Halloween at the Graff

By Sinclair Jayne

Starting over at thirty-two is never fun, especially in a town the size of a postage stamp. Chasing that with having to beg for a job she’s wildly over-qualified for and Walker Wilder’s pride is really burned. But now that she’s the new events director for the historic Montana Graff Hotel, she’s tasked with creating buzz and traditions to fill rooms during the off-season. Halloween may not scream touristy, but hiring a spirit-hunting TV crew will definitely grab some headlines... But when the sexy spirit hunter shows up, he haunts more than her dreams.

Calum Quest is done. He’s created an entertainment empire by chasing something he’s never seen and is tired of asking questions with no answers. His life has been defined by ghosts he needs to exorcise, yet, when a red-haired, grey-eyed beauty with a body that melts his mind pours him a double shot of Laphroaig whiskey and challenges him to one more round, how can he say no?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Sep 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781947636095

Book preview

Author

Prologue

"At least you weren’t convicted."

Never had Walker Wilder, now reluctantly dusting off the ashes of her previous life to masquerade as Walker Kent—her mother’s maiden name—imagined such words directed at her, especially as an attempt to comfort. Of course she’d never been arrested, much less tried and convicted. For what? She’d grown up in Newport Beach, California. Graduated magna cum laude in political science and US history from UCLA—taking full advantage of her lacrosse scholarship. Walker had spent her teen and college years working on political campaigns becoming a policy researcher at sixteen and later a speech writer before she turned eighteen for a state congresswoman. Walker’s entire professional career had been working with one US senator, first on her hard-fought campaign and then moving up the ranks until Walker was finally the senator’s chief of staff.

And now what?

She was tiptoeing around a dusty and forlorn hotel attic in a western town that could have been the movie set for The Magnificent Seven, looking for Halloween decorations.

In Montana.

Seriously.

Big sky country.

No one, least of all Walker, would have seen this coming.

Walker glanced at a battered wing back leather—at least she assumed it had been leather—chair that sat in the middle of the floor facing out towards the end of the attic where two narrow grime encrusted windows let in zero light from the early October late afternoon. There were other pieces of furniture lurking, shrouded in dingy sheets just holding their breath to expel clouds of dust, along with wooden crates, crumbling boxes, and piles of… who knew what?

Walker had zero experience in small towns and non-urban areas.

Still, she was the fixer. The spinner. The press whisperer. The person who kept everyone in line and on the same page. Or at least she had been. In DC. Now Walker stood in the center of the attic of Marietta’s Graff hotel, a grown woman of thirty-two and squeezed her eyes shut like she was three again—if she couldn’t see trouble, it wouldn’t find her. Only she’d been found all right. Horrifically. Picked up, shaken, smacked around, and tossed under a speeding bus. Her life, her career, and her finances smashed beyond recognition.

So now she was a… what was her title? Event planner. Marketer. Public relations. A little bit of everything and a big fat nothing. Certainly not enough money. But it was a job, and she was grateful. Now she worked to promote a historic hotel in a small western town instead of as mover and shaker in the nation’s capital.

Initially, Marietta had seemed a bit of a lark. And a lot of desperate. She’d always been a little curious about it—not enough to actually come here, but now that she’d plopped herself down, she wished she’d picked another point on the map. Any other point. Not that she’d actually had any other options going. One of her former interns had been the only person to reach out to her—out of the hundreds of people she’d worked with over the years—to offer any sort of help with a job, a way out of DC and the circus of scandals and testimony her life had become.

Walker turned her attention to a wall of stacked boxes that looked somewhat newer than a century old. Seriously, did no one in small-town Montana label boxes? Was she supposed to start digging through dust and perhaps mouse pee and poop covered boxes for Halloween decorations? She definitely needed protective gear—gloves, a mask, probably a pair of jeans. And a new life while she was compiling her wish list.

