Chapter Nine
I place the pothos plant Grandma potted for me on the windowsill and take a step back. It’s the perfect final touch.
I spent the past two weeks sprucing up my workspace between Diana’s many scheduled training sessions.
So far, she’s had me learn the hotel’s check-in and checkout procedures and trained me on the property management system that handles reservations and billing.
Taught me the Belicourt’s ten-to-five rule—smiling at every guest within ten feet and greeting them at five feet.
She even had me man the guest relations center for one entire afternoon, covering everything from room cleanliness complaints to requests for extra towels or pillows.
She seemed to enjoy every minute.
Finally, I’ve been released from her command, and I can begin doing the job I was hired to do. And the first thing on the agenda is a meeting with the head of the Wyoming Cattlemen’s Association in the Antelope Conference Room on the sixth floor in one hour.
I gather my files and laptop and place them in my messenger bag. After a quick look in the mirror to freshen up my lip gloss, I click off my office lights and head out to the lobby.
The Belicourt is … a lot. Even after a week of walking through this place, I still have to stop myself from staring.
Antler chandeliers with crystal accents that catch the light hang over the polished marble floor. The knotted pine plank ceiling is stained a rich walnut hue, which adds warmth to the open space. Everything gleams—the floor, the window glass, polished stone hearths.
This area is part of the original structure of the hotel, which was a five-story inn with one hundred guest rooms, featuring the lobby, grand hall, and the Cottonwood Court, located off the grand hall.
The Cottonwood Court is a central open space that the five original floors of guest rooms overlook, with rocking chairs and love seats scattered throughout, where guests can relax in the evenings and listen to music with cocktails or light bites.
Three new towers were added to the hotel between the late ’60s and the early ’90s.
The Alpine Tower, located east of the main inn, stands fifteen stories high and holds an additional three hundred guest rooms. The Grand Teton Tower—where the spa, restaurants, and shops are housed—is located to the west. And the Prairie Tower—with its eight floors of conference rooms, convention spaces, and ballrooms—is located behind the main inn.
The main elevator sits just off the grand hall, tucked between two enormous marble columns that stretch all the way up to the rafted ceiling three floors above. It connects to the main inn and all fifteen floors of the Alpine Tower, with access to the other two from the third floor.
It’s like navigating a labyrinth of hallways without getting turned around.
I press the brass button and shift the leather strap on my shoulder.
The elevator dings softly.
The doors slide open quietly.
And inside stands a woman who looks like she stepped straight out of a vintage postcard.
She’s older—late forties maybe—but there’s something bright and mischievous about her that makes it impossible to guess her real age.
Her hair is a wild mess of tight curls, cut into a chin-length bob, and dyed a shade of platinum blonde that does not occur in nature.
She’s wearing the Belicourt signature blazer—hers with gold buttons—and a matching bellhop-style cap with shiny gold trim.
But the part that really catches my eye is the lipstick.
Dark burgundy.
Dramatic.
Bold.
And just slightly smeared on her front two teeth.
Her smile widens when she sees me.
I like her immediately.
“Well, hello there,” she says brightly as I step inside the elevator. “Floor?”
“Fifth floor, please.”
“You got it,” she says, reaching over to press the button for the fifth floor. “You must be Miss Storm.”
“I am. How did you guess?”
“Oh, honey,” she says. “I know everyone who works in this building. Plus, it’s on your name tag.”
She leans against the control panel like she’s settling in for a conversation.
“I’m Calliope.” Her voice has a musical lilt to it that makes her name sound even more perfect.
“It’s nice to meet you, Calliope. And you can call me Harleigh,” I say.
Her eyes light up.
The elevator begins to rise with a gentle hum.
“How do you like working here so far?” she asks.
“It’s been … fun.”
“I’m sure,” she says with a conspiratorial grin. “Spending two weeks holed up with Miss Fairchild sounds like a ball of fun.”
I laugh. “Yeah. I’m happy to be past the orientation phase for sure.”
The elevator passes the second floor.
Then the third.
Calliope tilts her head slightly, studying me. Then she lowers her voice to a whisper and asks, “So … have you met The Lady in Red yet?”
I blink. “The Lady in Red?”
She nods slowly. “Yes.”
I hesitate. “Is she … someone who works here?”
Calliope’s grin widens. “Oh, no.” She leans closer, like she’s about to tell me a secret. “The Lady lives here.”
My brain does a quick little spin. “Lives here?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t think the Belicourt had apartments.”
Her eyes sparkle. “It doesn’t.”
Now I’m officially confused.
“Then how does she—”
“She haunts the hotel,” she says casually.
I stare at her. “Haunts? As in a ghost?”
“The ghost,” she says proudly.
The elevator glides past the fourth floor.
Calliope folds her arms and launches into the story like she’s been waiting all day to tell it.
“The Lady in Red has been seen wandering the corridors for decades,” she says. “Guests report seeing her late at night when the hotel is quiet.”
“A full apparition?” I ask, delighted.
“Oh, yes.” Her voice drops into an almost-reverent whisper. “Beautiful. Ethereal. Wearing a long red gown that floats around her.”
“That’s amazing.”
“She appears faint at first,” Calliope continues, warming up now. “Like a shimmer in the hallway. But sometimes, she’s clearer.”
