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silent plea. See? I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s happening again, and it’s getting worse and worse. Do something!
    Kelsey stepped past Mr. Simmons and hurried up the stairs to the gallery. She paused, gazing down over the rail of the landing. Sandy held her guest by the arm and was IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
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    urging him to calm down. But Simmons seemed adamant about leaving.
    “If you’ll just show us, Mr. Simmons,” Sandy said.
    “What, are you insane?” he shouted. He stared up at Kelsey. “Don’t…oh, God, don’t go in there! Get the police!” he cried.
    “Mr. Simmons,” Kelsey called down. “I am a law enforcement agent. I’m a United States Marshal.”
    “Room 207,” Sandy said gravely.
    Kelsey nodded, turned and hurried down the hallway. It was a straightforward numbering system; the second f loor had ten rooms, 201 through 210. Room 207 was to her left along the gallery. Her own room was 201, but she didn’t really have to check at the numbers; the door to 207 was wide open, just as Simmons had left it.
    She stepped inside and paused, biting her lip. There was nothing there. Certainly no blood.
    The room was handsomely appointed. In fact, Sandy had done a beautiful job restoring the whole place. She’d renovated it with authenticity, studying historic documents and outfitting it with period pieces. Kelsey knew something about all of this, because Sandy had been in love with the inn—longing to buy it—for years. The Longhorn was one of the oldest original wooden structures of a bygone era.
    It had opened in 1833 as the Longhorn Saloon and Gentleman’s Palace, and through its history, it had been the place where travelers to San Antonio, especially “gentlemen,” had come to enjoy the liquor, poker, ambiance and female entertainment provided here. Every now and then, Sandy arranged a night with old-time entertainment; it was IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
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    no longer a house of prostitution, of course, but she held poker games for charity, and hired period singers, actors and dancers to evoke the feel of the old west.
    Needless to say, any building as old as this one held its share of ghost stories. Room 207 had come with the Rose Langley legend, and much more recently, Sierra Monte had disappeared from it.
    Kelsey considered what Sandy had told her about the Sierra Monte case.
    Blood spray and spatter had covered the room. There had never been any sign of her body, and there had never been an arrest. DNA testing proved that the blood was hers, and the medical examiner had claimed it was highly unlikely that anyone could have lost that much blood and survived.
    How her remains had been removed from the room was a mystery, just like the identity of her killer.
    It had been a horrible story. But in law enforcement, officers and agents heard a lot of horrible stories. And if every hotel in the world closed when something bad happened, they’d be tearing down buildings right and left.
    Afterward, Sandy had hired special crews to come in and clean up.
    There wasn’t a drop of blood to be seen anywhere.
    Kelsey walked into the bathroom, once a dressing room for the “girls” who had entertained at the Longhorn. She hadn’t been in on the investigation, although she’d researched it, primarily because of her friendship with Sandy.
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    determined that Sierra was most likely killed in the bedroom and possibly dismembered in the bathroom.
    When the police had finished and Sandy had taken over the place, she’d had the bathroom in 207 completely re-modeled. The old tub was still taking up a lot of space in the evidence room at the police station.
    The bathroom looked completely ordinary.