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“Well, living or dead, it’s always people that haunt the living!” Mae said sagely, offering a sad shake of her head. Then she brightened, sounding like a girl about to head for her first dance. “And you bet your butts, gentlemen! I’m going to get to see a real live ghost!”
“Mae, if you see a ghost, the point is, it’s not ‘live,’” Clint said dryly. “But what the hell? Things could get darned interesting around here.”
Thirty minutes later, Darcy was back in her hotel room, listening to the voice on her cell phone.
“You want me to do what?” she said incredulously to Adam. “Not apologize, right?”
Darcy actually pulled the cell phone away from her ear to stare at it, despite the fact that on an intellectual level, she knew she couldn’t see her employer’s face.
“Don’t apologize, just rethink things.” Adam, far away in London, was quiet for a minute. “Darcy, I have a vested interest in the house. I’ll explain when I get back into the country.” He sighed softly. “Darcy, there’s no one like you. I need you. Please don’t sound as if I’ve asked you to make peace with hostile aliens or some such thing.”
Darcy winced. She knew that there was something about Melody House that Adam hadn’t shared with her yet. Had to be. She was often certain herself that Adam, despite his own apparent wealth, was funded as well by another source—possibly governmental. They’d quietly gone in and out of a number of Federal buildings in previous cases. This was different. He really wanted in. For personal reasons, so it seemed. Reasons he wasn’t willing to share, as yet.
“Adam, if this was so important, you should have been here.”
“I know. But I had to be in London.”
She didn’t ask for an explanation, because he was a man who always kept business confidential, and even with her, information was shared on a need to know basis.
“Darcy, are you okay?”
“I’ve met a lot of skeptics,” she said, “I’ve just never had to actually work with anyone so openly hostile.”
“You can do it. I know you can,” Adam said.
“But,” she said quietly, “you don’t really want me to call this guy and apologize, do you?”
“I’d never ask you to do that.”
“So…?”
“Let’s let it lie for now. I’m willing to bet that you’ll hear from him.”
Darcy breathed out on a deep sigh. She hated the fact that she hadn’t handled the situation well at all. Her affection for Adam was very deep and real.
“All right. So what exactly do I do now?”
“Just sit tight. Is the hotel okay?”
Darcy looked around the room. “Sure,” she lied. As she did so, the hotel line began to ring. She stared at the phone distastefully. It was dirtier than a pay phone outside a heavily frequented gas station.
“I’ve got another call,” she told Adam.
“Any premonitions?” Adam said lightly. “I’m willing to bet that it’s Stone.”
“We’ll see. I’ll give you a call back.”
“Actually, you don’t need to,” he said, and hung up. Again, Darcy stared at her cell phone, shook her head, and forced herself to pick up the hotel line.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Tremayne, it’s Matt Stone.”
She was silent, waiting. Adam had been right.
Of course.
Apparently, Matt Stone could be stubborn, too. The silence stretched on.
“Yes?” she said again. She could almost see his teeth grate in the steel cage of his face.
“As you’re aware, I own Melody House. I don’t actually live in the main house all the time, though I stay now and then. However, I have a woman who manages the upkeep and the tours we allow through, and the events which are held there upon occasion. Her name is Penny Sawyer, and I’ll put you in contact with her. She’s incredibly anxious to have you and your company in.”
“But you’re not.”
“I did talk to Adam Harrison,” he said, not agreeing or disagreeing. “The house holds incredible historical importance,” he said flatly.
“Of course.”
“Look, Penny is supposed to handle everything. And she’s great with the place, knows all about it, and can help you with whatever you need. When you’ve got your plans down all pat, I’ll be back in on it, though. It’s still my place. And I want final approval on what you do.”
“Naturally,” Darcy said. She knew that it sounded as if her words were a flat fuck you, guess I’ve got no choice.
“Penny has suggested that you move on over to the house now.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary—”
“You need to be in the house to investigate it, right?”
“I just meant that there was probably no need for that kind of hurry.”
“Penny wants you there as soon as possible. She’s very eager to have you. Also, her office is in the house. We have all kinds of documents there, so…you could get started.”
