Unraveled (9 page)

“Hidden treasure? Up for grabs for whoever can find it in the theme park?” Bria huffed. “Sounds like a publicity stunt. A way to get more people to come to the park and spend their money searching for something that's not even there.”

“Probably, knowing Deirdre,” I said. “That, or she sold the stones to pay for her own creature comforts and upgrades to the hotel and didn't want anyone to realize what she'd done.”

“Well, don't tell Finn,” Bria warned, “or he'll have us all out scouring every park bench and trash can for those rocks.”

“Actually,” Finn said, coming up behind her, “that is on my to-do list.”

Bria winced and faced him. He arched his eyebrows, but she shrugged, realizing that it was too late to take back her snarky words.

“Anyway,” Finn said, “I've got us all checked in, and the bellmen are taking our luggage up to our suites. The manager's expecting me upstairs in her office. Let's go see what she has to say for herself.”

He held his arm out to Bria. “Shall we, my lady?”

She nodded and threaded her arm through his, and the two of them headed for the elevators in the back corner of the lobby.

I stayed by the display case, still staring down at the empty jewelry settings. They were just metal husks now, stripped of the stones that had made them so lovely, but the longer I looked at them, the more heavy worry weighed down my stomach. Even though Sweet Sally Sue was dead, and Deirdre along with her, I could almost feel their ghosts hovering in the air around me, whispering taunts that I couldn't quite make out.

“Gin?” Owen asked. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” I said, once again trying to banish my nagging feeling that something was seriously wrong here. “As ready as I'll ever be.”

 7 

Finn held the elevator for Owen and me, and the four of us rode up to the third floor, where the resort manager's office was.

The elevator opened up into a long hallway with rooms and offices branching off either side. Unlike the lavish lobby, this floor was much more Spartan and businesslike, with no antlers, wagon wheels, or other Western decor anywhere in sight. The only decorations were the photos that lined the walls, showing scenic views of the hotel, the theme park, and the lake that ringed them both, along with several posed, autographed glamour shots of rich and famous people who'd stayed here over the years.

I didn't care about the celebrities, but I would have liked to have lingered and studied the other photos, but Finn was in a rush, and he hurried right on past them to the corner office at the end of the hallway. He knocked on the closed door, then turned the knob and opened it a crack.

“Ms. Wyatt?” he called out. “It's Finnegan Lane. I believe you're expecting me.”

“Of course, of course,” a bright, cheery voice replied. “Y'all come right on in.”

Finn opened the door the rest of the way, and the four of us trooped into the office.

Well, now I knew why the rest of the floor didn't have any Western decorations. Because they were all in
here
.

Every single thing in the office had some sort of Western vibe to it, from a pair of matching lamps shaped like silver spurs, to a chair that had fake rifles for arms, to a cowboy sculpture made out of lassos that had been, well, lassoed together. Silver studs trimmed all the dark green leather sofas and chairs, while bits of turquoise glimmered in the top of a glass coffee table. Paintings of cattle and cowboys covered the walls, and what looked like a genuine bearskin rug stretched across the floor in front of the fireplace in one corner.

The bear wasn't the only dead animal in here. A large buffalo head was mounted on the wall above the fireplace, with several smaller deer, elk, and moose heads flanking it. A stuffed red fox snarled on the wide mantel above the fireplace, while a bobcat glared up at it from the floor. Hooked to each animal was a small white tag that featured a location, along with a date. Somebody liked to hunt—and show off their trophies.

A desk stood in the opposite corner of the office, across from the dead-animal shrine that clustered around the fireplace. A phone, a monitor, a laptop, pens, notepads, papers. The desk was the only normal thing in sight.

Because the woman sitting behind it was anything
but
normal.