She heard a small scraping sound behind her and jumped in her Louboutins. If that was a mouse, she would not scream. She would not. Even if she’d never seen one outside a pet store. Walker spun around ready for what? Was she going to battle mice now instead of other chiefs of staff and lobbyists with her bare hands? Did mice have rabies? Disease? Wasn’t the west a breeding ground for the Hanta virus? Did mice carry it or deer? She had no knowledge of wildlife. Although plenty of DC operatives likely qualified. Even in her dire circumstances, a smile curved lips.

No mouse. Just the chair. With a gash in the seat that the leather curled away from. For some reason, Walker felt drawn towards the chair. She loved the metal detailing on the base of the four wide legs. And along the top. There was also a plaque or a brass plate of some sort on front of the wide arms of the chair.

A man’s chair.

She did not just think that sexist thought! What the heck was happening to her? A few days in the rural west and her mindset slid back a century or two? She’d been thrown under the bus, to the wolves, into the flames by a woman. Although a lot of men had participated. Gleefully, the bastards. Schadenfreude was a cold-hearted enemy. Just thinking of facing the senate judiciary committee—the questions, the heat in the room, the tension, the barely disguised malice in some of the senators’ eyes and curling lips—still made her blood run cold and gave her nightmares. By striking at her, they’d been striking at her senator, who had struck back using her chief of staff like a cudgel and then a punching bag.

You don’t belong. You never did.

Stop.

It had become Walker’s go-to word when her thoughts galloped back instead of forward. She was young. She was healthy. She would reboot and then reconquer. And she would not be humiliated by this little professional, if one could call it that, detour. Back to Halloween, which she had not even liked as a child probably because her twin, Rafe, had insisted on dressing up in the goriest costumes he could piece together, often tearing up her clothes in the process, as if the look he’d been going for had been drag queen zombie.

She’d opened her first box. Nope. Christmas star lights—pretty—when she heard the scrape again.

This time she turned slowly. No. Way. The chair definitely angled towards her this time. Like someone had moved it a little to watch her.

No. Way.

Walker swallowed and forced her body still. She was being absurd. She stared hard at the chair. She was imagining things on too few hours of sleep. She was just tired. Mentally and physically exhausted because of the last six months of hell, and the six months before had been dealing with the brewing scandal sacrificed into the conflagration of ego, power plays, revenge, and, just to keep things interesting, corruption and lawbreaking.

The chair had not moved. She was just responding to the atmosphere of the historic Graff Hotel. There were no such things as ghosts.

Ghosts. She breathed, the first full smile in nearly a year curved the corners of the mouth. This was an old, old hotel. Someone must have died here at some point. Perfect.

Chapter One

Calum Quest briskly entered the lobby of the historic Graff Hotel in Marietta. Anticipation that always accompanied his site scouting trips no longer thrummed through his blood or made his skin prickle. The excitement had been absent the entire season of Ghost Quests and while he’d wrestled with the questions why and what to do, one thing had become clear. He needed to wrap up this successful and lucrative chapter of his life before he became totally disengaged and jaded. He needed to reboot his life. Try something new.

Hard to accomplish when so many people clamored for more from him—more specials, more seasons, another spin-off, more money. So this might be his very last scouting trip and, even though he had no intention of researching, interviewing, and setting up a shooting schedule, he still thought he should give the hotel and its marketing department a personal no, especially as he was planning to stay in town a week or a few days visiting his long-time friend and former associate, Laird Wilder.

He slid his shades on top of his head and took a long look around, hoping to feel a twinge of excitement. If he were going to film his tenth-year season finale Halloween special, this hotel and this town were so perfect they could be a movie set. But no, nothing.

Not here for the show. He reminded himself even as he noted the rich, paneled wood, marble, gleaming light fixtures, and restrained vintage elegance of the lobby. He felt transported in time. It was hands down one of the best historical restorations he’d seen, and Calum had traveled the world viewing historical sites and ruins and restorations searching for answers.

Out of habit, he noted the angles of the lobby, the light, colors, textures, and furniture. Instinctively, he knew the best views to tell the story, and he already could picture what furniture he’d move to create a better statement. But he wasn’t going to be filming. He was done with ghosts and he was done with ghost stories.

His phone vibrated. Email. A smile touched his lips. Three-word answer back.

