Donn's Shadow by Caryn Larrinaga

Author:Caryn Larrinaga [Larrinaga, Caryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Penelope waved me into her office when I knocked on the open doorframe. The room sat off the kitchen at the back of the house and was as organized as I imagined her closet to be, with binders, photos, and storage boxes arranged neatly on built-in shelves along all four walls. The space was a study in neutral colors, accented only by Penelope’s bold, lime green sweater.

Her face registered zero surprise when I asked to rent the attic suite for the night. In answer, she opened a desk drawer, revealing a collection of dried sage bundles wrapped in Gabrielle’s trademark red string.

“They’re from the hidden compartments on the second floor.” She handed one to me. “I suspected they might be useful someday.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind me using the room?” I turned the bundle between my fingertips. “Nobody’s reserved it?”

“Not yet, but I expect there to be a certain level of ghoulish curiosity about the room once the facts about his murder become public.” She sighed. “I already need to redecorate. We can’t have curtains with cords in any of the rooms. It’ll be too morbid.”

“I’m guessing we’ll see the details on the news tonight, regardless of when Sheriff Harris wanted the public to know,” I said. “Everyone in town is already talking about it.”

She nodded. “They were planning to hold off on the official announcement until after the funeral, but the press won’t wait. I expect plenty of people will want to stay in the room where the deed happened. We’ve pushed the supernatural history of this house from the beginning, and his murder will increase that draw.” She frowned. “Violence isn’t what I wanted us to be known for.”

The last hotel she’d been associated with had—through no fault of her own—developed an unsavory reputation. I felt a sudden surge of affection for this woman who worked so hard to increase tourism to Donn’s Hill. She might not be psychic, but she had even more invested in the continued success of the Afterlife Festival than any of the intuitives here, especially any of the fake ones.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You’ve done an incredible job with this place. It’ll be a draw for anyone, not just ghost hunters and Raziel nuts.”

“Thank you, Mac. Now, I want to be sure future guests can sleep soundly in that attic.” She handed me an ornate, old-fashioned bronze key. “I liked Raziel, but I don’t want his spirit lingering here. If you can make sure the room is clear, your stay tonight will be on the house.”

“Will do.” I stood and shouldered my bag.

“Are you headed up now?”

“No, I need to grab a few things from home.”

“Park on First Street and sneak in through the yard when you come back.”

That was exactly what I’d done before coming to see her, but I didn’t mention it. “Okay. Any particular reason?”

“News of Raziel’s strangling isn’t the only gossip swirling around town. Several people have asked me if I know why Sheriff Harris brought you in for questioning.

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