She got up and stepped forward, beaming at us. Instead of wearing a typical business suit, the woman was dressed like a cowgirl, from her pink plaid shirt studded with pearl buttons to her tight white jeans to her white boots with silver tips. A saucer-size silver buckle studded with a dazzling array of pink and white rhinestones clung to her white leather belt, along with two white holsters, both of which contained an old-fashioned, pearl-handled revolver. Her long blond hair was done up in two thick braids that trailed down her chest, and her eyes were a light, pretty green. The only thing she was missing was a white Stetson on her head. Oh, wait. There it was, hooked on an antler on another stuffed moose head close to the desk.

“Roxanne Wyatt, at your service, but y'all can call me Roxy,” she chirped, her voice dripping with folksy charm. “Everyone round here does.”

Finn stepped forward and shook her hand. “Roxy, pleased to meet you. These are my friends Bria Coolidge, Owen Grayson, and Gin Blanco.”

Roxy came around the desk and walked down the line of us, nodding and shaking our hands. I was last, and she smiled and reached for my hand.

I felt her Fire magic the second her fingers touched mine.

Her hand was pleasantly warm, but I could sense the hotter, elemental magic that lay just below the surface of her skin. Roxy started to drop my hand, but I wrapped my free hand around both of our joined ones and gave hers another long, vigorous shake, trying to determine exactly how much power she had.

I didn't sense an explosive, deadly burn, one that could incinerate you on the spot, not like I had with Mab Monroe and Harley Grimes, two other Fire elementals that I'd battled. Oh, Roxy could still light someone up and toast them alive with her magic, but it would take her a while. Her Fire power was moderate, at best.

Roxy gave me a strange look, and I flashed her a smile and finally dropped her hand.

She stared at me a second longer, then gestured over at a large wooden cabinet adorned with bone handles. “Can I offer y'all a drink? You must be thirsty after driving down from Ashland. Water, tea, coffee, something stronger?”

We all asked for waters, and Roxy passed out the bottles before telling us to make ourselves comfortable on the leather sofas.

Roxy plopped down in her desk chair again, cracked open her own water, and took a long swig before setting it aside and looking at Finn. “I was very sorry to hear about your mother's passing. Please accept my heartfelt condolences on your tragic loss.”

I snorted. Roxy gave me a sideways look, but Finn leaned forward on the sofa, blocking her view of me, and cranked up the wattage on his smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “How well did you know Deirdre?”

Roxy leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers ­together over her sparkly belt buckle. “Well, Ms. Shaw hired me as the new resort manager about two months ago. I only ever actually met her in person a few times, although I emailed with her frequently about resort matters.”

Finn nodded. “My mother told me that she owned the hotel and theme park, but I have to say that I was surprised to get the deed in the mail. And so quickly.”

“Yes, well, Ms. Shaw called me up about a week before her, um, passing and told me that she was changing her will and leaving you the whole kit and caboodle.” Roxy held her hands out wide. “I want to honor her wishes to the fullest, especially in death.”

“I appreciate that,” Finn murmured.

Roxy gestured at several neat stacks of papers on her desk. “I've prepared some information about the hotel and theme park for you, if you'd like to review it now. Or maybe a quick tour of the hotel first? I've got to go get ready for the high-noon show soon, but I could show you around for a few minutes right now.”

“Actually, I'd like to see my mother's room,” Finn said in a smooth voice. “Deirdre told me that there was a suite set aside for her personal use. I'd like to go through it and see her personal effects. And, of course, I'll be boxing those up and taking them with me when we leave.”

Finn sold it well, and it sounded like a perfectly innocent request from a grieving son, instead of the plan we'd worked out to get access to Deirdre's suite without attracting any unwanted attention. Finn might own the resort, but this was still new, uncharted territory, and we needed to tread lightly until we knew exactly whom we were dealing with.

Roxy blinked, as if she hadn't expected Finn to ask for that right off the bat, and for a split second something almost like satisfaction flashed in her green gaze. My eyes narrowed. Why would she be so interested in our looking at Deirdre's suite?

But the emotion vanished, and she smiled again, her white teeth gleaming almost as big and bright as the rhinestones on her fancy belt buckle. “Sure thing. Just let me text Ira. He has the keys to all of the hotel's private areas, including Deirdre's suite. He should have time to show you where it is before he announces the high-noon show.”

She pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and sent a text.

“Who's Ira?” Bria asked.

Roxy hesitated and wet her lips, as if what she was about to say made her uncomfortable. “Ira Morris was the resort manager before me.”

“Before you?” Owen asked. “And he still works here?”

“You might say that Ira is rather . . . attached to the place. He's been here for years and is quite the character. Why, I imagine that one day the old codger will drop dead in the middle of the theme park with his boots on.” She let out a laugh, but a harsh, mocking undercurrent rippled through the sound.

“But if this Ira guy cares about the resort so much, then why did Deirdre hire you as the new manager?” Bria asked.

Roxy shrugged. “With the economy the way it's been the past few years, the hotel and theme park haven't been doing so well. People have been cutting back, and vacations are often the first things to go when folks are trying to save money. One of the reasons that Ms. Shaw decided to remodel the hotel and turn it into a luxury resort was to attract higher income folks, people who can still afford to spend money on trips, spa services, gourmet food, and the like.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Finn said.

Roxy nodded. “Plus, poor Ira is a bit . . . old-school, shall we say, when it comes to things like marketing and publicity and getting folks to come to Bullet Pointe. He thinks that just putting up billboards along the interstates is advertising enough, but that just doesn't cut it in this day and age.” She shook her head. “Ira did the best he could, bless his heart. But Ms. Shaw thought that it was time for some new ideas, new leadership, so that's why she brought me in.”

Bless his heart?
Well, that was the classic Southern insult and put-down. Roxy's voice practically dripped with sympathy, but I could hear what she wasn't saying. Ira hadn't been making enough money for Deirdre's liking, so she'd demoted him.

“Anyway,” Roxy continued, “if y'all will follow me, I'll take you down to the lobby and show you where Ira's office is.”

We all got to our feet. Roxy grabbed her white Stetson and plopped it on top of her head, completing her cowgirl outfit. She gave us all another bright smile and stepped out into the hallway. The others followed her, but I trailed behind, glancing around her office again. I realized something—the window beside her desk overlooked the main hotel entrance.

I went over, pulled back the white curtain, and glanced down. Sure enough, it was the same window and twitching curtain that I'd noticed from down on the ground. Hmm. Perhaps I hadn't imagined my earlier watcher after all. It made sense that Roxy would have been up here keeping an eye out for Finn, since he was her new boss and she probably wanted to keep her job. Still, the simple explanation didn't make me feel any better, and that uneasy dread once again bubbled up in my stomach.

“Gin!” Finn called out from the hallway. “Let's go!”

I could do nothing at the moment to ease my worry, so I let the curtain drop back into place and left the office.

*   *   *

My friends and I crowded into the elevator with Roxy and rode down to the lobby. Roxy chattered on the whole time about the hotel, the theme park, and the surrounding lake, spouting out so many facts and figures that my eyes quickly glazed over. Finn paid rapt attention, soaking up every single word she said, but I wasn't so enamored of our hostess. By the time the elevators doors opened less than a minute later, I was seriously considering snatching that white Stetson off her head and shoving the hat into her mouth just to get her to be quiet.

Owen noticed my annoyed expression and grinned and nudged me with his elbow. I rolled my eyes and shrugged at him.

“Of course y'all have seen the lobby already,” Roxy said, stepping out of the elevator. “We have a fully stocked bar here, as well as lots of places where folks can sit and enjoy the decorations, along with the view.”

She gestured at the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the back wall of the lobby. Through the glass, I spotted several paved paths that curved from the hotel down the hill to the theme park below. Neon lights flashed on a variety of rides, including several carousels, a couple of small roller coasters, and the dreaded swing ride that had made me puke my guts out way back when, as Finn had so gleefully reminded me. But the centerpiece of the park was a wide street with wooden storefronts and sidewalks, fashioned to look like something right out of the Old West, although I couldn't make out all the details from this height.