The Red Hotel (Sissy Sawyer Mysteries) by Graham Masterton Page A

tattered robes were sailing past, high above them, heading for someplace far to the north. Luther led them across to the curb, where a white Ford S-Max was parked, with
The Red Hotel
logo on the side of it in sloping red italics.
    Luther stowed their luggage, and then they climbed in and drove south on Veterans Memorial Boulevard to join Interstate 110, which would take them into the center of Baton Rouge.
    ‘This mind-reading stuff,’ said Luther, his eyes floating in his rear-view mirror. ‘Is that something you naturally born with, or can you learn it?’
    ‘Bit of both, I think,’ Sissy told him. ‘Some people have the facility but never use it because they don’t understand what they’ve got, and some people never use it because they’re scared to. I have to admit, it can be pretty scary at times.’
    Luther twisted himself around in the driver’s seat. ‘Scary? Let me tell you, Ms Sissy, when you find out what’s been happening at The Red Hotel, scary don’t even get anywheres close.’
    ‘Give me a for-instance,’ said Sissy.
    ‘Well, I’m not sure that I should. I gave my solemn promise to Mister Everett that I wouldn’t discuss with you none of what’s been going on, not till he has the chance to talk to you himself.’
    ‘All right, please yourself.’
    Luther frowned at her for a moment, but then he said, ‘Still and all – I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Like, even the poh-lice are involved right now, so it’s more or less out in the public domain.’
    ‘OK,’ Sissy told him. ‘But I really would prefer it if you kept your eyes on the road ahead of you while you’re driving. You don’t have to be psychic to predict a fatal rear-end collision.’
    Luther turned back round so that he was looking where he was going. ‘I’m sorry. The thing is that I believe that something seriously weird is going on, but Mr Everett is trying his darndest to play it down because we’re all ready for the grand opening tomorrow and he’s worried we might have to postpone it, or even scrub it altogether.’
    ‘The blood,’ said Sissy.
    ‘The blood? You know about that, too? How the
heck
you know about that?’
    ‘I’ve seen it in the cards, Luther. Red, red and more red. When the cards come up with that much red, that means blood. Plain and unequivocal.’
    As they circled around the on-ramp to join the interstate, Luther started to tell them all about the bloodstained bedside rug and the smears of blood on the walls of the staircase, and the inexplicable whistling noise, and the disappearance of Ella-mae Grover, with all the blood in the ladies’ restroom.
    ‘Ella-mae
Grover
?’ said T-Yon, looking at Sissy with her eyes wide.
    ‘That’s right. Ella-mae Grover. Why you sound so surprised?’
    ‘Because Sissy saw that name in her Alphabet Cards. And she predicted that somebody called Grover would be all chopped up.’
    Luther stared at Sissy in his rear-view mirror. He was still staring at her when a huge red semi thundered past them in the inside lane, blaring its air-horns. Luther swerved, and then straightened up, and said, ‘Sorry –
sorry
! Jesus. I’m real glad that you’ve taken the trouble to come down here, Ms Sissy. I mean that. I think we sorely need the services of somebody like you, and we need them urgent.’
    ‘Let’s just get to The Red Hotel in one piece, shall we?’ said Sissy. ‘I might be able to contact the spirit world, but I’m not quite ready to go there. Not yet awhile.’

The Presence of Terror
    W hen they arrived outside The Red Hotel, they saw that half of Convention Street along the 200 block was cordoned off by yellow police tapes. Five squad cars were parked facing the curb, as well as a dark blue panel van from the forensic unit, and assorted cars and vans from WAFB 9 and WBRZ television stations and WJBO radio. The sidewalks were crowded with onlookers.
    A warm breeze from the Mississippi, only a block to the west, set the police tapes flapping like