Black Raven Inn: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 6) by Rebecca Patrick-Howard Page A
Authors: Rebecca Patrick-Howard
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embellishing the design.
“You turning in for the day?” Aker asked in a tone that was casually polite, it not completely friendly yet.
“Yep! It’s getting late and my tummy is growling. You have a nice day?” She was bound and determined to win him over. Eventually.
“It was quiet. That’s all I ask for,” he replied with resolve.
Taryn imagined that he had seen a lot in his day; his present job must have been downright boring. Other than the rat (which he knew about) and the hand on her shoulder in Room #5 (which he didn’t know about) nothing had caused any excitement in the time they’d been on the job. All he had to do was unlock the gates, search the perimeter and interior before she started work, and sit out in the sun all day while she did her thing. It wasn’t exactly life on the beat.
“Let’s start early again tomorrow, okay?” she asked as they began packing up their respective vehicles. “I need to catch that morning light so that I can see in there.”
“Early is fine with me,” he replied, adjusting his dark sunglasses and brushing a speck of invisible lint from his jacket.
“And, uh, by ‘early’ I mean–“
“Nothing before 10:00 am,” he finished for her. “I know the drill.”
Taryn grinned. In a weird way, it was almost like having a partner.
The pale moon was already sharing the sky with the sinking sun when Taryn drove back towards Hillsboro Village and her apartment. After a drive through White Castle, she took a turn down Music Row, blowing on her hot fries as she cruised past the signs congratulating songwriters on their latest hits.
“So depressing,” she murmured.
She was saddened to see that so many of the bungalows and buildings that had once housed publishing companies and record labels were empty. Growing up, Music Row had been a thriving area, full of professional offices for the music business. Now, many of the companies had either closed or been bought up by larger companies or relocated to newer buildings closer to downtown. Some had moved to Los Angeles. The little shopping area off of Demonbruen that was once home to a Barbara Mandrell museum and George Jones gift shop was now a virtual ghost town. Even Shoney’s was gone.
On the other hand, downtown was booming. As a child it was virtually empty. Her own grandmother had once remarked that you couldn’t get her to “drive through downtown in the broad daylight.” As a teenager, she’d watched as Second Avenue enjoyed a revival, what with the line dance craze and building of the Wild Horse Saloon and Hard Rock Café. Broadway, Second, and Printer’s Alley weren’t just places for liquor and live music–now you could hardly walk down any of them on a weekend without bumping into families with camera and toddlers in tow.
Taryn’s own neighborhood in Hillsboro Village had seen its fair share of changes, too. When she’d first moved in the main draw had been a used bookstore and the Pancake Pantry. The Pancake Pantry was the size of her living room back then, and the lines stretched around the block if you didn’t know what time to go. Now there were more than two dozen boutiques and cafes. The old Belcourt Theatre had been revitalized and showed arthouse films, and the whole area was teeming with hipsters and industry professionals alike.
Ironically, the Pancake Pantry had expanded and was now three times larger than it had been–and the lines still wrapped around the building.
Things changed. Taryn wasn’t really that keen on changes.
Although she’d spent most of her childhood in Franklin, Nashville was still her “hometown” but while she could appreciate the economic growth the city had seen, it no longer felt like hers anymore. She’d always kind of liked the grittiness and blue collar worker meets old southern money feel the city had kept. She liked the fact that she could go to the Green Hills Mall and walk through the shops with fur coats, pretending she had money, while still
“You turning in for the day?” Aker asked in a tone that was casually polite, it not completely friendly yet.
“Yep! It’s getting late and my tummy is growling. You have a nice day?” She was bound and determined to win him over. Eventually.
“It was quiet. That’s all I ask for,” he replied with resolve.
Taryn imagined that he had seen a lot in his day; his present job must have been downright boring. Other than the rat (which he knew about) and the hand on her shoulder in Room #5 (which he didn’t know about) nothing had caused any excitement in the time they’d been on the job. All he had to do was unlock the gates, search the perimeter and interior before she started work, and sit out in the sun all day while she did her thing. It wasn’t exactly life on the beat.
“Let’s start early again tomorrow, okay?” she asked as they began packing up their respective vehicles. “I need to catch that morning light so that I can see in there.”
“Early is fine with me,” he replied, adjusting his dark sunglasses and brushing a speck of invisible lint from his jacket.
“And, uh, by ‘early’ I mean–“
“Nothing before 10:00 am,” he finished for her. “I know the drill.”
Taryn grinned. In a weird way, it was almost like having a partner.
The pale moon was already sharing the sky with the sinking sun when Taryn drove back towards Hillsboro Village and her apartment. After a drive through White Castle, she took a turn down Music Row, blowing on her hot fries as she cruised past the signs congratulating songwriters on their latest hits.
“So depressing,” she murmured.
She was saddened to see that so many of the bungalows and buildings that had once housed publishing companies and record labels were empty. Growing up, Music Row had been a thriving area, full of professional offices for the music business. Now, many of the companies had either closed or been bought up by larger companies or relocated to newer buildings closer to downtown. Some had moved to Los Angeles. The little shopping area off of Demonbruen that was once home to a Barbara Mandrell museum and George Jones gift shop was now a virtual ghost town. Even Shoney’s was gone.
On the other hand, downtown was booming. As a child it was virtually empty. Her own grandmother had once remarked that you couldn’t get her to “drive through downtown in the broad daylight.” As a teenager, she’d watched as Second Avenue enjoyed a revival, what with the line dance craze and building of the Wild Horse Saloon and Hard Rock Café. Broadway, Second, and Printer’s Alley weren’t just places for liquor and live music–now you could hardly walk down any of them on a weekend without bumping into families with camera and toddlers in tow.
Taryn’s own neighborhood in Hillsboro Village had seen its fair share of changes, too. When she’d first moved in the main draw had been a used bookstore and the Pancake Pantry. The Pancake Pantry was the size of her living room back then, and the lines stretched around the block if you didn’t know what time to go. Now there were more than two dozen boutiques and cafes. The old Belcourt Theatre had been revitalized and showed arthouse films, and the whole area was teeming with hipsters and industry professionals alike.
Ironically, the Pancake Pantry had expanded and was now three times larger than it had been–and the lines still wrapped around the building.
Things changed. Taryn wasn’t really that keen on changes.
Although she’d spent most of her childhood in Franklin, Nashville was still her “hometown” but while she could appreciate the economic growth the city had seen, it no longer felt like hers anymore. She’d always kind of liked the grittiness and blue collar worker meets old southern money feel the city had kept. She liked the fact that she could go to the Green Hills Mall and walk through the shops with fur coats, pretending she had money, while still
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