Sabrina began to dig through her suitcase, searching for the case file. It was her second day in California, and as Salem had oh-so-gently reminded her that morning, she was obligated to begin working.
This is so not fair. I'm in gorgeous, sunny California, with a hot, flirty Japanese guy, and I have to work? It's like a ruined daydream.
Of course, the fact that everyone else she knew was back in damp and dreary Massachusetts and working or studying failed to register in her mind. It was still early, after all. She had license to be selfish this early in the morning.
Dinner last night had been fantastic; eager to escape seeing Mr. Bradbury again, they'd wandered the streets before finding a little hole-in-the-wall sushi place. Having never eaten sushi before, Sabrina had bombarded Shinji with questions and requests for recommendations. The Japanese warlock hadn't seemed to mind, though, and even picked out some things he thought she'd like. She'd remembered, of course, to sneak some back for Salem. Now, the two of them were hooked on tekka maki sushi.
Second note to self: find hiding place for Salem. Or we may get kicked out…
She was able to conjure up bowls of cat food and water for the feline, a litter box, and a pet bed for him to sleep in (After all, black cat hair on a white blanket was rather noticeable). The problem was finding a place to stash him while the maid came in to clean up. The dishes, litter box, and bed could be temporarily zapped away, but Salem certainly couldn't.
And third note to self: introduce Salem to Shinji at some point.
Sabrina cringed slightly. She'd been so absorbed with her 'dinner date' last night that she'd forgotten to mention the feline. And I've got a feeling that this is going to be fairly important.
"Might I ask what you're doing?" the cat in question inquired. At this moment, he was wholly engrossed in one of his most strenuous daily activities—watching pieces of lint float through the air. It was usually so exhausting that he followed it with a mid-morning nap and a snack to keep his energy up.
"Looking for…a-ha!" She triumphantly pulled the folder out from under a jumble of sandals, brandishing it like a trophy. "Now, we can start."
"We?" Salem mused. "I hope you're referring to yourself and the newbie."
Sabrina rolled her eyes. "It's Shinji, first off, and he's going to the local courthouse. He's going to see if he can dig anything up on the building itself. I'm taking a look at the people involved."
"Awfully detailed." Salem yawned. "May I ask how you decided upon this critical modus operandi?"
"We agreed to it at breakfast," Sabrina informed him, pulling her laptop out from the suitcase. It had been an early graduation gift, to help her plan for college. The thought soured her cheerful mood as she held it in her hands. I might never get to go to college…
Salem's voice crashed down on her musing. "Well, start it up, then," he demanded. "If you're going to be forcing me to help you…work," he shuddered at the mention of the word, "then we might as well get it over with."
"Oh. Yes. Right." Shaking herself into action, she placed the laptop on the desk, plugged it in, and started it up.
Salem frowned for a moment as the teenage witch sat down and logged onto the Internet. "I didn't know this hotel had an Internet hookup," he commented, eyes narrowed.
"It doesn't. Aunt Hilda got some computer geek buddy of her to install Other Realm technology on it," Sabrina grinned. "Among them being a program that lets me use connections from anywhere within a certain radius. Thanks to the local library," she patted the side of the computer, "we're on."
"Nothing quite like hijacking." Salem purred faintly, reminiscing.
"Uh…right." She quickly headed to stave off another "back-when-I-was-planning-to-conquer-the-world" war story. "I thought we'd start with our youngest victim."
She opened the case file, and pulled the victims' pictures out, spreading them in a fan on the desk. The detective selected her intended photo, holding it up. The picture was a formal studio publicity shot, in black-and-white. The subject was a small, Shirley Temple-like girl, about seven or eight years old. Fair hair curled in ringlets around her sweet, snub-nosed face, and her infectious grin coaxed a one out of Sabrina. The flouncy dress and ruffled pinafore the small girl wore only served to enhance the girl's "cuteness factor."
Typed neatly on the bottom of the picture were the names of the studio and the girl. "Sally Shine," the teenager read aloud. "Sounds like your typical child star." She shrugged, logging onto a search engine. She worked in silence for some time; at one point, she conjured up a printer to attach to the laptop, and printed out a small sheaf of papers. Interested, but unwilling to show it, Salem cautiously inched closer to the desk. The clacking rhythm of fingers on keyboard, and clicking of the mouse, lulled him into drowsiness.