Darcy looked around her hotel room. It was stretching it to even call the place a hotel. She didn’t flinch at the sight of bugs, but she had gagged over the film of them she’d had to clean out of the bathtub before managing a quick shower.
Maybe Matt Stone was something of a psychic himself. His next words suggested that he had read her mind.
“Ms. Tremayne, I’m familiar with the hotel.”
“Fine. I might as well get started. You’re right.”
“I’ll be there for you in thirty minutes.”
She opened her mouth to protest. She could have used a little more time just to survey the area before entering the house.
Too late. He’d hung up.
Swearing, she did the same. She looked around the small room. Not much to pick up—she’d been too afraid of getting creepy-crawly things in her lingerie to unpack much. She fished her few personal articles from the bathroom and folded the few pieces of clothing she’d had out in less than ten minutes.
Which turned out to be good. Matt Stone’s concept of time was not at all precise. She had barely made a quick run-through to assure herself she hadn’t forgotten anything when there was a knock at her door.
She opened it. He stood there, sunglasses in place, a lock of his dark hair windblown and sprawling over his forehead. In her business heels, she was just a shade under six feet. He still seemed to tower. She didn’t like the disadvantage, even if height didn’t really mean a damned thing.
“Ready, Ms. Tremayne?”
She took a breath, forcing something of a grimace rather than a smile. “Mr. Stone, somehow you manage to drawl out a simple Ms. as if it were a word composed of one long z, and a filthy one at that. My name is Darcy, and I’m accustomed to going by it.”
He cocked his head slightly. She couldn’t read his eyes because of the shades. “All right—Darcy. I’m glad you’re capable of moving. I have to get back into the office so let’s get going, you know, quickly. Where’s your bag?”
“I can take it myself, thank you.”
“Would you just show me the damned bag?”
She set her hands on her hips. “Someone ought to call the local cops on you. You may be some kind of a big landholder in these here parts, bucko, but you’re the rudest individual I’ve ever met.”
“Sorry, but my time is limited. Please, Ms. Tremayne—sorry, Darcy, may I take your bag?” he said sarcastically.
“Fine. Right there. It rolls—unless you’ll feel that your macho image will be marred and lessened by taking an easy route.”
He offered her a dry grimace, grabbed the bag, and started out.
She followed him, exiting the spiderweb filled hallways of the place, out to the parking lot.
She didn’t see any regular cars—there were a few trucks, a code-enforcement vehicle, and a county cop car in the lot.
He had a really long stride, but had paused just outside the building and removed his sunglasses, waiting for her to catch up. He saw that she was staring expectantly out at the parking lot.
“Oh, sorry,” he told her flatly. “It’s that one. I guess everyone forgot to tell you. I’m the local sheriff. Guess Adam didn’t tell you, either. But then, since you’re supposed to be a psychic, you should have known.” He stared at her, a light of mockery in his eyes.
She smiled sweetly in return. “Mr. Stone, I’m not exactly a psychic. There are certain areas in which I can deduce things. There are certain things about people I don’t know. But then again, there are things that people really don’t want known that I can deduce very easily. I’m known for finding skeletons in closets, and I’m sure that there are dozens of them at Melody House.”
Staring back at her, he was dead still then. His eyes were dark, not brown, but a deep gray. Disturbing. They seemed to pierce right through her, and yet wear a protective veil that kept her from reading anything within them. Still, it seemed that she had given him pause.
“Shall we go?” she said.
“Oh, yes. I’m just dying to see what bones you can dig up, Ms. Tremayne. Just dying.”
“Great. Just…”
“Just what?”
“Be prepared. Sometimes, people don’t like the skeletons we find.”
3
“To me, it’s simply one of the most incredible houses—and historical sites—on the face of the earth!” Penny said enthusiastically.
Darcy smiled, thinking that she agreed—despite the difficulty involved with the place, and that difficulty being Matt Stone.
