Sam managed to slip past the large man shouting out to ghost as he while brandishing some strange device. She ran up the stairs and slammed the basement door. Considering that this man was a guest, slamming the door on him was a bit rude, but Sam really didn't feel like dealing with him right now. She was already in a bit of a foul mood. Her mother wasn't going to be pleased with her for failing to find those stupid cherries and was sure to give her another lecture about responsibility. And just where were those cherries anyway? She distinctively remembered her mother and herself sitting at the table and canning those cherries just last month. And they haven't used them since then. So, where'd they go? Maybe a guest stole it or something.

Deciding to just get the lecture over with, Sam made a deep sigh and walked towards the reception desk where her mother was working.

"Hey," she called as she approached the desk, "I can't find those cherries. Where'd you- Huh?"

She stopped as she reached the desk. Mother wasn't there, but someone else was. That's not what caught her attention, though. What caught her attention was the busted wall with some sort of strange vehicle wedged halfway into the lobby. She stared at the strange sight until a slam from the desk made her look up. She watched the person's back was facing her and he was stomping away from the desk while muttering angrily to himself. Exactly what, Sam wasn't able to tell. He left the lobby leaving Sam alone. She wondered to herself what that was all about and was about to go search for Mother, but stopped herself. She was still holding the note and key that she and Jazz had found. There was something about that note. Something that kept nagging at her in the back of her mind. What exactly that something was, she didn't know. But she felt like she ought to.

Sam shook her head a little. She was losing her mind. Whatever that nagging feeling was trying to tell her, it probably wasn't important. One of the guests probably left this note as a prank. Either that or he was flirting with one of the maids. She should probably get rid of it before Mother discovered it. If she did and suspected the staff was flirting with a guest, she'd call another staff meeting and lecture everybody about how they were all acting "most SHAMEFULLY!" and how she had never seen a "more EMBARSSING display!" Sam reread the note, trying to ignore that constant nagging. Dan. Who was Dan? If he's another guest, it would probably be a good idea to let him know he shouldn't be writing secret love notes to the staff.

Sam went behind the reception desk and looked at the open log book. Jack Fenton and Jazz Fenton. No Dan. Wait a second, whose handwriting is this? Not Mother's. Wait, this isn't even Mother's log book. Where'd it go? She opened a large drawer on the desk and was surprised to see a pile of used log books inside. The first two-thirds of the pile of books were all written in handwriting she didn't recognize. She wondered who had been writing in these books and how in the world was it possible that there were so many all completely filled up. Finally, she found Mother's books. She picked up the top book and scanned the pages. She stopped at the very last page and read the final name.

Daniel Masters November 14, 1873 Room 24.

She stared at the name. Daniel Masters. Again that nagging feeling came back and refused to leave Sam alone. Daniel Masters. She didn't know who this man was, but she couldn't help but think that she ought to. Maybe he introduced himself to her when he checked in. That must be it. That must be why she kept thinking she knew this person. But even as Sam tried to convince herself, she knew it wasn't true. Again, she shook her head, trying to dispel the annoying nagging in her head. She'd better go tell this Daniel Masters to back off on the notes. The book said he's in room twenty-four, right?

Giving one last odd look at the stuck vehicle before climbing up the stairs to the second floor. She stopped at room twenty-four and knocked. She prepared herself for a confrontation but was extremely surprised to see not Daniel Masters answer the door, but somebody else.

"Jazz?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah?" she replied, waiting expectantly for the reason of Sam's visit.

"What are you doing here?"

"This is my room," she arched an eyebrow at her for asking such a silly question.

"But, the log book said this was Daniel Masters' room."

"Daniel Masters? Who's Daniel Masters? Wait, is he the guy writing these notes?"

"I think so," she glanced at the note before suddenly turning her head back to Jazz, "Wait a minute, notes? As in more than one? There's more?"

Jazz raan back to her room for a second and handed Sam another scrap of paper.

"I found it in my room last night," she explained as Sam read it, "That's what I was trying to tell you before my dad interrupted."

Sam noticed that Jazz was no longer denying that she knew the strange man in the basement screaming about ghosts, but didn't press the issue. Jazz took the note they had found in that can and reread it.

"So, what was under the piano?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "I didn't look."

"Want to look now?"

"What?"

"Do you want to come with me and see what he hid under the piano?"

"You're actually going to go look? You know, the note might not really mean anything. He's probably just playing some sort of joke or something."

"Eh," Jazz shrugged, "I'm still going to look. There's nothing else to do and I am losing my mind from boredom. There's too much snow out there to play in, the TV's broken, and my books are in the cargo hold of the RV which is buried in snow so, I can't go get them."

Before Sam could protest, Jazz took her hand and pulled her down the hall.

"Come on," Jazz continued, "Where's the piano?"

Might as well look. If kept the guest happy, that what harm could it do to play along? Besides, if this Dan person is playing a joke, she'd better make sure he didn't damage anything in the process. They went into the parlor downstairs where the piano was kept. Mother bought it so that the guests could listen to music as they relaxed in the couches and leather chairs furnishing the room. She also had specifically instructed that it be placed in the back corner of the room. She wanted the musician to be as invisible as possible so that the guests didn't have to suffer the horror of being in the presence of a servant. A completely unreasonable idea since most of their guests had their servants with them. But then again, Mother wasn't exactly known for being reasonable.

