Free Speed Dating With the Dead by Scott Nicholson

Just let them see what they want to see.”
    “Ah. Even if they can see through them.”
    “Right. So please instruct the staff to play along. Let them share stories and the hotel history. All those deep, dark secrets you guys talk about behind my back.”
    Rosalita’s stony facade didn’t yield a crack. “Yes, ma’am.”
    Janey took one of the folded linens, flapped it open, and flung it over her head. She let it settle about her shoulders and feigned a ghostly moan. “Whooooo.”
    She yanked the tablecloth off her head and tossed it down for Rosalita to fold again. Rosalita’s black eyes were as cold as the room.
    “And make sure nobody walks off with any towels,” Janey said, heading for the cluttered service alley that led to the dining hall.
    “Or diapers,” Rosalita said.
    Janey turned, but the face was impassive. Janey had enjoyed the gradual oppression of Rosalita, a slow grinding under the heel that had stretched for delightful decades. Come Monday, Rosalita would be out of a job but Janey would lose much more—the joy of domination and manipulation.
    “I don’t think there will be any babies at the conference,” Janey said. “I’ve seen a couple of teenagers running around, but it’s not the sort of event for child’s play.”
    “Except for those dead ones that run and laugh on the second floor?”
    “That’s the spirit,” Janey said with an exaggerated wink.
    As she navigated the mop buckets, broken chairs, and filthy rolls of carpet in the service alley, she met one of the black-uniformed members of Digger’s crew. He was young and handsome, projecting an air of cockiness. He had some type of electronic gizmo in his hand that looked like a cross between a laser gun and a flashlight.
    “Excuse me,” Janey said. “This area is off limits to the public. As you can see, it’s unsafe.”
    If Chad and Stevie get sued in the final hour, that might cut into the severance package.
    “Digger said we had an all-access pass,” said the young man, whose sea-green eyes twinkled as if they could get him into any door he wanted. “I’m just grabbing some baseline readings.”
    He kept on with his instrument, waving it around and studying the digital information on its screen. Janey fought an urge to grab him by the ear and drag his insolent ass out of there. She looked at the name stitched above the SSI logo on the breast of his jump suit.
    “Cody,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Wilson impressed upon you the importance of following rules.”
    Cody clicked off the instrument. “Ghosts don’t follow the rules, so why should I?”
    Janey gave a brief, dry burst of applause, and the sound was swallowed by the confined space. “Bravo. I’m sure you’re Digger’s star pupil.”
    “Look,” he said, thrusting the meter toward her. “You’ve got EMF fluctuations all along here. I’m thinking it’s the wiring behind the walls, or maybe water going through old copper pipes.”
    He pressed a trigger on the meter and a row of LED lights flashed red across the screen. He waved the meter in an arc so she could see it, and the line of LED’s surged and disappeared.
    “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
    “Maybe nothing,” Cody said. “Get the readings now, before all hell breaks loose. Then get readings later, and you can measure hell.”
    “Ghosts come from hell?” She’d always thought of them as trapped spirits killing time, watching as she went about her business. More like deadbeat tenants than anything.
    “There are different types. You have your residual haunts, sort of like a film projector stuck in a loop. Then you got your actives, what some call the ‘intelligent’ haunts because they interact with the real world. They might talk or touch you, and sometimes express confusion about why things have changed.”
    “That doesn’t sound so scary,” Janey said, though she shivered at the thought of a ghost touching her. They could watch all they wanted, and whisper