The Howliday Inn Read online

  THE HOWLIDAY INN

  By Zoey and Claire Kane

  Breezyreads.com

  Published by Breezy Reads, Copyright 2017

  About this book:

  Time for another vacation for Zoey and her daughter Claire. This go-around, it’s off to a retreat deep in the mountains, nicknamed The Howliday Inn. Nothing, however, can ever be a true vacation for the Kanes, especially when welcomed by a crazy man chasing down their car—howling. A cult convinced they're wolves is bent on keeping tourists—especially a couple of savvy sleuths—away from their nearby campsite. Seems harmless enough, until evidence suddenly points to outsiders being killed by a beast of the night.

  Dedicated to Lacey Yamaguchi

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  ONE

  The night was eerily quiet. In the glow of the full moon, colorful shadows flitted across the brush and branches of the breezy pine forest. Zoey’s new red Lexus jerked over a craggy spot as she and her fellow passenger, her daughter Claire, slowly headed down a dirt path.

  “Owoo!” came the distant cry of a wolf, echoing across the hills.

  “We’re lost,” Claire said, narrowing her sparkling dark brown eyes at her phone. The red arrow on her navigational app was actually spinning in confusion, as if saying they were trapped in the Bermuda Triangle or something.

  Zoey cracked open the window, letting in a bit of the night. She sniffed at the earthy damp air, catching a hint of smokiness. “We’re on the right track, getting close.”

  Claire shoved her phone between her slender, crossed legs with a light sigh. At twenty-five, she'd had more than ten years’ experience second guessing her mother. The difference now? She’d at least matured enough to keep her eyes from rolling. No, her mother was her best friend these days, and so she instead opted for good-natured banter. “And you know that we’re on the right track how?”

  “My nose.”

  “Mother, you can’t sniff out where we’re headed.”

  “Of course I can.” Zoey gave a wry smile. She was a woman of a certain mature age, naturally drawn to glamorous pops of fashion statements. Tonight’s pop was a new lipstick, its “Dollhouse Pink” color glistening in the moonlight. It went divine with her long strawberry-blond hair.

  “No, you can’t sniff it out.”

  “But I do.” Zoey shrugged, not bothered.

  Pulling some silky dark hair over a shoulder, Claire gave a challenging laugh. “Okay, Scooby, I know you’ve been good at solving mysteries lately, but smelling a path to our destination is completely unrealistic.”

  Zoey pressed the gas pedal a tad more, her glistening pedicure framed in an open-toe red high heel. They were now at an uphill climb. The car strained harder to jerk them upward.

  Claire hesitated. “Okay, I’ll humor you. How can you smell our destination so assuredly?”

  Zoey lifted her small sniffer to the window again, dramatically breathing deeply. “Well, Shaggy, I smell smoke. Not from just any fire. It’s from a fireplace in a lodge. A grand lodge, made of redwood and grey slate.”

  “That’s pretty detailed, all right,” Claire said with a smile, setting her sights out her passenger-side window. She knew her mother had a pamphlet detailing Moonshadow Inn in her snakeskin purse.

  A silhouette of some kind of animal suddenly came speeding at the path’s edge, keeping pace with them. Just another forest critter Claire wouldn’t be too worried about, so she turned her attention to the road straight ahead. “I’m starting to think that Penny might have sent us on a wild goose chase,” she said dryly.

  “Our dear friend Penny? Never. We buried the satchel long ago. We’re real frenemies now, possibly friends.”

  “Hatchet.”

  “Hm? Satchel, darling. Carrying all our offenses and grudges. We’re good now. This vaca’ will prove how our once-annoying and jealous Penny has changed her ways.”

  Claire crossed her legs to the other side in a skeptical gesture. Out of the corner of her eye, she again caught sight of the beast keeping up with the car. Just as she turned to look, the thing leaped at her window. A flash of yellow teeth framed in a snarl hit the window with a thud, leaving a drooly smear. “Ah!” she yelped.

