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Gertrude whirled around to see a young girl about her height giving her a judgmental glower.
“Did you lose your cat?”
“No!” Gertrude was offended at the accusation, but she had lost one of her beloveds recently, so she didn’t have much of a defense.
“Then whose cat are you calling?” The girl stepped closer.
“I’m calling to the ghost cat.” Gertrude had expected this news to be disconcerting, but the girl didn’t even blink.
“What are you going to help a ghost cat with?”
“None of your beeswax.” Gertrude looked up the hallway behind her. “Where are your parents?”
“I don’t need parents to stand in a hallway.”
Gertrude admired her sauce. “Fair enough.” She turned back to call to the invisible cat, but she felt self-conscious doing it in front of this girl.
“Really, though. How are you going to help her?”
Gertrude shrugged. “Don’t know yet. But if it’s been dead for a century, surely it needs help with something.”
The girl giggled and was suddenly standing beside Gertrude. “I like you. You’re funny.”
“Good. I like people who like me.”
“I like cats.”
“Me too. I have a few.”
“I don’t. My mom won’t let me.”
“Your mom? What about your dad?”
“He lives far away. And my stepdad hates cats, although I guess that doesn’t matter now that he’s dead.”
Gertrude looked at her quickly. “Dead? Are you the movie star’s kid?”
She shook her head emphatically. “Stepdad.”
Gertrude nodded. “But that’s him? You were staying here with him? Then why are you still here?”
She shrugged. “Cops asked my mom to stick around for a while, but I think my mom is trying to figure out what happened to him.”
“Oh yeah?” Gertrude looked at the doors behind them. “You know what? I could help your mother. I’m a private investigator, you see—” Gertrude did not appreciate the shock on the girl’s face. Maybe she didn’t like her so much.
“Melon!” a woman hollered from down the hall.
Gertrude looked up to see her hurrying toward them. The woman was beautiful. A movie star’s wife.
“Who names their daughter Melon?”
Melon giggled. “It’s Melanie. Melon is my nickname.”
“What have I told you about talking to strangers? Especially now.” She wrapped a protective arm around her daughter and tried to shoo her back toward their room, where the door stood open.
“Hang on. I’m not exactly a stranger.”
The woman looked over her shoulder. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m a private investigator who’s looking into your husband’s death.”
The woman stopped walking and turned to face her. “Who hired you?”
Gertrude was flummoxed. Admitting she hadn’t been hired by anyone made her sound like a fraud. “I’m not permitted to say.”
“There you are!” Calvin said from the end of the hallway.
“Who’s that?” Mrs. Movie Star looked suspicious.
“My assistant.” Gertrude stepped closer. “I have a suspect. I’d like to show her to you, see if you recognize her.”
The woman hesitated but then nodded.
“Aren’t you going to make introductions, Gertrude?” Calvin said.
“This is Mrs. Movie Star.”
The woman gave Gertrude a perplexed look. “Natia.”
“Natia. What a lovely name.”
“Enough with the niceties. She’s in Room 213.” Gertrude headed that way.
“She?” Natia’s voice held surprise and dread.
Gertrude pounded on door 213. “Won’t take long!” she called through the door. “Just need to get a look at your mug.”
“Gertrude!” Calvin scolded, but Gertrude had no idea what she was being scolded for.
“I’m calling the cops!” a voice inside said.
Gertrude looked at Natia. “Don’t suppose you recognize the voice?”
“No, sorry.”
They stood there, the four of them, staring at the door.
“I don’t think she’s going to open the door.” Natia looked at Gertrude thoughtfully. “She’s met you before?” It wasn’t clear whether this was a question or a statement.
Gertrude nodded.
“Okay, then. Why don’t I come back later when you’re not ... here? Maybe she’ll open the door then.”
Gertrude lowered her voice. “Or you could just wait. She has to come out of the room eventually.”
“I’m not going to sit in the hallway and wait for some stranger to come out of a room. Why do you suspect her anyway?”
“Fine. I’ll come back later today. I won’t knock. You knock. We’ll pretend it’s just you.”
Looking a little bewildered, Natia agreed to the plan.
Gertrude looked at Melon. “In the meantime, you keep an eye out for our little friend.”
Melon nodded solemnly. “I will.”
Natia led her daughter back to their room.
Gertrude hurried to get in front of her so she could still see her face. “Does the name Bridget Long mean anything to you?” Gertrude studied her, looking for signs of dishonesty.
“No, I don’t think so, but we meet a lot of people—”
“I didn’t think it would. I had to check, though. Have you seen any supernatural activity in this hotel?”
Natia frowned.
“One case at a time, remember?” Calvin said through closed teeth.
Melon looked up at her mother. “She’s looking for the ghost cat.”
“What ghost cat?”
“There’s a cat who haunts this place.”
Natia looked down at her daughter. “How do you know that?”
Melon shrugged. “Saw it on Ghost Experts.”
“Ghost Experts?” Gertrude said. “What’s that?”
“It’s a show,” Melon explained. “Grown men look for ghosts, and then when they find them, they scream and run away.”
Gertrude chuckled. “How old are you?”
“How old are you?” she fired back.
“Touché.”
“She’s eleven,” Natia said, “too young to be watching Ghost Experts.”
“I’m not too young to watch it. Maybe it will help me figure this ghost thing out. How do I watch it?”
“Don’t bother,” Melon said. “It’s super fake. Trust me. I know.”
“But did they see the ghost cat?”
She shook her head. “Nope. And they didn’t see Bullock either. All they saw were orbs of light, and then apparently a ghost stomped on their toe.”
Gertrude laughed. “Stomped on their toe?”
“We really should be going.” Natia tried to push Melon toward their room.
Melon shrugged. “Like I said. Super fake. Pretty cheesy. I don’t think they’d be able to help you.”
Natia stopped pushing and looked at Gertrude. “What do ghosts have to do with my husband’s death?”
Gertrude shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.”
“What does that mean?”
Gertrude had no idea. “It means I don’t yet know what happened to your husband but like a skilled investigator, I am exploring all avenues.”
Natia looked skeptical.
Gertrude glanced toward the closed door of Room 213. “But I’m telling you, that one there is suspicious, so if you see anyone coming out, take note.”
Natia nodded. “Come on, Melon.”
“Why are you here, anyway?” Gertrude asked.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Why are you and your daughter in Deadwood?”
Natia exhaled slowly. “My husband was filming nearby. We came to be with him. Just for the week.”
“And what about school?” Gertrude glanced at Melon.
Natia pulled her daughter closer. “Melon doesn’t go to school. She has a tutor.”
“And is the tutor here too?”
Natia nodded. “Third floor.”
Gertrude nodded. “All right.” She looked toward Room 213 again. “Let’s give her some time to forget, and then I’ll come back, and we’ll sneak up on her.”
“I’m not sure I want to sneak up on any—” Natia tried.
“At least we know she was bluffing about the cops. That tells us something.”
“I’m sorry?”
“She said she was going to call the cops on me for knocking on her door, and she obviously didn’t. They would be here by now.”
Natia still didn’t get it.
“Makes her look guilty. Murderers usually don’t want cops around.” She looked at Natia. “See you in a few hours.”