He had maintained something of a pleasant conversation on the drive over, pointing out Civil War skirmish sites, and telling her that at one point, on his way to battle, the great Southern general Robert E. Lee had stayed at Melody House. Then they had reached the house, and though she couldn’t say he had practically thrown her out of the car, he had delivered her to the front door and Penny Sawyer as quickly as possible, explaining simply that he was on duty.
Hm. She wondered if he’d been on duty while sprawling around at the Wayside Tavern as well.
But Penny Sawyer was wonderful. Darcy couldn’t quite determine her age. The woman was certainly somewhere between forty and sixty, which was quite a span. She was slender, about five-five, with an attractive shag type of short haircut in a natural salt and pepper, and had beautiful, bright blue eyes. She was also nicely dressed in a stylish pantsuit, and as friendly as her employer was rude.
“The house is quite incredible,” Darcy said. “A number of historical homes—usually those owned by preservation societies—have been restored with painstaking authenticity, but it’s amazing to see the integrity of this house, especially when it’s been a family home all along.”
“Ah, well, the old gentleman, Matt’s grandfather, really loved the place. Treated the house like a baby. He wanted it to be a home while maintaining all that it had been. He was a remarkable old fellow.”
“Apparently.”
Penny gave her a funny little rueful smile. “Oddly enough, believe me, Matt is just as dedicated to the preservation of the house. He wants to maintain it himself, though—you know, he doesn’t want it going to any societies, no matter how good they might be, because he would lose control. He knows that house has to hold its own if he’s going to hang on to it. Upkeep on these places is staggering. And sheriffs just don’t make that kind of money. Oh! That didn’t really sound the way it should—he’s a man of incredible integrity. What I mean is, no matter how he loves the place, he’d never do anything illegal. Of course, you didn’t suggest such a thing!” Penny broke off with a laugh. “There would never be such a thing as graft involved in Matt’s life. He’s a great sheriff. The people love him. He can defuse the most ungodly situations, speak to the youngsters around here and all…but what it means is that he has to have tours going through here, and he has to make the house pay. That’s all. So! What kind of a feel do you get from the place? Is it haunted?”
Darcy smiled again at the question, wondering how to answer. “There’s a tremendous feel of the past about the place, I can tell you that.”
“But you…well, you see ghosts, right?”
Darcy hesitated again. “For the most part, I would say that, so far, the house actually has a warm feel to it. As if whatever remains of the distant past is mostly benign. But there is a feel to the house. That’s natural when so much has occurred through so many years. Many people believe that since we—humans—are made up of energy, and energy cannot actually be destroyed—that trauma forces that energy to remain, when the soul should have gone on.”
Penny arched a brow to her. “I know what most people feel and think. But you are a psychic. So—what do you think? Actually, no matter what you say, you won’t change what I feel and believe. I know that ghosts exist. I’ve seen one.”
“Oh?”
Penny shrugged. They were in her office, a very nicely done room on the ground floor, near to Matt’s, as Penny had pointed out.
“I’ve seen the woman in the white peignoir who runs from the Lee room and down the stairs. And I’m beginning to believe that she’s not a benign entity at all. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I personally love the ghost stories that abound around here. They’re important—they draw visitors to the house. But lately, the ghost seems to be getting—physical.”
“Exactly how so?”
“Well, not long ago we had a bride and groom staying in the room. She woke up in the middle of the night and the ghost spoke to her, or pulled her hair, or something. She wasn’t terribly clear. She came running down the stairs stark naked in the middle of the night, and refused to go back to the room even to pack up her things. Then, Clara Issy, one of the housekeepers, and a wonderful woman, came flying out because of the same thing happening. The ghost left a mark on her.”
“What did Sheriff Stone have to say about that?” Darcy asked.
Penny waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He says he’s convinced Clara ran into something. Matt simply refuses to believe in anything that doesn’t have full dimensions. However, he has said that we can have a seance here. None of this is making any sense to me. Matt may not know much about Harrison Investigations, but I do. Adam Harrison is supposed to be one of the most credible and influential investigators of psychic phenomena in the world! Matt knew that you all were coming—well, all right, he expected Adam himself—but he told Liz that she could carry on a seance. Go figure. Of course, he doesn’t really believe that anyone will contact the spirits, so maybe he wanted to make Liz happy, and annoy those who might have been able to make a special connection with whatever is going on.”