  Zoey hit the automatic door lock, flashing her rootbeer-brown eyes around in worry. “Oh! What the heck was that?!”

  Claire breathed. “It was just a wild dog, Mom. It was chasing our car.”

  Zoey glanced over a shoulder. “Should we go back and see if he’s okay?”

  “No,” Claire said, her pulse pounding. “If that dog is crazy enough to bite a car, we don’t want to go back.”

  They drove slowly a few minutes more, the headlights brightly illuminating their path. Zoey’s eyes darted around in concern, as she didn't want to hit another animal.

  From out of the bushes, something else leaped out at them. “Woo-oo-oooo!” An old codger in nothing but dark boxer shorts ran after them. Zoey pressed the gas pedal to the floor, kicking gravelly dirt at their attacker.

  “Aroooo…”

  “He’s still chasing our car, Mom,” said Claire, monotone. She resumed observing the road ahead.

  Zoey watched him in the rearview mirror getting winded fast, his legs finally giving out.

  “Woo-oooo,” he called. “Growl, snarl, snort, cough-cough.”

  “Well,” Zoey said, “from what I could see in the red glow of the tail lights, it looked like the ol’ howler accidently huffed out his false teeth onto the road.”

  “Awesome.” Claire flashed a quick glimpse in her side mirror. “Do we want to go back and see if the old guy needs some help? We can talk through a mostly rolled-up window.”

  “We’ll report it to somebody at the hotel,” Zoey said. “Too weird, even for me!”

  Soon the Kanes spotted a warm yellow glow emanating from the windows of the lodge. They drove right up to the front entrance, a rush of excitement coursing through them upon exiting their car. A valet ran toward them, along with another who picked up their luggage and put it on a cart, heading right off for the lobby.

  “I’ll bring your keys back to the front desk, Ms. Kane,” assured the valet.

  Zoey handed him a fiver with her keyring. Once out of earshot, she said, “He knows me? How?” She was always a little suspicious, a trait she'd learned from experience.

  “That is interesting,” Claire said, “because even if a little famous, you aren’t at the point of being iconic, with your pictures in all the papers and on T.V.”

  They entered the grand foyer warmed by a fireplace of river rocks climbing all the way to the wood-beamed ceiling. At the slick mahogany desk, a mustached clerk handed them both a keycard. He said, “Your friend, a Ms. Penny Simcox, has insisted you have the tower suite and paid for your first two days.” His golden name-badge read, “Mr. Martin,” the word “MANAGER” under his name in bold.

  “Really?!” said Zoey, accepting her card with manicured nails painted a d
ark bourbon-gold polish. “Well, thank you, Mr. Martin.”

  “Imagine…” remarked Claire in a flat tone. “Well, let’s call Penny, tell her we made it and thank her for the gift of two nights in the tower room.” She pulled her phone out of her slim-fit jeans.

  “Oh, you should know,” the manager informed them, “your cell isn’t going to work here. However, in your tower suite, you can get calls out. But if you still have any troubles, there’s a personal landline for convenience.”

  Zoey leaned against the reception’s polished countertop, lowering her voice. “We should tell you something. On our way here, we might have hit—” She was interrupted by growling, snorting and howling.

  Through the revolving lobby door, an old man was being forcefully dragged in by what looked like a green-plaided lumberjack.

  “Here’s Dufus!” the bearded lumberjack boomed.

  “Stay away!” the skinny old man snarled, his disheveled gray hair poking out from under a wolf-eared beanie. “The moon is still high! I’m warning you… Grrrr awoooo! I’ll bite your guts out… Grrrr! Chain me, nephew,” he spoke to the man at the desk, “before I kill again!” He tried lunging out of the logger’s firm hold.

  Mr. Martin rolled his unimpressed dark eyes. “How about I put you in a nursing home, you crazy old nut?! I’m tired of your antics!”

  A lean black dog of an undetermined breed ran out from behind the desk, barking and flashing his fangs at Mr. Martin’s uncle.

  “Hey!” shouted Zoey at the manager in distress. “Call your dog off the old man!”

