last night?

AllIwanted was to get upstairs, but it looked likeI’dneed to detour and check all the locks.Isighed asImade the familiar circuit on the main floor, stopping at each door and window.Inavigated through the space in the dark with ease.Iknew where all the worn-out furniture sat.Icould picture everything in my head, right down to the most threadbare spot on the sofa and the water stains on the coffee table.

Thepublic rooms, which opened onto the foyer, were kept clean and tidy, but they were showing their age.Theother offices and rooms with doors, though?Inever went into them.I’dgotten so used to ignoring them,Itended to forget they were even there.

Myroom and my grandfather’s suite were on the second floor with the rentable rooms.Isuspected my grandfather’s suite had once been two separate rooms, given the unfinished state of the threshold connecting the two spaces.Thehaphazard state of repairs and renovations was a recurring theme in this place, so it wasn’t surprising that only three of the remaining six rooms on that floor were fit for paying guests.Noneof them—even the rentable ones—were fancy, butIsupposed they had a certain antiquated charm.

Thetop floor, though, that was a real mess.Noone went up there.Ever.I’donly poked around those rooms after my grandfather passed and they freaked me out.Thelong deep gashes in the walls reminded me of massive animal claw marks, and the ceiling in one room was spattered with something brown-ish thatIfeared was dried blood.

No.

Itwas better to pretend the top floor didn’t exist.Itmade the hair on the back of my neck rise just thinking about it.Ihated it up there.Butleaving all those rooms to deteriorate wasn’t good for business either.IfIwanted to turn this business around,Ireally needed to do more.

However, despite having my list of shiny new goals,Ididn’t care about any of that tonight.

Okay.Thatwas a lie.Iactually didn’t care most nights.Iliked having the place to myself.Nowonder the business wasn’t growing, whenIfelt happier at the idea of not having to deal with strangers in my space.Ireally needed to adjust my attitude ifIwas serious about building the business for my successor.

Butthat was tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight,Iwas relieved the hotel was peaceful and empty, well, except for my grandfather’s cat.Althoughnow thatIthought about it,Ihadn’t seenPawsreturn from touring the place withGageand the others.It’dbe strange for him to leave the inn at night—that cat seemed to expect a pampered life more than most animals—but what didIknow?I’dnever had a cat before.Maybethey were all like that.

Itrudged over the familiar route to my room.Iknew which steps protested and squealed under my footsteps.Iknew where to step to avoid stubbing my toe on the console table in the hallway.Iknew how my key sounded as it scraped in the lock on my door.

Assoon asIstepped inside,Ilocked the door again.Theclick was reassuring.

Thefamiliar scent of paint greeted me.Overthe last year, this hotel room had become my home, but right nowIdidn’t find comfort in it.

Myfirst task was to secure the curtains again.I’dopened them this morning, hoping the morning light would energize me, but nowIneeded the flimsy mental security having them closed would provide.