A Valentine Wish (Gates-Cameron 1)

“Frankly, I’m surprised he agreed to see you,” the male nurse told Dean and Mark as he escorted them to Watson’s room. “He doesn’t usually want company.”

After locating Watson by calling nearly every nursing home in central Arkansas, Dean had sent word that he and Mark were interested in the history of the Cameron Inn, and anything Watson could tell them about his time there. Watson had responded almost immediately with an agreement to talk to them, on the condition that they make it soon. They had wasted no time coming to see him.

“How sick is he?” Dean asked the nurse as they reached Watson’s door.

The man’s expression spoke volumes. “Another six weeks. Maybe,” he said pessimistically. “I don’t know how he’s held on this long, to be honest.”

Watson lay in a metal-framed hospital bed, his bald head propped on pillows, his withered body barely a lump beneath the sheets. “Which one of you bought the inn?” he barked wheezily before Dean and Mark could even introduce themselves.

Dean stepped closer to the bed. “I did. I’m Dean Gates.”

“You seen the ghosts?”

“I—er—”

“I saw ’em. Twenty years ago, on Valentine’s Day. Like to scared me into a heart attack right then. I ain’t been the same since. A year later, they stuck me here.” Watson sounded angry.

Dean sank into the chrome-legged chair beside the bed, needing its support. “You... saw them? Both of them?” He wondered why Anna had never mentioned it.

Watson nodded, his bleary gaze distant. “Don’t know why I went out to the inn. Some kind of ignorant impulse. It was nighttime. ’Bout the same time of night the twins was killed. And there they was, standing by the old caretaker’s shack, looking at me and shaking their heads.”

Mark cleared his throat and gave Dean a look that said he thought the nurse had been exaggerating about Watson’s clarity of mind.

Dean knew better. “Did they speak to you?” he asked, ignoring Mark’s startled look.

“No. I didn’t give’em a chance. I got the hell out of there.” Watson gave a sickly smile that showed his toothlessness. The smile faded almost immediately. “Didn’t matter. I know what they would have said if they’d known who I was.”

Dean leaned closer. “And what was that?”

The old man’s eyes focused inward. “They would’ve wanted me to tell the truth.”

Dean’s heart began to pound. “The truth?”

His gaze sharpening, Watson looked at Mark. “You the reporter fella’?”

Mark stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

“Bring your notebook?”

Pulling a battered notebook out of his back pocket, Mark nodded. “I never leave home without it,” he quipped.

“Get out your pen. And write fast. I ain’t telling this more than once, and I don’t want a bunch of questions.”

Mark looked at Dean, then flipped open the notebook. “I’m ready.”

Watson turned back to Dean, as though sensing who had the most interest in what he had to say. “I been blackmailing the Peavy family for almost sixty years. They treated me like dirt the whole time. Just like Gay-lon Peavy—the first one—treated my ma. I put up with it ’cause they always paid me regular, but now it don’t matter. I ain’t going to be around much longer, and before I go, I got a few scores to settle.”

Dean didn’t risk asking questions that might have annoyed the old man. He merely nodded. And waited, tense with anticipation.

Watson wheezed, coughed and then cleared his throat. “My mama started working for Gaylon and Amelia Peavy when the twins was just little’uns. I was born a few years later. My dad run off, and Mama had to keep working to support me, but Miz Amelia promised her we’d always have a home there at the inn. Miz Amelia was like that,” he added meditatively. “A real nice lady, from what my mama said. I don’t remember her, myself.”

“And the twins?” Dean dared. “Do you remember them?”

“Sure do. My mama thought the sun rose and fell on those two. She didn’t much like Gaylon, but she loved them twins like her own, ’specially after their ma died. Ian promised her that when he ran the inn, she’d always have a home there, just like his ma promised before him. Ian always had a temper, but he never lost it with Ma. He was real good to her. Didn’t treat her like hired help, like some of them others did.”

“And Anna?” Dean couldn’t help asking. “Was she nice to your mother?”

Watson’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “You called her Anna,” he commented. “That’s what her brother and her close friends called her. Everyone else called her by her full name, Mary Anna. But, yeah, she was nice to everyone. She used to bring me back candy when she went to town. She was one beautiful woman. For a while, all the boys in town chased after her. Most of’em gave up when they saw they couldn’t ever separate her from her brother.