  “Sit!” ordered Mr. Martin, coming around the counter, and the dog sat. His voice softened. “That’s a good girl, Sweetie Pie.”

  Claire’s right cheek dimpled in dry amusement. “That dog’s name is Sweetie Pie, Mom.”

  “Go figure!” Zoey huffed.

  Mr. Martin apologized, chaining his dog’s dragging leash to a nearby wooden pillar. “Excuse us, ladies, as we put Clifford in his werewolf lockdown until he calms down—an empty utility room,” he explained. “He’s a harmless pain in the butt.”

  “What?! I’m a vicious killer! Haoooo!” Suddenly, the ol’ coot surprisingly broke free of the burly man and took off around the foyer on all fours, his fingers clawing at a spacious green area-carpet. “You’ll never catch me! Come an’ get me! Owoo!” His bony spine ridged across his scrawny, hunched back as he went. “Owoo!”

  The two men gave chase. Pretty soon, it wasn’t just Mr. Martin and the lumberjack after Clifford, but three other employees. One was a young man in a typical red bellboy uniform, flat-topped hat and all. Passing the Kanes, he said with a huge grin, “This happens all the time.”

  Before Claire could speak a word in surprise, her mother shoved her snakeskin purse at her and took off in red high heels. She excitedly gave chase, long strawberry-blond hair flapping with every step.

  “Mother!” Claire called in disapproval, stomping a foot.

  Sweetie Pie barked while trying to lunge away from her pole. That, and shouts by employees, were interrupted by more howling.

  Seeing nobody was successfully catching up to the wannabe wolf, Claire finally dropped her mother’s purse over the reception desk and took off. Her long legs were able to reach the others fast.

  His beanie nearly flying off his scalp, Clifford switched directions, running for a long hall of rooms. All the booming footsteps, like those of a herd of cattle, caused guests to open their doors and peek outside at the commotion.

  Like a gazelle sporting a Vera Wang drop-shouldered top, Claire started passing through the crowd of slowpokes, her dark shiny tresses a blur. Zoey proudly shouted, “Get him, sweetie!” She said to the man beside her, “She’s a track star.”

  “That was ninth grade!” Claire called back. “But I’m still fast,” she said to herself, determined.

  Gaining on him, Claire stretched her slender fingers out for the man, who suddenly went back down on all fours. She came this close to snatching him by his boxers, when he somehow summoned a burst of energy.

  “Owoo!” he howled in delight.

  A maid’s cart seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Claire toppled right over it in a loud clatter.

  If the crowd were a train, they’d have screeched to their uniform stop. Instead, they gasped.

  “Sweetie!”

  “I’m fine!” Claire called back from the other side of it. She pulled herself up from her cock-eyed position, a washcloth draped on her head.

  “I’m so sorry,” the maid said, plucking the towel up.

  Claire sprang to her feet, and the chase was back on.

  The crowd grew even greater now, with multiple guests exiting their rooms, trying to help. This caused quite the commotion and slowed their great effort as they bumped into each other. Just behind Clifford’s tracks, a door flew open, a guest’s face poking out with a surprised expression. Their terrier scurried into the hall, barking. The old lupine turned in his dirty sneakers and growled back, clawing at the air.

  The crowd froze in anticipation. Would the old codger hurt the doggie?

  They circled each other, both growling. The terrier stopped, tilting his head in wonder over the strange human behavior. The old man growled more ferociously and waved his arms at the dog. The terrier whined and sat with his head hung low, looking up.

  Clifford stopped growling and reached a hand forward to pet the dog’s head. “That’s okay, pooky-poo. You did a good job!”

  The terrier stood and wagged his tail, happy-happy.

  The old man looked over his shoulder. The posse was gaining on him. He took off again.

  One of the guest runners, in his late fifties, was dressed very sporty in Bermuda shorts, tennies and white socks—pulled up. He obviously thought this was part of the inn’s entertainment program, so he pulled up his phone’s music app and played “Wipe Out!” Lots of fast drums and whipped steel guitar now accented the chase.