“It will be interesting to take part in a seance here, no matter who is acting as the medium,” Darcy told her tactfully.
“Well, it’s going to be tomorrow night,” Penny told her. “I’m setting up in the parlor, since Elizabeth says we should be using the center of the house, the heart of it.”
Darcy lifted her hands. “Sounds fine to me.”
“Well, I’m relieved. After all—you’re the professional.”
Darcy smiled. “I’m not so sure there is such a thing as a professional in this particular area. I’m sure Elizabeth will prove to be a fine medium.” Darcy rose. “Mind if I take a walk around?”
“Of course not, dear! Your bag has been taken up to the Lee Room—where the phenomenon has occurred. I imagine that whereas others might wake up in terror, you would wake up and try to talk to the ghost, right?”
“Something like that,” Darcy agreed.
“Well, then, you just make yourself at home.” She handed Darcy a pamphlet. “These are, as you’ll see, obviously for the tour groups. But the little map will help you get your bearings, and there are a few little tidbits of history about the house in there as well.”
“Terrific,” Darcy said. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure, and please, should you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me. I’m delighted to have you.”
“Thank you.”
Darcy took the little map and exited Penny’s office. It was one of two on the right side of the hall that connected the foyer and the grand stairway.
For a moment, she paused. This was the most important part of her work, as she saw it. Adam Harrison was excellent with machinery. Gauges that registered temperature changes, recorders that caught the slightest hint of sound. There were even gadgets that could record any rise or fall in a magnetic field. When he came, he would work with a Trifield Meter, and measure electromagnetic pollution. He also used a Trifield Natural EM meter, which measured electric as well as magnetic fields—showing disturbances where there should be none—and, as Adam was fond of telling clients—it was also a great tool for finding out if your microwave leaked or not. In his work, however, he knew that any kind of physical manifestation required a certain amount of energy, moving air, heat, cold, all and any changes that might take place in an area.
Adam worked from a seriously scientific point of reference.
But for her, it was the feel of a place. It was getting to know it.
And often, when she first arrived at a place reputed to be haunted, she would feel that Josh was with her. Ready to be beside her, vigilant, her guard in the strange world, perhaps.
She waited. But she didn’t feel his presence. She waited several minutes, dead still, making an effort to clear her mind, which wasn’t usually necessary. And still, she had no sense or feel of him, which was very unusual.
And yet the house seemed more alive with past energy than any other place she had ever been.
She walked back first to the entry, or foyer, and stared at the little map, getting her bearings. Not that the house was that complicated. From the wraparound porch, one entered the foyer, with the superb staircase. The house had been built like many a colonial with the hall—or what was really a massive breezeway—immediately to the right of the stairs. It made a straight and direct path to the back doors. At one time, before air-conditioning, such a breezeway allowed for the house to be cooled in summer by the continual flow of air, since both front and back doors would have been left open for that precise purpose.
There was one room other than the offices on that side of the house, the library. Darcy took a quick peek in at the room. Shelves lined three of the walls while a fireplace with a handsome carved hearth took up a majority of the fourth. The hardwood floor here was covered with a very fine, probably antique, Persian carpet. A huge mahogany desk sat in the room, while overstuffed reading chairs sat by the fire. She wondered if Matt Stone was aware of the value of the many ancient tomes that filled the cases—along with a lot of modern material as well.
The desk had a computer, printer, and seemed well set for any business purpose. She assumed the arrangement of the equipment here was for the convenience of the guests, since it had appeared that Penny’s office was supplied with all the technology she might need to run Melody House. Matt’s office was probably equally as well appointed.
Standing in the library, she closed her eyes for a moment and felt the room. The atmosphere was rich. A great deal of passion, emotion, and simple life had taken place within the room. But there was nothing here that seemed to hint of evil or malignance. She opened her eyes and exited the library, heading back to the foyer.
The staircase seemed somewhat disturbing, which Darcy didn’t find at all odd. She wondered how many men had walked down that stairway, followed by wives, lovers, or children, only to ride away to war, and perhaps never return.
