Black Raven Inn: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 6) by Rebecca Patrick-Howard
Authors: Rebecca Patrick-Howard
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bring Black Raven Inn back to life so that he can return to me. That’s why I hired you.” The quiet desperation in her voice nearly broke Taryn’s heart. “Can you help me?”
Nine
“ S o she wants you to help her find the man she used to sing with?” Matt asked with his usual blend of skepticism and healthy dose of cerebral curiosity. “As in his ghost?”
Taryn rooted around in her plastic tub for her box of charcoals while she balanced her phone on her shoulder. “Well, he was more than that but basically, yeah. She thinks I can help and I’ll be more discreet than a run-of-the-mill psychic or ghost hunter. She thinks I am a conduit to these things.”
“Well, you are …” Matt pointed out.
Taryn shrugged. It wasn’t really her that was the conduit, it was Miss Dixie. They were kind of a team.
“Anyway, she also gets a painting out of it from me so I guess her money goes further.”
“And you’re not going to run to a tabloid or anything,” Matt agreed.
“Right.”
Now that she was set up with her folding chair, charcoals, and sketch pad she made herself comfortable. The lobby was still dreary, but she thought her eyes were starting to adjust to the gloom.
“So what are you supposed to do if his ghost pays you a visit?” Matt teased her. “Tell him to stay right there while you call her and she hightails it over to the motel?”
Taryn laughed and then felt a little guilty. Well, it was kind of funny. “She’s hoping I capture some things on film. I don’t know that she actually wants to be here.”
“So the one picture wasn’t enough?”
“Not for some people.” Taryn frowned. “When you’ve lost someone, you want as much of them as you can get. I told her I couldn’t make any promises but that I’d do what I could. That means I’m going to have to spend an awful lot of time in that room.”
“Taryn?” Matt’s voice grew serious again, a sign he was putting a lot of thought into what he was about to say. “Are you sure this is good for you? Getting lost in the past like that again? Each time you do it, it takes a little more out of you…”
“Matt,” Taryn replied with the same patience she once used when he was arguing the logic, or illogic, of her favorite Saturday morning cartoons as children. “This is what I am supposed to do. This is why I’m here. I don’t always like it but running from it doesn’t help. It just so happens that this is the first time I’ve actually been paid to do it.”
“Okay,” Matt said in return, but she didn’t have to hear it in his voice to know he wasn’t convinced; she could all but feel his hesitancy through the miles between them. “Just one more question.”
“What?”
“How on earth are you going to make your paintings reflect the hotel in a positive light? I mean you’re good but are you really that good?”
Taryn busted in laughter. The booming sound echoed through the dark, stuffy space until it was almost radiant.
It took Taryn more than three hours to sketch the lobby to her satisfaction. For now, her sketch represented the space as it was. Once she began painting she’d wave her magic wand and take it back to a better, gentler time when it was at least clean and new, if not sparkling and beautiful.
She planned on doing a lot of research in order to locate photographs of it from the 1950s and 1960s, although most of the work would stem from her own imagination.
Taryn had worked with a lot less; she’d recreated houses that been almost totally demolished in fires, without any pictures or original artwork to work from.
Matt was right, though. This was a challenge of a different kind. In the majority of her jobs, the structures she recreated had once been beautiful and stately, if not grand. The Black Raven Inn had never been beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. She could make it look authentic and true to its original construction, though. Perhaps slightly better without totally
Nine
“ S o she wants you to help her find the man she used to sing with?” Matt asked with his usual blend of skepticism and healthy dose of cerebral curiosity. “As in his ghost?”
Taryn rooted around in her plastic tub for her box of charcoals while she balanced her phone on her shoulder. “Well, he was more than that but basically, yeah. She thinks I can help and I’ll be more discreet than a run-of-the-mill psychic or ghost hunter. She thinks I am a conduit to these things.”
“Well, you are …” Matt pointed out.
Taryn shrugged. It wasn’t really her that was the conduit, it was Miss Dixie. They were kind of a team.
“Anyway, she also gets a painting out of it from me so I guess her money goes further.”
“And you’re not going to run to a tabloid or anything,” Matt agreed.
“Right.”
Now that she was set up with her folding chair, charcoals, and sketch pad she made herself comfortable. The lobby was still dreary, but she thought her eyes were starting to adjust to the gloom.
“So what are you supposed to do if his ghost pays you a visit?” Matt teased her. “Tell him to stay right there while you call her and she hightails it over to the motel?”
Taryn laughed and then felt a little guilty. Well, it was kind of funny. “She’s hoping I capture some things on film. I don’t know that she actually wants to be here.”
“So the one picture wasn’t enough?”
“Not for some people.” Taryn frowned. “When you’ve lost someone, you want as much of them as you can get. I told her I couldn’t make any promises but that I’d do what I could. That means I’m going to have to spend an awful lot of time in that room.”
“Taryn?” Matt’s voice grew serious again, a sign he was putting a lot of thought into what he was about to say. “Are you sure this is good for you? Getting lost in the past like that again? Each time you do it, it takes a little more out of you…”
“Matt,” Taryn replied with the same patience she once used when he was arguing the logic, or illogic, of her favorite Saturday morning cartoons as children. “This is what I am supposed to do. This is why I’m here. I don’t always like it but running from it doesn’t help. It just so happens that this is the first time I’ve actually been paid to do it.”
“Okay,” Matt said in return, but she didn’t have to hear it in his voice to know he wasn’t convinced; she could all but feel his hesitancy through the miles between them. “Just one more question.”
“What?”
“How on earth are you going to make your paintings reflect the hotel in a positive light? I mean you’re good but are you really that good?”
Taryn busted in laughter. The booming sound echoed through the dark, stuffy space until it was almost radiant.
It took Taryn more than three hours to sketch the lobby to her satisfaction. For now, her sketch represented the space as it was. Once she began painting she’d wave her magic wand and take it back to a better, gentler time when it was at least clean and new, if not sparkling and beautiful.
She planned on doing a lot of research in order to locate photographs of it from the 1950s and 1960s, although most of the work would stem from her own imagination.
Taryn had worked with a lot less; she’d recreated houses that been almost totally demolished in fires, without any pictures or original artwork to work from.
Matt was right, though. This was a challenge of a different kind. In the majority of her jobs, the structures she recreated had once been beautiful and stately, if not grand. The Black Raven Inn had never been beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. She could make it look authentic and true to its original construction, though. Perhaps slightly better without totally
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