Amy said as she fitted the master key into the lock on Room 3 and turned it. “It was an actual, for-real ghost.” Their plan was to search each motel room for clues about what might have happened to Sylvie. Piper doubted they’d find anything, but, then again, she’d never have guessed they’d find long-lost Aunt Sylvie’s suitcase hidden under the floorboards of the tower. “Ghosts aren’t real,” Margot said matter-of-factly as they entered the dusty, long-abandoned motel room. Just as with Rooms 1 and 2, there was nothing unusual in this one. A bed with the same ugly paisley bedspread, chewed through in spots by mice. The ceiling was crumbling, and the dim turquoise carpet was stained from water damage. There was a big scorch mark on the floor near the desk, in the exact shape of an iron. Piper checked under the bed, and only found the foul smell of moldering carpet. Margot peeked into the bathroom, rattling the rings to the disintegrating shower curtain as she pulled it back.
