It's 1960, and Humphrey struggles to sell his failing hotel, but its permanent residents don't share his enthusiasm. An older gentleman with his ghostly nose stuck in an old book; a painfully crude lady with a passion for whiskey and playing with cigarette lighters; and Humphrey's own wife, who is stuck in the mirrors.
When a prospective buyer reveals a decades-long mystery involving the hotel and its inhabitants, the group must face their own fears—and each other.
Chapter One
Tap tap tap.
Humphrey’s eye twitched each time the pen clanged against his coffee mug. Seizing it before the buyer noticed, he set the cursed pen on his desk and veered his chair toward the coffeepot behind him. He reached for the sugar but grasped only air. Could have sworn it was closer. The spoon lay just out of reach, too. He’d have to get a word with a certain somebody.
He spoke into the void. “Mr. Grant, I think you will find our hotel very charming. The locals love this place but would hate to see it change.”
“I’ve heard as much.” The man before him reached for the mug. “However, one hundred thousand is quite a bit of money for a dump like this.”
READ MOREHumphrey cringed, waiting. The inevitable happened each time a prospective buyer lamented about the outdated furniture, lack of television, radio, or any number of other troubles old hotels have. Air conditioning? Out of the question for the five-dollar price of one night.
Sure enough, the coffee mug jolted from his hand, right onto Mr. Grant’s lap. Dagnabbit, Nancy.
Mr. Grant jumped from the chair, pulled at his pants, and waved his hands over his crotch. “Ooooohhhh,” he seethed. “What on earth?”
“I… I’m sorry, I must have lost my grip. I’ll get a towel. So sorry!” Humphrey hurried toward the closet. “Nancy… leave the man alone,” he said under his breath.
“I’ll do no such thing.” A familiar chill blew against the back of his neck as Nancy materialized behind him. “I don’t like him.” She crossed her arms. “He reminds me of somebody I used to know. Cocky.”
“Well, I happen to know a few ghosts here that are just as annoying.”
Nancy scowled and tilted her head, pulling a velvet cigarette case out of her brassiere. “I don’t know what you are on about, but I happen to remember many a man who enjoyed my company.”
“These days I rather doubt it. Why do you keep taking all my lighters, really?” Rolling his eyes, Humphrey seized the lighter from her hands and pocketed it as he walked back with the towel. Of all the hotel’s former inhabitants, Nancy had scared away the most guests and, consequently, the money to run it.
Nancy’s high-heeled boots clopped behind him, but only he could hear her. Only he could see her. Until she wanted to be heard or seen. What a blessing. Or a curse. He bit his lip as he contemplated what to do with the towel...
COLLAPSEA story to devour that will keep you on your toes wondering what next? With eclectic characters, both living and dead, D. Apple's fast paced writing keeps you guessing (and snickering), wondering if Monty Python might be Hotel Vanity's new silent partners.