The rhythm slowed down shortly after, eventually dying as Sabrina sat back in her chair and stretched, pulling her arms out behind her back. He yawned, broadcasting his feigned indifference. "What'd you find?' he mumbled, barely making the effort to partially open one eyelid.
"Sally Shine," Sabrina recited, "child star of the late 1930s, and little darling of the silver screen. Well-known for her famous tap-dancing and singing skills, and often referred to as the 'next Shirley Temple.' She starred in three major film features during her acting career, all of which brought her national acclaim."
Salem perhaps exerted a fraction more of effort to open an eyelid. "And all of this means… what?"
The teenage witch frowned slightly at the small sheaf of papers in her hand. 'For one, she was at the height of her career when she died. She was even scheduled to begin production of a new movie later that year."
The cat paused for a moment. "So, you think…"
"Perhaps it wasn't an accident?" She shuffled the papers. "Theory Number One: somebody didn't want Sally Shine around in Hollywood anymore."
"In my experience, when you take out a hit on someone, it's usually done without something as complicated as taking out a whole elevator."
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to ask how you know that. But wouldn't that make sense? If you're going to kill a celebrity, why not make it look like an accident? Less chance of your plan being discovered."
The cat blinked. "Paranoia," he mumbled under his breath. Switching tactics, he gestured to the case file with a paw. "But why are you assuming that it's just Sally? Couldn't it be any one of the other people in the elevator who was the 'target'…assuming there was a target to begin with?"
"I don't know," Sabrina mumbled, tucking a strand of pale blond hair behind her ear. "It's just…this strange hunch…"
Later that afternoon, the teenage witch was relaxing in a plush armchair in the hotel's lounge. Research more or less completed, she was awaiting Shinji's return from the courthouse and public records office. Hopefully, he'll get a little further than I did…
She had stacked the information neatly into the case folder, which was innocently sitting in front of her on the coffee table. Drumming her fingers on the chair's arm, she snuggled back to wait. It wasn't her strong point, either; she was an active person, and her strengths lay elsewhere.
"I should have gone with him," she mumbled. Shinji had been plucked from his home, dropped off across the ocean in a foreign country, and left to fend for himself. Salem had argued that he could speak the language, and that the boy wasn't stupid; he could look after himself quite well. That hadn't stopped Sabrina from worrying, though.
What if he gets lost? What if he accidentally breaks a law and gets detained/ Or…
Thankfully, Shinji chose this moment to stroll into the lounge, a similar manila folder tucked under his arm. "Hey!" He gave her another one of his cheeky, charming, flirtatious grins. "Did you find any useful information?"
"For the most part, yes." She gestured to the folder. "And you?"
With another cheeky grin, he pulled the folder out from under his arm, gently tossing it onto the table in front of her. "Take a look."
Shrugging, she reached out and picked the folder up, riffling through the contents. A deepening frown creased her brow as she examined the documents more closely. "Uh…Shinji…"
"Yes?" He cocked his head to the side, bright blue locks swinging slightly over his face.
"…it looks like these are the original documents."
"...That is what we needed, right?"
"Sorta…but they don't let you take these. You're supposed to make copies. Didn't the secretary or whoever's in charge of the records tell you that?"
The Japanese warlock frowned briefly. "Not really. The woman at the desk seemed a bit upset at first," (here Sabrina's eyebrow twitched) "but after I asked for permission and talked to her for a while, she didn't seem to mind at all."
Sabrina covered her eyes with a hand for a moment. "Okay…maybe we shouldn't…um…mention this to anyone, since we could possibly get incarcerated. Or in more trouble with Drell. Whichever's worse."
Shinji blinked mildly.
Salem yawned, snuggling into the comforter. Sabrina had gone downstairs to talk to Shinji about the information they'd found, leaving him all alone in the room.
But it's not like I have a problem with that, he thought, yawning. It's naptime for Salem…
He'd buried himself partially under the blankets, letting himself drift away into Dreamland. The warm sun peered through the curtains, sending down shafts of radiant golden light. The cat yawned once, letting his eyelids slowly droop shut over golden eyes.
Ahh…comfy…
The bed was so comfortable, and the air so warm and still, that Salem wished he could stay here forever.
Unfortunately, that wasn't about to happen.
A loud rap sounded at the door. He cocked an eyelid partially open, blearily gazing at it. "Housekeeping!" a tired-sounding female voice called. Salem briefly wondered if he should call out, and prevent his existence from being discovered. After all, hotel managements usually had those stupid rules about having animals in a room…
It was too late to do anything, though, as the sound of a key rattling in the lock hit his ears. Both eyes opened now. "Oh, hell," he mumbled. Forcing his tired muscles to obey, he pushed himself up, eyes darting around the room for a suitable hiding spot. "No time…no time…"
The door opened a creak, as the maid began to pull her equipment off the cart.
