Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) by Anthony Strong (ebooks that read to you .TXT) 📕

shooting star.” Darwin was craning his neck upward. He pointed to the fast streak that arched over their heads before fading away. “There’s one now.”

“That was pretty neat.”

“Now you glad we came out?”

“Absolutely.” Tiffany inched closer to Darwin and put her arm around him. She looked into his eyes and when they kissed it tasted like chocolate and marshmallow.

She let out a contented sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. The air was crisp and clean. The fire cast an orange glow that made her feel sleepy. It crackled and popped while further away the breeze whistled through the rocks. And then, rising over it all, a shrill resonant howl that rose and ebbed as it bounced off the canyon walls.

Tiffany let out a small cry and tensed. She looked around, wild-eyed, into the darkness beyond the campfire. “What was that?”

“Don’t worry. Probably just a coyote.” Darwin hugged her tight. “It’s nowhere near us. We’re perfectly safe.”

“Okay.” Tiffany took deep breaths to steady her jangled nerves, but it was no use. Instead, she pressed close to Darwin, and peered out into the darkness, praying that she wouldn’t see a pair of eyes looking back from the gloom.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Last Chance Saloon and Hotel was an oasis of comfort surrounded by a sea of dilapidation. Decker stood in the grand lobby and studied the ornate staircase winding up through the building to the second and third floors, and the carved double doors with inset etched glass leading into the saloon bar.

“Quite a place, huh?” Special Agent Fowler said, noting the look of surprise on Decker’s face.

“It’s nicer than I expected,” Decker replied. “Hard to believe it’s in such a run-down location.”

“It needs to be nice,” a female voice said to Decker’s left. “Otherwise, it won’t be much of a wedding venue. The rest of the town might not be much to look at now but come back next year and you might be surprised.”

Decker turned to find an attractive woman with dark brown eyes and even darker hair standing at the base of the stairs. She wore a white tee tucked into a pair of tight jeans.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” Decker said. “You’re the owner of this place, I assume.”

“Part-owner. Sixty-six and a bit percent. The other thirty-three percent is probably polishing off a bottle of my good liquor in his cabin on the other end of the property. I’m sure you’ll have the displeasure of meeting him in due course, and for that I must apologize in advance.” The woman feigned a rueful look. “My name’s Robyn Miller.”

“John Decker.”

“Ah. The specialist.”

“That’s a better description than I usually get,” Decker said with a smile. “Who exactly is the other owner?”

Agent Barnes cleared his throat. “Carlton Miller. He’s a gem. I’d like to say something nice about him but haven’t found a suitable example yet.”

“Although we haven’t been here very long,” Special Agent Fowler interjected quickly, no doubt worried about offending Robyn. “I’m sure we just caught him on a bad day.”

Robyn smirked. “No, you didn’t. You might find this hard to believe, but he’s actually on his best behavior right now.”

“He’s not well-liked, then?” Decker asked.

“That’s an understatement,” Robyn replied. “Take a step outside, look around at the falling down buildings and old junk lying around. Pay particular attention to the no trespassing signs and rather dubious threats that he will shoot first and ask questions later posted wherever he doesn’t want people nosing around, and that should give you a clue about the old sot’s temperament.”

“I see,” Decker said.

“Carlton’s been living up here for decades and the isolation must’ve stripped away whatever social skills he once possessed. He wasn’t too happy when I showed up after inheriting majority ownership of the town,” Robyn said. “I haven’t been here long enough to do much except renovate the hotel so far, but this place will be unrecognizable by the time I’m finished. Not that Carlton’s going to like it.” She folded her arms defiantly. “But that’s just too bad. Of course, recent events might put a crimp in those plans, which I’m sure the old bastard will appreciate. We were all over the local news last night, and they’ve been milking it all day. It’s a disaster.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Decker said.

“Meh. What are you going to do?” Robyn shrugged. “But enough about my troubles. I’m sure you want to settle in after your long trip. You flew in from Maine, correct?”

“Yes.” Decker nodded. “My employer is there, although right now I’m living in Mississippi.”

“I’ve never visited either place, although I’d love to visit New England in the fall. I’ve heard it’s spectacular.”

“It is,” Decker agreed. “Cold though, especially when you’re used to southern climes.”

“I’m a Chicago girl, myself, so the exact opposite. I’m always sweating. The heat here in high summer is intolerable.” Robyn motioned toward the stairs. “But enough talk of the weather. If you’d like to come with me, I’ll walk you to your room.”

“That would be nice.” Decker realized he was still holding his bags. His arms were aching.

Robyn motioned for him to follow and started up the stairs. At the top she turned left and stopped outside of a door halfway along a narrow corridor lit by wall fixtures that must once have been gas but were now converted to electricity. They looked original. Decker found it refreshing that Robyn had retained the building’s character rather than rip everything out and start anew.

She removed a key from her pocket and unlocked the door, then stepped aside for him to enter. The bedroom was restored with as much love as the rest of the building. The furniture had been selected to mimic the Old West, and the attention to detail was exquisite. Decker felt like he had stepped back in time. The only item that looked out of place was the flatscreen TV mounted above the dresser, but even this had been artfully disguised, with an ornate gold frame placed around it