“Does she do anything?”
“Oh, she weeps occasionally.”
My eyebrows lift. “A weeping ghost? Classic.”
“Yes. Guests have reported hearing soft crying and moaning in the hallways late at night. Especially on the fifth floor of the main inn.”
“That’s a little unsettling.”
“But she’s not mean,” Calliope says quickly. “In fact, she’s a little … naughty.”
Now I laugh. “Naughty how?”
Calliope leans closer again. “She likes to tickle people’s toes.”
I stare at her. “I’m sorry … what?”
“Sleeping guests,” she clarifies. “They wake up, feeling someone touching their feet,” she says solemnly. “But when they look down … no one’s there.”
“Ghost tickles. Not frightening at all.”
“Exactly,” she agrees.
I press my lips together, trying not to giggle.
“And at times,” she adds dramatically, “she’ll move things around in guest rooms while they’re out at dinner. Again, that mostly occurs on the fifth floor.”
“Like what?”
“Oh … jewelry boxes. Suitcases. One woman said her shoes were rearranged in the closet.”
“Honestly, that sounds like housekeeping messing with people,” I say.
Calliope gasps, like I insulted her. “Absolutely not.”
I grin. “Okay, okay. Ghost mischief.”
“The stories of The Lady in Red are legendary around here,” she says proudly.
“Local authors even write about her. And the guests love her too,” she adds.
Calliope taps the elevator railing with her glittery fingernails.
“Sometimes, they’ll tell me their stories while I’m taking them up to their rooms.”
“Interesting,” I say.
“Oh, honey, it’s the best part of the job.” She lowers her voice. “And now and then … if they’re curious enough … I’ll even take them looking for her.”
My eyes light up. “Like a ghost hunt?”
She winks. “Exactly. But it has to be on the down-low.”
“Why? That sounds amazing. I’d love for you to take me hunting for her.” I’m practically bouncing with excitement now.
I grew up hearing ghost stories about old barns and abandoned cabins on ranch lands. But a haunted luxury hotel?
That’s next level.
“It is, but it’s frowned upon by management.” Calliope’s smile fades slightly. “We’d have to be careful.”
“Why?”
Her eyes dart toward the elevator doors like someone might be listening through them.
“Mr. Garrison doesn’t like it.”
Ah, Porter Garrison. The man whose presence seems to quietly loom over every inch of this building, even when he’s not physically around.
“He doesn’t like ghost stories?”
“He gets angry if he even hears The Lady mentioned.”
That surprises me.
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.” Calliope lowers her voice again. “Guests can talk about it. That’s fine. But staff?” She shakes her head. “Not so much.”
“That’s … interesting.”
“And you have to be careful around Diana too.”
“Why?”
“She’s basically Mr. Garrison’s spy.”
I blink. “His spy?”
“Oh, yes.”
My brain immediately pictures Diana—perfect posture, sleek hair, sharp eyes.
It … kind of fits.
“She seems nice,” Calliope says carefully. “But you have to watch yourself around her because she’ll do anything to get his attention.”
“Anything?”
She nods enthusiastically, and I try not to laugh.
“I did notice she’s … attentive to him.”
Calliope snorts. “That’s because she wants so badly to be Mrs. Garrison.”
Now, I definitely laugh. “Is that right?”
“Yep. There are rumors that the two of them have a thing going behind closed doors.”
“Oh?”
She nods. “She spends a lot of time in his office, and she’s always finding reasons to touch him. Everyone believes they’re having an affair. But personally, I think it’s all wishful thinking on her part, and he isn’t interested.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, honey.” She waves a hand dramatically. “He’s in his own world. That man barely notices people exist.”
I think about the one time I spoke directly to him.
The way he looked at me.
Sharp. Observant.
Like he notices everything.
But also like he keeps most of those thoughts locked away.
“So, you don’t think they’ve ever been a couple?” I ask.
Calliope snorts again. “In her dreams, maybe,” she says. “Besides, the hotel has a very strict no-fraternization policy.”
“How strict?”
“Any hint of hanky-panky between employees is grounds for instant dismissal.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously? So, no dating a coworker?”
“Nope.”
“Not even in different departments?”
“Nope.”
“That’s strict.”
“Mr. Garrison likes his staff focused on work,” Calliope says matter-of-factly.
The elevator slows as it reaches the fifth floor.
The doors slide open with a soft chime.
But instead of stepping out immediately, I pause in the doorway and turn back toward her.
I really do like this woman. She’s someone who knows utterly everything that transpires inside this building.
The unofficial historian and storyteller.
The secret keeper.
“Instant dismissal, huh?” I say.
Calliope nods. “Yep.”
Then she leans forward and whispers, “He probably made the rule just to make sure Diana keeps her hands to herself.”
I burst out laughing.
Okay, so maybe not that good at secret keeping.
She grins like a mischievous kid.
I step out into the hallway, still smiling.
“It was lovely to meet you, Calliope. I’m going to take you up on that secret ghost hunt soon.”
“You too, Harleigh,” she calls after me, then adds, “Anytime.”
The elevator doors begin to slide shut.
And just before they close completely, she gives me a cheeky wink.