"Hope this works," Salem grunted to himself as he jumped off the bed, then crawled under it. Sabrina…come back soon!
"So…uh…anyway…what did you find?"
Shrugging, he plopped back onto the armchair next to her. "The hotel's basic history, by itself, is nothing too interesting. Built in 1917, owned by the Todd family," he began to recite, stumbling slightly over the name. "Noted for the elegance of design, quality of service, and chic, famous clientele, the Hotel won numerous awards. And then…"
"The disaster," Sabrina glumly finished. "You couldn't find anything unusual? Nothing?"
Shinji shook his head. "Sadly, no." he paused for a moment, slightly screwing his face in concentration. "I did manage to go to the records department for people: births, marriages, deaths. I tried to look up the family that owned the hotel."
"Wouldn't they be dead by now?" she frowned. "After all, it's been sixty years."
He held up a hand to silence her. "Aaah, but here is something we didn't fully consider, ne? Something I didn't remember before taking a look at the papers you had." He leaned forward, face set and intense. "The hotel manager's son was the bellhop who disappeared in the elevator."
Sabrina blinked, processing this information. She smacked her fist into her palm. "Of course! How could I have not noticed that before? The bellhop's last name was Todd!"
"Yes," Shinji agreed. "What interested me more was that he left behind a wife and a son."
The detective's eyes widened, nearly to the point of saucers. "And I thought you had nothing interesting to tell me."
"About the hotel," he reminded her. He delicately pulled a sheet from out of his folder. "The widow is dead by now, but the son eventually married and had his own family—I was able to find one child still living in the area."
Sabrina eagerly accepted the paper. "Christopher Todd," she read, "…born in the sixties, that would make him about forty…"
"I then looked for his name in the phone book," Shinji stated proudly. "Yours is certainly smaller than the Tokyo directory," he added thoughtfully.
Sabrina coughed to cover her amusement.
He shrugged. "Anyway, I found a few men by the name of Christopher Todd living in the area, and wrote down their phone numbers. We can call them whenever we want."
She nodded, folding the paper in half and clipping it to Dewey Todd's file.
Salem paused, carefully crawling to the edge of the space under the bed. Using his nose, he peeked under the dust ruffle, hoping to figure out how long the maid would take. So far, she'd made the bed, cleaned the bathroom, replaced sheets and towels, and wiped the windows…what else was there? Why wasn't she gone yet?
Right now, he could see, she was putting together the pieces of a…vacuum cleaner.
Ah. That's what was left. She was going to vacuum the carpets. Salem crawled backwards, satisfied. He just had to wait a little longer, and she'd be finished. Then he could go back to napping on that lovely, lovely bed.
Salem winced a bit as she plugged it in. He hated the growling sound that the machine made—he usually hid in the basement when Hilda or Zelda vacuumed. And here, he was stuck. He sighed softly. Well, you know what they say—what doesn't kill you leaves you alive. Or something along those lines. What was it, exactly?
As he pondered the actual wording of the phrase, the maid edged close to the bed.
Huh. This is gonna drive me crazy all day…what is the way it goes? Whatever doesn't kill you makes you…
The maid decided to vacuum under the bed, just to be thorough.
…makes you…
A loud, whirring machine suddenly darted under the bed. Salem yowled in fright, and dashed to the side. The monster (really the vacuum cleaner) attacked again. He ducked and rolled—or tried to, as much as a cat could—like he'd seen in any decent shoot-out scene. Unfortunately, he ended up crashing into one of the bedposts.
"Owww," he whimpered, as his head smarted from the blow. If he'd possessed arms, he'd be rubbing the tender spot on his head. As it was, he was partially curled up, eyes crossed in pain, tail thrashing around.
The maid decided that she probably hadn't cleaned out all the dust, so she switched attachments. Figuring that the suction hose would work just as well, she decided to try again.
Salem shook his head, trying to clear the dancing stars out of his vision. "Note to self—start intensively studying Steven Segal films." Hopefully, he could learn how to fight with something other than his feline wiles. He felt a strange tugging on his tail. Snarling, Salem turned around.
Lo and behold, the vacuum cleaner had caught his tail.
"…this can't be good."