The parlor was truly beautiful. She ignored the velvet ropes that kept the area protected from the sticky fingers of visiting children, the abuse of too many feet, and the overall damage that could be caused by large groups coming through on a frequent basis. Like the library, the parlor had a feel. When she closed her eyes, it drummed with the energy of the past. But again, she felt nothing evil.
Beyond the beautifully appointed parlor were the dining room—elegantly set as if for a dinner party of twenty in the mid-eighteen-hundreds—and the kitchen, kept entirely charming while being in a state-of-the-art condition. She instantly loved the room. There, the back door gave way to the wraparound porch. The view from the porch was exquisite. It was a beautiful day and the mountains could be seen in the distance in a riot of greens, violets, pinks, oranges and golds. The season was rich with flowers and foliage.
Darcy stepped back in. Rather than return to the foyer to take the grand stairway to the second floor, she walked up the far-less-spectacular servants’ stairway, winding from the rear of the kitchen up to the back of the hall on the second story. She gazed at her map again. Originally, there had been six bedrooms up here. Now, there were five, since the master suite these days consisted of a second office or sitting room as well as the master’s—Matt’s?—bedroom.
She assumed his personal area was off-limits to her. For the time, at least.
The rooms had apparently all been named after Southern generals, the Lee Room, or course, being the most prominent and assumably elegant, with the Stuart, Longstreet, Beauregard, and Amistad rooms being a bit smaller, judging by the map. Darcy entered each of the rooms, noting that they were all period, and quite charming, clean as a whistle, and inviting. The crew here kept the place up beautifully.
At last, she stood in front of the Lee Room, and closed her eyes. The atmosphere was heavy, cloudlike, dense, wrapping around her instantly. She opened her eyes and entered the room.
French doors were open to the porch. The breeze swept in. The room was quiet, and touched by the sweetness of the breeze.
Deceptive, Darcy thought. An aura of tremendous turbulence lay just beneath the apparent peace and serenity.
She imagined trying to explain the sensations she felt to Matt Stone.
It was not a pretty picture.
She didn’t think that there was any way she would ever be able to explain her particular talents to Matt Stone. Adam would understand. He was an amazing man. He had some abilities, but his true talent was in understanding that there were people in the world with special senses. She might have gone mad, seeing and hearing what others didn’t, except for Adam. First, he had believed. In his belief, he afforded her great trust. While he worked on a scientific level, proving different levels of heat and electricity, she worked purely through the visions and feelings that came to her—whether she wanted them or not, most of the time. Adam had taught her how to channel the strange images and feelings that came to her. And when she had thought herself a misfit who could live only in fear, he had taught her that she could bring peace and relief to lost souls, and given her purpose—as well as a very decent living that kept her feeling not only sane, but tremendously useful.
In this room, the feelings and impressions of trauma rushed around like a swirl of dark storm clouds.
However, it was incredible. Not a bad place to stay. Far, far, better than the hotel. Her bag was at the foot of the bed. She began to unpack, humming as she did so, yet completely attuned all the while for the slightest shift in the atmosphere.
All that touched her was the feel of the breeze and yet…
She was certain that she was watched. She could feel an unease streaking down her spine. It was as if the eyes of someone—something—were intently upon her, creating a trickle of sensation. An unearthly gaze seemed to reach out and touch her.
Feelings…intuitions. The hackles rising at her nape.
She paused for a moment.
But…
There was nothing solid. Nothing whatsoever. But Darcy knew.
Whatever lay within the room would wait, observe, and bide its time.
Summer hours kept the area light until well past eight in the evening.
Matt arrived home at about six and checked in at the house. He was certain that he’d find Penny and his visitor busily discussing the many ghosts they had already discovered. Maybe they’d even have the Ouija board out.
But Penny was in the kitchen with Joe McGurdy, their chef. Matt hadn’t known that Joe was coming in that night; he usually arrived only when they had a function planned. Finding the two in the kitchen, he arched a brow at Penny while Joe greeted him with a friendly smile.