Charms and Firearms: Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Mitzy Moon Mysteries Book 5) by Trixie Silvertale

Author:Trixie Silvertale [Silvertale, Trixie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781734022155
Publisher: Sittin' On A Goldmine Productions LLC
Published: 2020-03-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Since everyone seems to believe I’m still staying at the hotel, I’m wondering if Rory has remained in his room?

I hurry out of the elevator and across the faded carpet lying listlessly in the hall. As I approach the door to his accommodations, my nerve starts to wither. I pace and chew the inside of my cheek.

Before I can make up my mind, the phone in his room rings out at that classic 100-decibel, hotels-only volume. I step to the side to make sure the shadow of my feet isn’t visible under the door, and press my ear to the thin wall.

“Hello. Mr. Bombay speaking. Oh, hi— Why wouldn’t you want me to say your name? I see. Thank you for letting me know.”

Thank heaven for shoddy construction.

I tiptoe back toward the elevator and push the button. Once that classic “BONG” echoes down the hallway, I stomp toward Rory’s room and knock loudly. Hopefully my ruse is convincing and he’ll never suspect I overheard the call.

The door opens and Rory smiles pleasantly. However, now that my powers have been unchained, or rather un-charmed, I sense the mixture of fear and loathing skulking just beneath the surface.

“Won’t you come in?” He makes a grand gesture and steps back.

“Of course.”

As the spring on the door creaks and slams the portal shut with more force than necessary, I immediately regret my decision. Retribution can wait. How about a plan to get the heck out of here? “Have you eaten? Do you want to grab an early dinner?”

Rory takes a seat on the whitewashed wooden chair next to the tiny built-in desk and shakes his head. “I had a late lunch—alone.”

Wow, he’s not wasting any time heaping on the guilt. “Sorry about that. I just got back and came to offer an explanation.”

He crosses his arms and leans back. “I’m listening.”

“I couldn’t sleep the other night, and my naturally snoopy nature got me into a little bit of trouble. I kind of had to ‘flee the scene’ until the coast was clear.” That sounded way more Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid than I intended.

His arms uncross and he straightens himself in the chair. “You left alone? All by yourself?”

“Just me and the shuttle driver.” I laugh and shrug helplessly.

He exhales, and I sense a distinct shift in his energy. He’s not exactly pleased, but there’s a tinge of anticipation in the air that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago.

“So, again, sorry to disappear.” Here’s hoping that my lame excuse was both informative enough and vague enough to keep me in his good graces.

“You could’ve called, or texted.”

Not sure why he said texted with such disdain, but I keep forgetting how old-fashioned he is. If Silas and my grandmother’s stories can be believed, they had a nasty run in with Mr. Rory Bombay almost fifteen years ago. Theoretically, he would’ve been more than fifteen at that time and that means he’s . . . Who knows? I wasn’t there and I’m no fan of math.

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