Someone wanted to play.

Calum tucked his phone back in his pocket and strolled across the lobby towards the small bar he saw tucked back into a corner, noting the acoustics and the feel of the room and where he could place lights that wouldn’t ruin a shot with shadows, and even as the data flowed, he reminded himself to shut it down. He was only here to get a drink and to meet a woman and tell her no.

*

Calum Quest was here? In the lobby? Now? Walker stared almost uncomprehendingly at the short email that just popped in her inbox.

‘Arrived. Talk?’

—Quest

It was pretentious and direct and completely unexpected. How the heck was he here? She’d just sent the email less than an hour ago, expecting a bored intern to email her back a survey and ask for a press kit and more detailed information about the… what did they call them, hauntings. She hadn’t even bothered to see if the hotel actually had any ghost stories that would be interesting enough to pitch. She’d imagined she’d have to invent a few vague stories that weren’t too creepy. She wanted to intrigue people and fill rooms not terrorize them. And while the hotel was noted as a place for destination weddings and hosted several auctions and balls throughout the year, she wanted to create a few new family friendly traditions.

But he was here. Now. Did he travel through the space-time continuum? Have wings? Was he psychic and dreamed that she’d contacted him several days ago.

She had to answer. Her mind went blank, but then she looked at his email and hit a few keys.

Bar. Questions.

—Accepted.

It sort of matched the pattern and would have to do on such short notice. She had to save her brain for bigger things. Besides, no way was she going to put her real last name down there. Even though she doubted a man who chased ghosts for a living was a political junkie, she didn’t want her past rising up like a clogged toilet and dirtying the present. The Graff was her hope for professional redemption, and she was going to create some buzz and experiences for Marietta residents and visitors. And Calum Quest was going to be the first step in plan one.

Her fingers shook as she scrambled to find a YouTube episode of Ghost Quests. She’d thought she’d have days or maybe forever to put together a press packet for him. Instead she had nada. Just a pitch and even that she hadn’t written or practiced on anyone. Not that there was anyone to practice on.

She scrolled through the episodes. The titles were so portentous.

Melodrama much?

What had she gotten herself into?

Publicity. She reminded her panicked self.

And at least this plan wouldn’t dead end in a congressional hearing. Picking one that was called The Dead in Deadwood, she hit play.

Seriously?

That was him?

He strode into the viewfinder already talking, his voice low and intense and thrumming with energy. Black T-shirt, black jeans, black motorcycle boots with silver star detailing in a swirl patterns down low near the outside ankle seam. He also wore a black beanie. He really needed a haircut. Dirty blonde hair spilled out artfully from the beanie. He completed his hipster I’m so cool I live in Portland look with thick, black-framed glasses. He even wore a GoPro on his head. Total nerd. The only thing missing was the cliché bushy lumberjack beard.

Got lucky over that one, she murmured.

Still, he smoldered on screen when he detailed the history of the place he was investigating, and he had an animal energy that was hard to ignore as he stalked down the dirty graffiti hallways with the grace of an athlete turning back and walking backwards sometimes to talk to the camera. He wore all black and sometimes seemed to fade into the shadows on the show, only his face floating, animated.

Calum Quest was so physical. He almost vibrated with energy. Why did he keep leaping on walls? Crouching in corners? Those were his biceps? For real? Did he do pushups off camera just to keep those guns loaded? And the way his black Diesel skinny jeans hugged his thighs and butt should have been an R rating. But the Clark Kent style glasses kept it PG. Maybe even G because he was so enthusiastically goofy like how she imagined a water boy on a high school football team would shout out encouragement as he bounded about keeping everyone hydrated.

He seemed so different from the men she was used to in DC—suits, power ties and two-hundred dollar haircuts. He was like a different species.

Walker fast forwarded. She chosen Ghost Quests because Quest made her think of Greek mythology and Native American vision quests, and if anyone needed a Hail Mary pass or a quest that would change their life it was her.

