"Maybe she isn't the one killing people. Maybe there is another ghost, and she is trying to warn us." Sam suggested, and you agreed with him.

"If that's true, than that means we have another ghost to find and salt and burn." Dean grumbled, not happy about the turn of events. 

Grabbing the journal back, you held it tight to your chest, a little honored that she had trusted you enough to give it to you. Feeling a little connected to the ghost, even though she had almost killed you at first.  "Well, in all of your research have you heard of another person that died here?"

By the frowns on both of their faces, you knew the answer without them saying a word. "So, we're back to square one." You muttered.

"Exactly." Dean agreed, slamming his hand on the table in front of him, earning more pointed glares.

"Well, I guess the best thing for me to do is read this book." You muttered, but truthfully you didn't mind.

Dean stood up. "While you read, Sam and I will go scope the place out. Maybe we can find a clue or something about who the other ghost is." You nodded, watching as they walked away. You had to admit, you really enjoyed the view, but you wished they would lose the coats. Seeing Dean this morning in just a t-shirt had brought a blush to your face, and you really wanted to enjoy the way the t-shirt tightened across his strong shoulders once again.

Shaking your head to get rid of all those wayward emotions, you set the journal down in front of you, turning to the front entry. At first, all the entries were the same, talks about dress fittings, and social etiquette. She seemed like a sweet girl who practiced piano, and was an accomplished singer. Her Mom was pushing her into a debutante lifestyle while she wanted nothing more than to study music and find someone sweet and kind to fall in love with. Her Dad was gone a lot, working or socializing, and in a way you felt sorry for her.

It wasn't until two months before her death that her journal entries seemed to change. She stopped talking about her music, concentrating more on the young men she fancied while at the various dinner parties she was forced to attend. There was one in particular that kept getting written about. A certain Andrew Dovington, who was the son of a prominent San Francisco shipping tycoon. He seemed to be courting her, but from what you could grasp she was not completely happy about it. One entry in particular seemed to stand out more than the others. "Andrew was at the gala again tonight, and he forced me to dance with him two times. He wanted a third, but Mother stopped that from happening. I can't imagine what Father would have thought of that disgrace. Andrew seemed very upset, his face becoming extremely red, and I feared that he may raise his hand. Mother loves him, but he scares me."

It was her very last entries that you were able to put together more of a picture. Her family had arrived at this hotel, which used to be the private home of a family friend. They had stayed here, as guests, and it was supposed to be then that her engagement with Andrew would be announced. She wrote about it, never once sounding excited, but more reserved to the fact. The night before she died, her tone changed, a sense of urgency to her words.

"I can't do this. I can't marry Andrew. Tonight I tried to ask him a question, and he became so enraged he hit me. I don't care what my parents say, I'm calling off the engagement tomorrow. I can survive on my music." She had written, and that was the last thing she had penned into her journal. Feeling sorry for the girl, you wondered what had really happened. If Andrew had really caused her death, or somebody else had. No matter what happened, you felt sorry for the girl whose life had not been her own, and had ended too tragically.

You were so caught up in the story you had just read, that you didn't hear the footsteps coming up beside you. When a hand clasped your shoulder, you jumped, raising the book over your head, reading to bean the person who had touched you.

"Woah, it's just me." Dean announced, taking a step backwards, holding his hands in the air.

Sighing with relief, you placed the book back down. "Sorry Dean. I was just too caught up with the book. Did you guys find anything?"

He shook his head sadly. "The staff are super tight lipped, and the only old pictures they have are of the family, none of the early visitors."

"Well, according to this book, she was here when the family still owned the property." You told him, waving the book as Sam sat down across from you.

"Did it happen to mention who her murderer was?" Sam questioned you. 

You shrugged, proud that you had something to share even if it wasn't much. "Not exactly, but it does point fingers at a certain person."

Sam waved his hand in front of him, asking for more information. Dean glared at him before sitting down next to you.

"His name was Andrew Dovington. He was her beau, at least he was because of her parents. She didn't seem to care for him too much, and he seemed a little aggressive. Her last journal entry was saying she was planning on running away from the engagement, and living on her own. Which was extremely brave for a girl of her upbringing." You explained.

"So I will look up this Andrew dude, see what I can find out. What do you two plan on doing?" Sam asked, pulling out his laptop again.

"We will go look at pictures again, maybe try to find some different books.Don't expect us back soon." Dean told his brother, grabbing your hand, your hand tingling from his touch. You let yourself be pulled to your feet, following along behind as you left the large library. Dean passed the main entry foyer, and the stairs, heading towards the back of the hotel.

"Dean, where are we going?" You asked him, and he turned to look at you, giving you a mischievous look that had you melting.

"You'll see." Was all he said, as he kept on moving, down a darkened hallway, with old fashioned sconces lining the walls. Stopping suddenly, you almost ran into him, but stopped yourself just in time. "Here we are." He announced, and you glanced around him, noticing a nice restaurant in the room in front of you. It was a romantic setting, full of small rounded, white table clothed tables, candles the main lighting.

"I thought we could get to know each other a little better. Maybe share some pie." Dean suggested, seeming a little nervous.

You were surprised, but extremely touched by the thought. "Wait, I thought we were going to be doing research?" You asked him.

"Well, we are. Kinda of. There are some old pictures in here. I thought we could do both at once." He suggested, and you answered with a smile, letting him tug you into the room.