Free Breaking the Chain by C D Ledbetter

              The faint scent of his aftershave drifted toward her as her fingers gripped the back of his seat. "Since what? Please, tell me."
              He swallowed, then took a deep breath. "Since that woman died there and funny things started happening." He took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. "There, I've said it."
              Oh God, not ghosts! Fear, then anger flooded her veins. Of all the dirty, rotten stunts. She wanted to reach out and wrap her hands around her boss' throat, then squeeze her fingers together until he turned blue and his eyes popped out. She felt a sharp pain in the palms of her hands and realized that her fists were clenched so tightly her nails had drawn blood.
              "Are you trying to tell me the hotel's haunted?"
              He refused to make eye contact. "Maybe, maybe not. The police report says old Mrs. Cogrell died of natural causes, but most folks think her nephew murdered her for her money. And, since he's buddy-buddy with the chief of police, they didn't even bother to investigate her death. Anyhow, ever since she croaked, been some funny stuff going on there--lights that won't go off, even after you flip the switch, footsteps on the stairs in the middle of the night, that kind of thing." He glanced at her reflection, then cleared his throat. "You want me to take you somewhere else?"
              She thought about it for a moment, but decided that two am wasn't exactly a good time to start looking for somewhere else to stay. "No, thanks. I think I'll take my chances and stay there."
              "Whatever you say, lady. At least you been warned," he muttered as the car slowed to a stop.
              Mary's lips twitched as she watched him jump out, open the trunk, and dump her two suitcases onto the row of wooden planks that served as the front porch to the hotel--all while the motor kept running.
              This guy must really be spooked! What did he expect--ghosts jumping out and screeching at him? Some perverse side of her nature made her delay payment as long as possible. Even though she had the money for the fare in her jeans, she searched both pockets of her jacket, then rummaged around the bottom of her purse for several minutes. When he shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat for the fourth time, she decided she'd tortured him enough.
              He snatched the money out of her hand, leaped into his taxi, and sped away like a frightened rabbit. The sound of her chuckles echoed in the darkness. Gee, was it something she'd said?
              As she turned to take stock of her surroundings, her laughter was quickly replaced by irritation. How could Mac do this to her again? Her fingers itched to wrap themselves around his scrawny neck for sending her to yet another run-down dump.
              The Cogrell Hotel was an old, thirties-style boarding house, with a sloped front. Even in the middle of the night, with porch lights blazing, it wasn't a pretty site. What little paint she could see in the dim light was cracked and peeling, and the smell of rotten wood assaulted her senses.
              What was that old saying? Everything looked beautiful bathed in the pale glow of the moon? Well, whoever penned that one must never have stayed here. Swallowing her disappointment, she picked up her suitcase and stepped onto the porch.
              The narrow wooden boards creaked and groaned under every step. Great, just great. All she needed to top off this wonderful assignment was to crash through the porch and break an ankle. With her luck, nobody'd hear her cry for help and she'd have to crawl all the way back to town on her stomach, dragging her broken ankle behind. Damn you, Mac!
              As her fingers closed around the