They reached the piano and got on all fours. They crawled underneath the piano and poked at floorboards.

"I think I found something," Jazz said.

She pressed her hand down on the board and the girls watched as it sank slightly. She took her hand back and removed the loose board. Hidden inside was a small wooden box with a tiny silver lock. Sam looked down at the tiny key still in her hand and curiously put it in the lock. It fit and she was able to open the box.

"Another note?" she said to herself.

Indeed there was another note folded up neatly in the box. Sam unfolded it and read it aloud.

Spell Father's name in the panel in his room and you might be rewarded. Dan

"Now all we need to figure out the name of Dan's father and find his room," Jazz said, "That's going to be difficult, though."

"You're not actually thinking about following this note, are you?" Sam asked, giving her an odd look.

"Of course I am. I'm told you, I'm bored and there's nothing better to do. Besides, a treasure hunt sounds fun. Much more fun than what Dad's doing."

As if on cue, Jack came barreling in the parlor. He was no longer carrying the device from before and instead had a new strange contraption in his hand.

"Now," he muttered to himself, "Where did that ghost go?"

"Dad," Jazz sighed, "What are you doing now?"

"Jazz?" he turned and saw her underneath the piano, "Hard at worklooking for that ghost, I see. Atta girl! That's the Fenton way! You just keep looking and don't mind me. I'm just passing through."

"What are you doing with that thing?" she demanded, pointing at his new device.

"That Jeremy guy took away my Xtractor. Said it was being destructive, whatever that means. So, I'm just going to have to use this Fenton Foamer instead to get that ghost!"

"Ghost?" Sam asked, "What ghost?"

But before Jazz could answer, the Finder in her father's pocket went off.

"Ghost spotted! Ghost spotted!"

"Eureka!" he shouted, "He's here! The ghost is here!"

"Dad! No!"

But she was already too late. Jack fired the Foamer and green slime instantly splattered all over the piano. Sam and Jazz raced back up to their feet and ran as he covered the room in goo.

"Show yourself, ecto-freak!" he shouted, "I know you're here!"

Jazz screamed as a bit of goo landed next to her foot. Jack mistook the scream for fear of the ghost.

"Don't you worry, Jazzy!" he shouted, still shooting slime everywhere, "I'll get that ghost! He won't hurt you! Go back to your own evil dimension, ghost-scum!"

"You nitwit!" somebody shouted, "What are you doing now?! Stop this nonsense this instant!"

Sam could hear an argument going on in the parlor, but by that time, she and Jazz had already left. They stopped at the kitchen to catch their breath. Jazz looked down at her shoe and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the stain the slime had left when it landed near her. When Sam finally stopped panting, she glanced at Jazz with a puzzled expression.

"You want to tell me why he keeps trying to catch a ghost in here?"

"No, not really," Jazz answered, "But I guess I don't have much of a choice. Mrs. Manson told Dad that there's a ghost in here and now he's trying to hunt it."

Sam looked confused. Why on earth would Mother say that there's a ghost in the inn? She had always told Sam ghosts were just fairytales. Sam didn't necessarily believe that herself, but Mother certainly did. Which just goes back to the question of why she'd say ghosts were at the inn. Unless she was being sarcastic to Jack and he thought she was actually being serious. That was probably it.

"So," Jazz said, snapping Sam out of her thougts, "Any ideas about finding out the name of Dan's father?"

"Huh? Oh. Not really. No."

"Oh," Jazz looked disappointed, "Oh well. I'll figure it out. Maybe I could go ask Mrs. Manson."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Because if Jazz went to Mother, then Sam would have to explain all these notes Dan was leaving and rebuke everybody for their "despicalble, simply DESPICABLE behaviour!" And Sam really didn't want to hear it. But either Jazz didn't hear her or she ignored her and went sprinting off somewhere down the hall. Sam didn't follow. Instead, she went off to her room. She carelessly tossed the note on her dresser and flopped onto the bed. The day had barely begun and already she was ready to go to sleep. First the disappearing cherries, then the crazy ghost hunter, and soon she'd have an angry mother too. Next would probably be something broken because of this Dan person.

Again, her mind began buzzing. Daniel Masters. Dan. Why did she feel like she knew that name. It couldn't be just a simple introduction. There was something more to it. But what? Ugh! This was going to drive her crazy! Who is Dan? Sam replayed the name over and over again in her mind as her eyelids began to droop. Dan. Daniel Masters. Dan Masters.

Two minutes later, she was fast asleep. In her dream, it was completely dark. She felt someone's arms wrapped around her and hugging her tight close to him. It was a definitely a him. She didn't know how she knew this. But she knew with one hundred percent certainty that this was definitely a man. He held her tight against him and Sam nestled up against him, not feeling the least bit afraid. She gladly accepted his warm embrace. As she enjoyed the bliss she felt against him, his hand began stroking her hair. Again, she was not afraid. Sam smiled as she slept on the bed with her hair being lovingly caressed.