The maid frowned. The suction was blocked—the hose had probably caught on a piece of the bed skirt's dust ruffle—she'd have to pull it loose. Sighing, she got onto her knees, and unplugged the vacuum. She lifted the ruffle, and peered under the bed. A pair of golden eyes gleamed at her.
"AAAUUUGH!"
"And how did your investigation go?" He leaned forward inquisitively, his forearm accidentally brushing against hers. Shinji blushed a little, and moved a little further away from her, giving her a sheepish grin.
Feeling a little bit of heat pooling in her cheekbones, she tilted her head downward, letting her hair partially hide her face. She stumbled on with her findings.
She opened the case file, pulling out two pictures: a round-faced man with wire-rimmed glasses, and a broad-faced middle-aged woman, with a stern countenance. "I found virtually nothing on the bellhop and the nanny—save for what you told me about him, and that she was a naturalized citizen, originally from Britain."
The pictures went back in the file, to be succeeded by another one: a glamorous young woman, with elegant, sweeping hair, and a full, cupid's-bow mouth. "The other girl—the singer—I also found nothing on. It's like…" she glanced at the woman's profile, "Claire Poulet never existed. Freaky. But there was material on the other two." She shifted the papers again, pulling out two publicity shots.
"Here's the older of the two, Gilbert London." He was a stereotypical tall, dark, and good-looking gentleman, with a sharply chiseled face and piercing eyes. "He worked primarily in theater, his main venue being the London Palladium Theater—an extremely prestigious place. A year or so prior to the…erm…accident, he'd decided to make a transition to acting in films. He starred in one film—something Shakespearian, I think."
She paused for a moment, putting London's photo back into the folder, and slowly drawing out the final photograph. "And here's the final victim."
Shinji sucked in his breath as Sabrina laid the picture before him. "A child?" he asked, voice incredulous and wounded. "A little girl…killed?"
"Yes." Her voice softened for a moment. "Her name was Sally Shine, and she was Hollywood's little darling at the time—second only to Shirley Temple. A child actor," she hastily explained at the boy's slightly bewildered look. Sally smiled up from the picture, all sweetness, dimples, and soft ringlets.
"Sally was becoming increasingly famous around the time of the accident," she continued, forcing some briskness into her tone. I'd almost forgotten how horrible it is…a little girl, killed… "Therefore, it's entirely possible that a rival actor or studio tried to have her put out of the way."
"But who would do such a thing?" Shinji protested. He shuddered faintly, slumping forward. "How horrible…to kill a little child."
Her first instinct was to move forward, but a fleeting rush of uncertainty made her stop. Sabrina hovered in the air, poised to touch his arm; whether out of sympathy or comfort, she didn't know.
Could she touch him? Was it too familiar?
It was strange—she'd never felt like this around a boy before. She had never before met a boy who could make her face flush with a smile, or her pulse quicken at a slight touch…
Get over yourself, Spellman. This isn't a Harlequin romance novel, and you won't be finding true love in the arms of a tall, dark stranger. Welcome to the REAL WORLD.
Shinji unexpectedly lifted his head, facing her. Sabrina gulped, leaning back a little more. The two remained still, like figures in a tableau. He saw her hand outstretched, hovering near his arm. His eyes widened slightly; a faint blush spread across her face.
The dangling silence was snapped and broken by a screeching maid who ran past the door. "Vermin! Filth!" she wailed.
"Eh?" Sabrina blinked. "Wasn't that the maid from our floor?"
The Japanese warlock looked equally confused. "I believe so…"
Sabrina blanched for a moment as she hypothesized the reason the maid was in such a panic. "Uh-oh…"
He jumped up, concerned. "What's wrong?"
Sabrina flung the folder away, dashing out the door. She called over her shoulder, "Damage control!"
It was all a very confused Shinji could do to chase after her.
The door to the teenage witch's room swung open, as the two teens strode in, Salem slinking guiltily at their heels. Sabrina groaned as she sank onto the corner of her bed. She rubbed her forehead with one hand. "Thanks, Shinji. I owe you one."
The blue-haired warlock grinned, brown eyes twinkling, as he leaned against the wall. "It's all right. For you…anytime."
She shook her head, laughing slightly. "I still have no idea how you managed to convince her that Salem was a stuffed animal…"
"What can I say?" He shrugged expressively, his blue mane swinging to one side as his head tilted. "I have a gift for charm…and persuasion." Shinji winked teasingly, and Sabrina chuckled.
