“We refer to it as an accident site. At some time, somebody did something they shouldn’t have. The energy coming through the hole is keeping the woman asleep.” Crossing her legs at the ankle, Claire rocked up onto her feet. “That’s how I know there is a hole and Augustus Smythe wasn’t here merely to monitor her.” As Dean opened his mouth, the next question obvious on his face, she held up a silencing hand. “It’s nothing personal, but right at the moment, my questions are more important than yours. Since I’m not going back in there to find the answers…”
“You don’t want her to wake up,” Austin muttered at Dean. “You really don’t want her to wake up.”
“…I’ve got to find the accident site. Unfortunately, it seems to be at least as well shielded as she is and we’re going to have to search every threadbare inch of this place, unless…you know where it is?”
“The accident site?” He stood. “The hole in the fabric of the universe?”
“That’s right.” She’d never had to explain herself to a bystander before. It was hard not to sound patronizing.
“Sorry. I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.” Squaring his shoulders, he hiked the tool belt up on his hips. His world had always included a number of things he’d had to take on faith. He added one more. “But I’d like to help.”
“So you’re staying?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Claire.” When he looked dubious, she sighed. “What?”
“You own the hotel, you’re my boss; I can’t call you by your first name. It wouldn’t be right.”
About to tell him that he was being an idiot, Claire suddenly remembered the feel of his arms and the warm scent of fabric softener and decided it might be better to maintain some distance. “What did you call Augustus Smythe?”
“To his face?”
Austin snickered.
“Yes. To his face.”
“I called him Boss.” Dean considered the possibility of calling an attractive woman the same thing he’d called a cranky old man and wasn’t entirely convinced it would work. “I guess I could call you Boss.”
“Good. Glad we’ve got that cleared up.”
“Should I wire this door shut before we start searching, um, Boss?”
Although Dean don’t seem quite comfortable using the title, Claire found she liked it. It made her feel like the lead in an old gangster movie. “You might as well.” It would be a useless precaution since it was unlikely any of them would now wander into room six by accident, but it would give Dean something to do that he understood. “Just let me turn out the light first.”
The remainder of the third floor, two double rooms and a single, was empty of everything except the lingering smell of disinfectant. Inside the storage cupboard across from room six, Claire emptied the shelves of toilet paper and cleaning supplies, then peered down the laundry chute.
“Don’t even think about it!” Austin spat as she turned and studied him measuringly.
“Suppose it’s between floors?”
“Then it’ll just have to stay there.”
“I’ll keep you from falling.”
“Oh, sure.” He squeezed in behind a bucket of sponges and peered balefully at her over the edge, ears flat against his head. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“Those were extraordinary circumstances. Never happen again.”
“I said no.”
“Okay, okay.” She tried and failed to open the narrow door next to the chute. “What’s in here?”
“Stairs to the attic.” Dean eyeballed the opening of the laundry chute, was relieved to find he wouldn’t fit, and found the required key on his master ring.
Filling an area barely five feet square, a narrow set of metal stairs spiraled upward toward an uninviting square hole cut out of the ceiling.
“Are there lights?”
“Don’t think so. You stay where you’re at, girl, and let me…” At the look on her face, his voice trailed off. “Never mind, then.”
“Girl?”
“It’s just a way we have of talkin’ back home,” he explained hurriedly, his cheeks crimson and his accent thickening. “I don’t mean nothing by it.”
“Then don’t do it again.”
“Yes ma’am, Ms. Hansen.” A deep breath and he tried again. “Boss.”
“Are you certain he’s a part of this?” she demanded, turning toward the cat.
“Yes. Get along.”
Claire sighed. Metal rungs ringing under her feet, she ran to the top of the stairs, crossed her fingers and stuck her head up into what looked like one large room filled with decades of discards, barely lit by the two filthy dormer windows cut into the sloping roof on either end of the building.
It was still raining.
“It’ll take us months to search that place thoroughly,” she announced a moment later backing carefully down the stairs. “Let’s leave it for later. With any luck we’ll find the hole someplace more accessible.”
“Oh, sure, accessible like the laundry chute,” Austin muttered as Dean relocked the attic door.
The second floor was as empty as the first—more so since there was nothing to match the occupant of room six. Remembering the mess she’d left spread out on the bed, Claire vouched for her room without opening the door. Room four, a comer single with two outside walls and no window, suggested a more thorough search.
Leaning on the edge of the bureau, Dean watched Claire slip into the bed alcove and try the bolt on the inside of the alcove’s steel door. “You know someone actually asked for this room last spring.”
“How would I know that? I just got here.” The high box bed had one shallow drawer under the mattress and two deeper drawers below that. Hands slid between the mattress and the frame found no sign of evil but did turn up a silver earring.
Mortified, Dean apologized for a sloppy job as Claire dropped the piece of jewelry on his palm. “When we’re done searching, I’ll clean this room again.”
“If it makes you happy,” Claire muttered, checking in the bedside table. As far as she could see, the room was spotless.
Dean’s