Now he was interviewing a young woman outside on the patio of a restaurant. They stood under an acacia tree. She was clearly shaken, and Calum Quest listened. His face was inscrutable. But intense. His diction precise, with a surprisingly large vocabulary, definitely not dumbing it down for what she imagined his audience to be. Somehow the rhythm of his speech reminded Walker of swimming past the breakpoint of the Pacific and floating on the waves, bobbing up and down to what she thought of as earth’s heartbeat.

Still on the patio, Calum looked lost in thought and then he looked up and discussed what he was feeling—an intense negative energy is surrounding me, or so he claimed. Walker couldn’t help the eye roll as she pushed pause on the video.

Won’t be having any negative energy at the Graff, Mr. Quest. Walker’s equilibrium reset.

She was on to something. She would get him to film in the hotel, but also around the town. Marietta was steeped in history. And charm. The hotel’s website she was updating said so, and she owed the Graff her best. She owed herself her best to keep going. And that’s what she was going to do. She’d helped shepherd tricky, life-changing legislation though the Senate. She could handle a hipster history buff turned cable ghost quest star. Still watching the episode, Walker fast-walked down the back staircase and entered the lobby near the reception desk. She did a quick scan but didn’t see the host.

She froze a shot of him detailing a mysterious white ball of energy he’d seen float across a back room.

Headlight, she said helpfully, striding across the lobby like she owned it because she had to think that way. Even in little towns one could get eaten up and spit out if they didn’t project confidence even after most of it had been drained away. Flicking her finger to make the image bigger she walked toward the bar, scanning for the man in the video. Not here.

And it wasn’t as if the Graff had a bar on every level. At least she didn’t think so. This little one was it. She loved sitting in here and working in the early afternoon before anyone arrived to work or to relax with a cocktail. The light was warm through the windows and it bounced through the liquor bottles casting skeins of color that reminded her of stained glass. She checked the image on her phone with the one of a man sprawled on a barstool—long legs stretched out, elbows on the polished wood, his hand beating out a tattoo indicating he was restless or bored or both, careless dark blond hair was swept back from a face that belonged in a cologne add—those were some serious cheekbones.

She continued to stare and walk toward him almost as if magnetized, and why not? He was staring at her, and this was her hotel. And then she noticed his motorcycle boots with the silver star detailing, and it was all she could do to not lurch to a halt.

*

Calum perched on a bar stool, and relieved some of his pent up energy with a quick drum riff with his palms and bouncing his foot. His crew hated when he bounced, but he hated to sit still. And he had to a lot—meetings, interviews and shoots. Today, he’d done a long run because he’d known he’d be driving several hours, but all that crazy humming energy was back.

He looked around the bar, liking the vibe. Vintage elegance, but not trying too hard. He loved the horseshoe shape of the bar—the gleaming dark wood. The liquor rising up in tiers from the middle so the stools ringed around the actual pouring stations. If it were lit from underneath the sheen of colors—amber whiskeys and the brighter hues of liquors—would look like a rainbow waterfall splashing down.

Eleven a.m., he glanced at his watch. Early for a drink. But, what the heck, he was off the clock and feeling a little reckless with the renegade thought that had been rattling around his head this season. Walk away. Freedom. Could someone like him—restless, questions burning, regrets—ever be free? No. He’d thought that for so many years. Lived his life like that. But lately he’d wanted to hear a yes.

But how could he, if he didn’t stop? Let in the quiet. Let go of the burdens of so many lives and the guilt.

Call it instinct or… who knew? But his gaze slanted away from the décor to the hotel lobby. He caught his breath.

A woman walked across the open air lobby towards the tucked away bar. And when he used the word walked, that was the biggest understatement. She floated. Glided. Defied the laws of physics.

His breath feathered in his throat and, for the first time in months, he was fully awake. Alive. Engaged. Her walk should be trademarked. It was elegant but sexy. And it breathed confidence and purpose. He was so riveted by her walk, the even click, click of her heels across the marble floor and the rhythmic sway of her hips that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize she was headed towards him.