He certainly likes to act the part of the 'bad boy'…he must be absolutely dangerous back home.
"Well…uh…anyway," Sabrina decided to switch the subject since some introductions were long overdue, "Shinji, this is Salem, my familiar."
"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," Salem muttered, his tone tinged with faint guilt.
Shinji gave a deep nod of the head, before returning to stand against the wall.
The Spirit Detective gulped, confronted with another lingering, uneasy silence. With that spectacular little scene we just pulled, I doubt we should hang around the hotel today. Maybe we should leave for a little while—but where?
A quick rumbling noise reminded her that it had been six hours since she last ate. Both Shinji and Salem turned to look at her quizzically, as she grabbed her rumbling, grumbling stomach and laughed nervously.
That's it! Dinner! We'll go out for dinner!
Shinji was cocking his head slightly as he looked at her, looking quite cute.
And he is really hot. And sweet. This is the perfect way to get over Harvey! A great dinner with a cute boy, some mild flirting banter, a long walk in the moonlight—it's just perfect! I just have to have suggest it in the right way…not too eager, but too disinterested…
"Say," Shinji perked up, "you sound hungry. Let's get dinner!" He pushed himself off the wall. "I'll get my jacket.' He paused at the door. "And this time…" He turned around, and winked. "It's my treat!"
She blushed faintly, nodding. "Sounds perfect!" Darn. He beat me to it…but I'm not complaining!
"Are you sure you're comfortable eating here?" Sabrina asked as the waitress left the table. "I mean," she lowered her voice, "I'm sure there are lots of restaurants around here that serve Japanese food, and…"
Shinji held up a hand, cutting her off. "No. Trust me, I'm fine." He cocked an eyebrow. "There are burger restaurants in Japan, you know. It's not strange or unusual."
"Oh." Sabrina shut her mouth, feeling incredibly foolish.
Shinji must have sensed her discomfort, because he immediately tried to reassure her. "Hey, it's alright! You didn't know. Don't worry about it. And besides," he winked again, "I would tolerate any kind of food, as long as I have a lovely dinner companion with me."
Grinning back, Sabrina relaxed. He's so charming! But then again, he's also probably used to this…I bet he had tons of girlfriends back home.
"So, then," Shinji leaned back in the booth, "when should we get started on…ah, thank you." The waitress had brought their drinks. Sabrina accepted hers and smiled. Shinji had chosen to eat at Rosie's All-American Café, a small bistro specializing in sandwiches and coffee, and supposedly home to the city's best hamburgers.
They paused, sipping at their drinks. He looked up from his cup of tea, mentally grimacing at the bland taste. Might as well be dishwater. I'd probably be better off getting a soft drink. He paused for a moment, sneaking a glimpse at his new partner.
She was actually quite pretty, in an exotic fashion. After all, they don't make them like that back home… Sabrina looked a lot like what he'd heard American girls were. She had a narrow, heart-shaped face with faint freckles sprinkled across her cheekbones. She was much taller than most of the girls he knew, perhaps five and a half feet. And of course, she had blond hair—pale blonde, pulled back into a thick braid today, falling down her back.
But her eyes… He smiled softly over his cup. She really does have beautiful eyes…
They were. Sabrina's eyes were long and almond-shaped, warm and bright, and such a deep, pooling shade of sapphire…
"Shinji?"
"Eh?" he started, nearly spilling his tea over the table. Did she catch me staring at her? Oh, no… "Uh…yes?" he offered with a sheepish grin.
Luckily for him, she sighed. "The investigation. About the hotel. And the elevator crash. Re-mem-ber?" she asked, drawing out the syllables teasingly.
"Oh, yes. That." His eyes were momentarily diverted to the next table over, where an old woman sat with a cup of coffee. Was it a trick of the lighting, or had she suddenly perked up at the mention of the words 'hotel' and 'elevator crash'?
It must be my mind playing tricks on me…
"Yes, I remember. What are you thinking?" he asked, bringing his attention back to his blond partner. She huffed, looking slightly indignant.
"We need to start actively pursuing it. We don't have much time."
"Sabrina, it's been sixty years since the accident. I don't think anything is going to happen to the hotel right now."
She frowned. "That isn't what I meant. Drell wants this wrapped up by Friday-by Halloween, to be precise. So we need to start, post-haste. We need to start finding people who know something."
"Like who? The bellhop's grandson? What would he know? He wasn't even born then."
