Dean nearly overturned his water glass. He steadied it quickly. “Er—ghosts?”
“You were told that the Cameron Inn is haunted, weren’t you? It’s one of the favorite legends around these parts.”
“The real-estate agent mentioned the rumors in passing,” Dean admitted. “I told her I wasn’t particularly interested. I don’t believe in ghosts,” he added firmly.
His aunt was looking at him with wide, indignant eyes. “You knew the inn was supposed to be haunted and you didn’t tell me?”
Winter looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Sorry,” he said to her. “I assumed you’d already heard. I hope I haven’t worried you. I assure you, it’s only a—”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see a real ghost?” Aunt Mae interrupted with a blissful look of anticipation. “What fun! Think how good this will be for your business, Dean. Once the tourists find out the place is actually haunted...”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Aunt Mae, I want guests to come to our inn because it’s restful and comfortable and efficiently run. I want to provide a place for them to get away from the bustle and stress of everyday life, a place for lovers and honeymooners to take long, peaceful walks in the woods, return for an exquisitely prepared meal and then retire to the privacy of their own tastefully furnished rooms. I do not want to attract a mob of crystal-carrying, New Age ghost-groupies.”
Winter chuckled. “Ghost-groupies. I like it.”
“Well, I don’t,” Dean muttered. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he repeated, shoving aside an eerie mental image of a beautiful dark-haired woman in a long, white dress. A hunger hallucination, he reminded himself. Nothing more.
“Yeah, well, I’ll give you a call about that interview.”
Dean forced a smile. “Sure. Anytime.”
Winter ambled away. A man in a dark gray suit that hung oddly around his thin frame approached the table just as Dean and Mae finished their meals. “I’m Mayor Charles Peavy Vandover,” he said, the name rolling majestically off his tongue. “Welcome to our town.”
Dean offered a hand. “Thank you. I’m Dean Gates, and this is my aunt, Mae Harper.”
The mayor, who appeared to be in his mid-forties, shook Dean’s hand and nodded politely at Mae. “I’ve heard of you, of course. Glad to have a chance to meet you. We’re always pleased when new business comes to our area.”
Vandover jerked his head toward the door, through which Mark Winter had exited a short time ago. “I was sitting at the next table and I couldn’t help overhearing some of what Winter was telling you. I hope you didn’t take all that garbage about the ghost legend seriously. Every town has its foolish rumors, of course, but we’ve never encouraged that sort of folderol around here. It isn’t good for our image, if you know what I mean.”
“I was jus
t telling Winter that I have no intention of making an issue of the legend,” Dean said firmly. “Many old buildings have such rumors connected to them. Once the inn is restored and we’re doing business, I’m confident that we’ll put the legend to rest.”
The mayor nodded in satisfaction. “I look forward to holding a ribbon-cutting ceremony when you’re ready to open. My great-grandfather once owned that inn, and his son after him. My family has strong ties to the place.”
Dean lifted an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Never been a hint of scandal connected to our name,” Vandover added flatly. “Any rumors you might hear to the contrary are just that. Unfounded rumors. Don’t you listen to’em, you hear?”
“Er—sure.” Dean decided right then to find out exactly what “rumors” were connected to his inn. He needed to be prepared. Maybe Mark Winter could supply him with details in exchange for an interview.
THE WAITRESS in the Razorbacks sweatshirt took Dean’s money at the cash register. “I heard what the mayor said,” she commented, making Dean think ruefully that eavesdropping seemed to be an acceptable hobby around here. “About the ghosts?”
“What about them, dear?” Mae asked when Dean would have let the subject drop without comment.
“They’re real, all right. My mom knew someone once who knew someone who saw them.”
“Them?” Mae repeated avidly as Dean suppressed a sigh.
The young woman nodded. “There’s two of’em. A man and a woman. S’posed to be twins.”
Dean almost groaned at that. Not only was he expected to believe his inn was haunted by ghosts, he had twin ghosts. Great.
“If you’re going to see’em, it’ll prob’ly be on Valentine’s Day,” the woman added. “It’s their birthday. And the day they died.”
“Valentine ghosts,” Mae said with a sigh, her eyes gleaming impishly. “Isn’t that romantic, Dean?”
He muttered something incomprehensible, threw some money on the counter and left the diner with little more than a grudgingly polite nod at the waitress.