  Other guests must have thought the same thing, like greyhounds chasing the phony rabbit around the track. People were running and giggling at each other as they went. An old lady clapped her hands, saying, “Do you think one of us is going to get a ribbon or a prize if we catch the werewolf?”

  “Maybe,” answered her friend in a robe and curlers as she quickened her stride. “What a hoot!”

  A dry mop and a broom were leaning against a wall. One of the male guests grabbed them. He handed the broom to a man behind him. “We’ll tag him with these.” They held them high and charged ahead, making the crowd laugh.

  “Better than pitchforks and torches!” joked a school teacher.

  Clifford still managed to stay ahead of everyone. Joseph, the bellboy, soon passed Claire. He caught up with the ol’ man and, as they ran, he whispered something to him. Clifford nodded and took off, first waving at the tiring crowd. He howled with a big smile, causing everyone to laugh and pick up speed again.

  Finally, Clifford led them into the dining hall. As people came trotting in, the wolf stood beside a corner door in his navy-blue boxer shorts and wolf-eared beanie cap. “Owooooo! Hope you enjoyed yourselves. Grab a table, meet your neighbors. Dessert and coffee or hot chocolate are on the house. Joseph here will bring it out. Owooo!” He exited through the corner door, where Mr. Martin and the logger man were waiting. They gave him the bum’s rush toward the utility room.

  Zoey and Claire ran over to the door to watch. As he was being pushed along, Clifford looked at the Kanes and called out, “Know a secret, I do. A big one.” He snarled and made biting gestures at the two men until he was taken completely out of sight.

  Mr. Martin’s voice drifted to their ears. “Turn the light off or he’ll be howling all night.”

  Upon returning to the dining hall, Mr. Martin explained to the Kanes that Clifford was the resident “character” who “suffered from lycanthropy.” He also informed them the logger-looking man was with the volunteer police of Lanternwood, a nearby community.

  Finding that interesting, the
Kanes continued chatting while being escorted back to the front desk to take care of business. The bellboy had beat them there; he was standing beside a rolling cart laden with their suitcases.

  “I pulled out the dessert carts, Mr. Martin,” the bellboy said with a proud smile. “They thought it was a planned event, for fun. It turned out to be okay, I think. Don’t worry.”

  “Okay, Joseph,” said Mr. Martin, apparently relieved. “Take the ladies up to the Craggy Moon suite.”

  “Craggy Moon?” Claire repeated with suspicion. “Mom, Penny has placed us in a suite called Craggy Moon. I don’t trust her. Already, there are issues.”

  Zoey shrugged, thinking of it as another adventure. “If we don’t like it, we can always change it. Let’s go take a look.”

  “Okay. First impressions count.”

  As the dark curly-headed Joseph pushed the cart into the elevator, it clattered, shaking the luggage. “May I see your keycard, please?” he asked with his hand extended.

  Zoey pulled it out of her pocket. He inserted it into a key pass beside the elevator’s light-up buttons. As they ascended beyond the second floor, Joseph explained how Mr. Martin was actually the owner of Moonshadow Inn, and reiterated Clifford was his interesting uncle.

  Stopping at a third level, the top level, the elevator hummed open to the inside of a spacious, circular suite, windows wrapping all the way around. There were no walls; rather, a wide pillar in the center of the wide-open spaces was decorated according to themed sections. One slice of the “pie” was a sitting area, with a glass coffee table and two overstuffed chairs and a sofa; another section had the kitchenette; and another, the bedroom, and so on. Joseph explained the bathroom had privacy, as it was contained within a portion of the pillar.

  “Your suite has the one and only private entrance.” Joseph pointed to a red button beside the elevator. Push this, and it will lock the doors to keep you safe within.”

  The ladies couldn’t be more impressed, and they shot a wide-eyed glance at each other.

  Joseph hurriedly unloaded the cart, lining up the baggage in the sitting “room.” He was an eager, helpful young man.