"But he might know something," Sabrina persisted. "We have to try. We have to find somebody who'll tell us something more than ghost stories!"
Shinji sighed. "I know," he began, "but…"
"Excuse me?"
He blinked. That wasn't Sabrina. She blinked at him from across the table. Both slowly turned to look upward.
The woman who had been sitting at the table nearby was now standing next to their table. She paused, looking slightly hesitant, as if gathering her courage. She was old enough to be their grandmother—how old, Shinji couldn't say. Her hair was cut short, in a fluffy white perm. Her face was round and pleasant, although very wrinkled, with pink cheeks and bright brown eyes. The elderly woman nervously twisted a rolled-up newspaper she was holding.
I'm sorry to intrude on your conversation," she began, "but I really couldn't help overhearing you." She paused, her gaze darting to both of them. When neither spoke, she took it as consent to continue speaking. "Now, I realize this is a great liberty, but…what you were speaking of earlier…would it…could it…in any way, be referring to the Hotel?"
"The…uh…" The words stalled in Shinji's throat as he desperately shot a glance at Sabrina.
"The Hollywood Tower Hotel?" the woman pressed eagerly. "Am I right?"
He had no idea what was running through Sabrina's mind at the moment, but she nodded. "Yes. That's right."
"Oh, I knew it!" the woman crowed happily. "I just knew it!" Her eyes were shining brightly now—quite brightly.
"Um…you seem to be very interested in the Hotel, Mrs.…" Shinji trailed off, trying to figure out why this woman was speaking to them.
"Gregory's my name. Miss Abigail Gregory. And…well, yes, I am," she admitted. "I'm very interested in the Hotel. And the two of you are, as well?"
"…in a manner of speaking," Sabrina admitted cautiously..
Ms. Gregory regarded them with bright, sharp eyes. "I'd say a good deal more than that. I know it sounds a bit nosy, but…what do you know about the Hotel? Why are you here? Is it about…the ghosts?" Her voice had a strange lilt to it, her eyes challenging them.
Shinji's mind was whirling for a plausible response, but Sabrina seemed to beat him to it. "Yes." He nearly howled, wanting to reach across the table and shake her. "My name's Sabrina Spellman, and this is my partner, Shinji Yamagi."
Why is she confiding in this woman? Is Sabrina trying to get some information out of her? Might as well play along for now...
"Please to meet you," Shinji added, nodding deeply. Ms. Gregory beamed at him.
"The two of us are students at Adams College in Massachusetts," she continued, lying glibly, "and we're also part-time staff writers for The Boston Citizen."
Shinji's jaw nearly dropped. She was good. And this Gregory woman seemed to be buying it.
"The editor of the features section is a native Californian," Sabrina continued on, "and he wanted us to do a story on the 60th anniversary of the Hollywood Tower Hotel accident for Halloween. It could be our big break!" she added brightly.
"How nice!" Ms. Gregory beamed. "Perhaps I can help you, then."
"Thank you for your interest," Shinji said politely, hoping to gently nudge the woman off the trail. "But I think we know the basic facts. Halloween night, 1939. Five people disappeared mysteriously from the elevator including the child movie star Sally Shine. She became a legend. Tell me something I don't know," he finished, shrugging.
The older woman had cocked her head slightly to one side as Shinji listed the particulars, her eyes narrowing briefly for one moment at the mention of Sally Shine. She seemed to change slightly. The polite, slightly daffy old woman in a brown sweater and long skirt had receded somewhat. She was slightly stronger now, a little brusquer. "All right then," she stated, her tone firmer than before. "I'll tell you what really happened that night."
"Oh?" Sabrina perked slightly.
Shinji raised an eyebrow. "Really? How?" he asked, his tone bordering on the sarcastic.
Abigail Gregory focused a steely, sharp brown gaze on him. "Because, young man, I was there."
There are a few lines that are directly from the movie: basically, they are the more iconic, important lines that really "made" the film. Points if you can tell what lines!
Yes, The Boston Citizen is completely made up—literally. I made it up, and so did silver-tongued Sabs.
Rosie's All-American Café is a real place that you can eat at in Disney/MGM Studios. It's an open-air counter service burger joint set just down the street from—you guessed it, the Tower of Terror. It doesn't really serve as a sit-down café like I described in the story, but I felt the need to class things up a bit.
Next chapter: Our intrepid detectives learn the story behind the Hotel from Abigail, who seems to have a strange interest in the whole affair. Meanwhile, Salem decides to do some snooping of his own…