And although she was getting a dose of it right now, for once she couldn’t bring herself to take notes.
She signed off the forum and turned her attention to the typewriter instead. Time to get to work.
She had the setting for her novel figured out, and earlier today she had nailed down most of the character names. Now she was working through all their backgrounds.
It was amazing how much time she could spend writing without really writing. At this rate, she would still be night clerking at this hotel when she was as old as the Van Buren sisters that lived in the Amethyst room. And they had to be in their seventies, at least.
A particularly harsh gust of wind hit the hotel, rattling the windowpanes and causing the lights to flicker.
Dru shivered. And this time it was definitely out of fear.
You are not getting spooked, Dru Holloway, she told herself sternly. This is part of the charm.
The hotel was on top of a mountain. Of course it was buffeted by winds. Of course the electricity was at the mercy of the elements.
And of course she was going to lose her shit if the power went out.
5
Dru was finally in the zone, fingers clacking away on the keys of the old typewriter, when she heard someone cough.
She nearly jumped out of her chair.
“Hey there,” a deep voice said.
She glanced up, already knowing who she was going to see.
Brian Thompson leaned his considerable form on the counter, a thick gold chain with matching gold cross dangled freely from the collar of a very large shirt that had one button too many undone. For such a heavyset man, he was extremely self-confident.
“How can I help you, Mr. Thompson?” she asked as politely as she could.
“People still use these things?” he asked, with a smile that was a little too wide as he leaned over the robin’s-egg-blue typewriter. “I’m surprised it even works.”
Dru leaned back instinctively, putting some distance between them.
Hailey had warned her that the guy in the Opal room was always hanging out in the lobby for no reason other than to flirt, or at least to try to get a look down her blouse. But she also said he tipped very well, which was more that she could say for ninety percent of the guests she’d encountered. The very idea of tipping never seemed to cross most of their minds.
Still, she would rather go without tips than have to deal with some miscreant ogling her.
Thankfully, the miscreant in question had made a habit of sleeping through Dru’s shift.
Until now.
“It works just fine, Mr. Thompson,” she replied crisply. “What can I do for you?”
It wasn’t entirely true. The typewriter was kind of a bear to wrangle, and the number eight key didn’t work at all. But she wasn’t about it tell him that.
“What can you do for me?” he echoed significantly, letting the words trail off as if he were mentally listing out dirty suggestions.
She buttoned her lips and turned her attention back to her typewriter.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to offer me a drink?” Brian snapped when he noticed he was losing her undivided attention.
“Would you like a drink?” Dru asked, a little too politely.
“As a matter of fact, I would,” Brian said with another wolfish grin. “Why don’t you get yourself one too?”
“I’m on duty, Mr. Thompson,” Dru replied. “What would you like to drink?”
“I thought this place catered to guests,” Brian said in a voice he probably thought was seductive. “And I want you to cater to me by having a drink.”
Dru idly wondered how much it might damage a typewriter to drop it on someone’s head. She suspected it would pull through just fine.
“Miss Holloway,” another masculine voice cut in before she could respond. “I believe it’s time for my tour.”
Tour?
She glanced up to see Viktor Striker near the bottom of the stairs, surveying the scene below.
She wondered what it must look like, Brian Thompson leaning his bulk over her desk and her cheeks red with fury.
And here was Viktor, making up a fake tour to save her from having to deal with this idiot any longer.
A wave of gratitude swept through her and she jumped up from her stool.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Striker,” she said. “Mr. Thompson, my apologies, but I have an appointment with another guest. There is self-serve coffee and tea in the dining room. Unfortunately, no alcohol can be served, except by a staff member.”
“Hey,” Brian began to protest as he turned from the counter.
“Good evening,” Viktor said to him in a soft but steely voice.
Brian opened his mouth to retort.
Dru saw the moment he made eye contact with Viktor.
Whatever the big man had been about to say died in his throat, and Brian closed his mouth again and headed for the dining room without another word.
Dru turned to Viktor.
He observed her calmly, his expression less intense than before.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
He gave her a half-smile.
“We’d better get started on our tour before he comes back.”
“Do you want a tour of the hotel?” Dru asked.
“There are trails in the woods, aren’t there?” Viktor asked.
“For bird watching,” Dru said, nodding.
“For bird watching,” Viktor allowed. “I would like to see them. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course,” Dru replied. “Let me grab my coat.”
It was a little odd to go out on the walking trails in the middle of the night, but it would be good to get some fresh air. And if she wasn’t at the desk when Brian Thompson came out of the dining room, hopefully he would just give up and go back to his room.
She put the bee-shaped, wooden Bee Right Back sign on the front desk and grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door.
Viktor stepped forward to open the door for her with a flourish.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping outside.
The air was cold and crisp. A million stars glittered above them.
Viktor moved to join her.
“It’s always so lovely here,” he said, looking out over the woods.
“You’ve been here before?” she asked.
He turned to her as if remembering that she was there.
“It’s been a long time,” he said with a smile. “Where are the trails?”
“Oh, right,” she said. “This way.”
They walked on in silence, across the lawn and toward the trees on the northwest side of the hotel.
Viktor gazed up at the ruined north wing, with its darkened tower, as they passed.
“No one stays there?” he asked.
“They say it’s haunted,” she offered.
He chuckled.
“I mean, clearly it just needs attention,” she admitted. “It’s an old building,” she added, surprising herself with her urge to defend it.
“Old things do deserve attention,” Viktor said cryptically.
She glanced over at him, but he chose not to add to his observation. Maybe he was talking about his luggage. Or her typewriter.
“The moonlight is lovely,” he remarked.
He was right. The soft light sparkled on the crust of snow.