She glanced at her phone and then up again. There was a brief hitch in her step like she was recalibrating, like she was a navy high-tech, heat-seeking missile. And then she was back on target. He shouldn’t be this out of practice. And he definitely shouldn’t be staring, but she was staring at him. It was almost like two predators, he thought amused. A power play. And whoever broke eye contact, would be

Reviews for Halloween at the Graff

[jencharlap · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This romance has something for everyone- some angst, some humor, and a supernatural element. I found it a refreshing and enjoyable read. Thank you to NetGalley and Tule Publishing for the ARC.

[kerilynned · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Gosh, I hate giving such a low star review but this book was torture to get through! I contemplated many times just giving up on it. There was just too much of being inside both of the main characters head. They would continually think the same things over and over and over again! I seriously read that Calum was wearing all black, leather jacket, jeans and boots about 10 times! I get it! There would be long ongoing paragraphs with Walker repeatedly thinking about everything that went wrong the past year of her life. Also they both continually thought about how attractive the other character was, so do something about it! I got to the point where I only read where I saw quotation marks and was able to start making some progress. The ghost aspect of it was so minimal I'm not sure that there was any reason to have it included. I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review. Thank you Tule Publishing.

[ash_p-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I’ve not read Laird, Kane or Luke’s stories but this book has me intrigued about the Wilder family. I love everything Marietta and ever since I read Sinclair Jayne's Sons of San Clement series (very sad that hasn't continued beyond 2 books) I have enjoyed and look forward to her stories.

Walker and Calum’s story is quite sweet. Though they both have a void in their lives due to their turbulent childhoods, somehow together, the walls they built to protect themselves come tumbling down. The inexplicable attraction is consolidated when certain spectral events cause them to bond. Walker has never trusted easily and plays her hand close to the vest. So when certain secrets that she’s hiding are revealed in the most unfortunate way, everything between them goes awry. But even in their estrangement, Calum begins to understand that Walker’s intent was never to mislead him, and the situation was more bad timing than lies. Calum’s raw honesty and willingness to bare his soul was what appealed to me the most. Starting over with the right person makes it easier.

Advanced Reviewers Copy provided by the publisher through NetGalley for voluntary review consideration.

[cathygeha · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Halloween at the Graff by Sinclair JayneHoliday at the Graff #1Ghosts – do you feel them, see them or believe in them? Walker Kent (aka Wilder) does not believe BUT she does want publicity for the hotel she has promised she will bring more business to. So, she sends an email to Calum Quest, ghost hunter extraordinaire. Calum, on his way to Marietta, Montana anyway to see a friend, texts back and a meeting is set up…and…what a meeting it is…had my toes curling and was perhaps my favorite meet-cute ever! With both Calum and Walker in a bit of a quandary about where their lives are heading next and feeling the chemistry and with a few secrets and a ghost or two (perhaps) lurking in the hotel…well…the story is un-put-down-able. I have to say that when I saw this book up for request on NetGalley I hoped I would receive it because I have never been let down by this author. It wasn’t the blurb or the cover that grabbed me it was the author’s name. I knew that no matter what she had written – I would enjoy it – and you know what? I truly did! Thank you to NetGalley and Tule Publishing for the ARC – This is my honest review. 5 Stars

[ashpreads · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I’ve not read Laird, Kane or Luke’s stories but this book has me intrigued about the Wilder family. I love everything Marietta and ever since I read Sinclair Jayne's Sons of San Clement series (very sad that hasn't continued beyond 2 books) I have enjoyed and look forward to her stories.

Walker and Calum’s story is quite sweet. Though they both have a void in their lives due to their turbulent childhoods, somehow together, the walls they built to protect themselves come tumbling down. The inexplicable attraction is consolidated when certain spectral events cause them to bond. Walker has never trusted easily and plays her hand close to the vest. So when certain secrets that she’s hiding are revealed in the most unfortunate way, everything between them goes awry. But even in their estrangement, Calum begins to understand that Walker’s intent was never to mislead him, and the situation was more bad timing than lies. Calum’s raw honesty and willingness to bare his soul was what appealed to me the most. Starting over with the right person makes it easier.

Advanced Reviewers Copy provided by the publisher through NetGalley for voluntary review consideration.