“I wouldn’t count on it.”
When she left the shop, Lara walked several blocks to the public library. She hoped that the local history books would offer her some information about previous occupants of her house, particularly an occupant with the initials “M.A.S.” If the woman had come to a tragic end, that would make her a likely candidate to be haunting the place. The idea of ghosts still seemed a little crazy, but the sensations she’d felt during the electrical storm had brought her damned close to declaring herself a firm believer.
Two hours later she sat in the archive room with a stack of leatherbound volumes scattered on the table in front of her. So far the page of notes she’d been taking looked pretty sparse. She hadn’t found any specific mention of her property other than on a map that labeled the block of land “Sulley.” The diagram dated from 1868. Ron’s family had lived in her house for well over a century.
Leaning back in her chair, she wondered again if the mysterious “M” was on the premises. The flashes of cold she’d felt on several occasions were creepy enough, but she’d experienced other strange sensations, too. Anyone could tell when a pair of eyes was fixed on them. She sometimes got a similar feeling, only the eyes were invisible.
The memory made her shudder. She sat up straight and tried to concentrate on the book in front of her.
After fifteen minutes of skimming through the pages, she shut the cover and frowned. She’d scanned four old volumes published to commemorate town anniversaries and hadn’t even come across a Sulley family tree.
Ron must have one
, she thought, but the realization wasn’t enough to tempt her to contact him. She preferred to try to find something among the papers he’d left in the house. There were quite a few of them.
Gathering up her reference books, she took them back to the section they’d come from and reshelved them. During her search she’d also come across a biography of Geoffrey Vereker, and she decided to check that out.
As she stood in line at the front desk, she thought about the poet’s descendant again. Now that she was trying to learn the identity of the ghost, she wondered if she should have kept the letter she and Mark had found in the secret room. Maybe she could ask him to make a photocopy for her in case she needed it for reference. If nothing else, it would give her a reason to call him.
She finished checking out and debated the idea during the short drive home. By the time she walked into the house, she’d made up her mind. Finding his business card, she dialed the number before she could chicken out.
“Hello?” he answered after only one ring.
Hearing his pleasant voice, she felt a pang of excitement, along with disappointment that he’d backed off the other night. Not many men attracted her, and even fewer grabbed her interest. She’d probably never marry again.
“Hey, Mark. It’s Lara.”
“Oh, hi.” He sounded surprised--not particularly overjoyed to hear from her, but at least not annoyed.
She swallowed her nervousness. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been thinking about the letter we found the other night. Is there any chance you could make a photocopy for me?”
“Of course. I mean, you can have the original back, like I said. Do you want me to drop it off today?”
The chance to see him again tempted her, but she didn’t really want the original. “Thanks, but I still feel kind of creepy about it. A copy will be fine--and there’s no hurry. You can even mail it to me, if that’s easiest.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m not even eager to look at it again, but there may come a time when I want to. I’ve been trying to learn more about the history of the house.”
“Really?” His tone perked up. “How’s it coming along?”
She cleared her throat, embarrassed to talk to him--an expert in the field--about her lame attempts at research. “So far I haven’t had much luck. Today at the library I looked through some town-anniversary annals, but they mostly focused on politicians and prominent people in society. I get the feeling that the Sulleys never had a very high profile.”
“I wonder if I could find you any information. I have a pretty good collection of local-history books here. What sort of facts are you looking for--mainly details about the family or anything about the property?”
“Mostly about the family, I guess.” She let out a short, nervous laugh, then decided not to try to hide the reason for her research from him. What did she care if he thought she was crazy? “To be honest, I hope to gain some insight into who my ghost might be.”
For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he asked quietly, “You really think your house is haunted?”
“Well,
something
strange is going on. The ‘drafts’ I’ve been feeling are too cold to come from outside, and the timing of that storm the other night was awfully coincidental. My suspicion is that ‘M’ may be hanging around. I had never noticed anything strange before you found the love letter to her in the parlor. And the other main source of eerie drafts is the secret room, where she left the other note.”
“But drafts are an everyday occurrence, Lara. I feel them here all the time.”
“Hmm.” A sudden thought occurred to her, and she frowned. “The coffee cup incidents happened at your place, too.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that only proves that this is all coincidence. You have to admit it’s not likely both of our places would be haunted.”
“Maybe the ghost is following me.”
He laughed. “There’s no ghost following you any more than there’s one following me.”
“No, stuff happens when you’re not around, too--though it all started around the time...”
Around the time we met
, she thought. Could the ghost want something from both of them? As she’d just noted, strange things had happened at his apartment as well as her house.
“Did you ever experience anything like this before you met me?” she asked.
“Like what? Drafts? Of course, I did. It’s going to take more than a little chill to convince me something supernatural is going on. Listen, Lara, in my business, I’ve traipsed through a lot of old houses, and I’ve never come across any solid evidence for the existence of ghosts.”
Though her intuition about this felt strong, she didn’t have any “solid evidence,” either. “Well...I can only hope you’re right.”
The conversation fell off for a moment, then he asked, “Did you run across anything else of interest during your research?”
“A few things.” She realized that he wanted to change the subject but figured it was just as well. “I learned some intriguing tidbits about your ancestor, the poet. He’s mentioned fairly often in the town annals.”
“Is he?” His tone hardened. “For his poetry or for his womanizing?”
“A bit of both, to tell the truth, but he was also known for his cynical wit. I’ve run across half-a-dozen wonderfully barbed quotes of his about local politicians and socialites.”
“Really?”
She smiled to herself. “Apparently he had as little tolerance for hypocrisy as he did for morality. How can you help but be intrigued by such a character? Frankly, I’d like to learn more about his torrid affairs. The old books I skimmed through today only hinted at what was going on.”
“The family legends are like that, too.” He spoke slowly, evidently considering her observations. “I think my Victorian ancestors did their best to cover up how he led his life. The story is that after he died--fairly young, from what I remember--his wife burned all of his journals. She was supposedly a respectable type, though Geoff was better known for consorting with women of inferior reputation.”
“His wife burned his journals? That’s horrible! They must have been fascinating. I would have loved to read them. The library had a biography of him and I checked it out, but I doubt it includes much in the way of juicy details.” She pulled the small volume out of her purse and opened it to the copyright page. “It was written in the nineteen-thirties.”
“Who’s the author?”
She flipped back to the front cover. “Ernest Jamison.”
“I think I have a copy of that one around here somewhere, too, but I’ve never read it. Maybe I should. I wouldn’t mind hearing more about that ‘barbed wit’ you described. That might hold more interest for me than his poetry.”
The discussion reached another lull, and she decided to cut the call short. Though Di had told her to encourage Mark, Lara hadn’t gotten over her feelings of rejection from the other night. She preferred to be the one to propose hanging up, rather than let him have the pleasure.
“Well, I’ve got to go. I’m having lunch with a friend.” She didn’t really have a lunch date, but if he asked her for details, she could always say she was meeting Di. “Thank you in advance for making me a copy of that letter.”
“No problem. Um, I just want to say that I’m glad you’re doing the research you are, even if your reason for it is a little misguided.”
She stiffened. “That’s a backhanded compliment, isn’t it?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I only meant that I don’t buy into the idea that you’re being haunted. What I should have said is that I’m glad you’re exploring local history, and I have to admit that I enjoyed your insights into my ancestor. Your views have made me curious about him. I’m even beginning to wonder if there was more to the old boy than I’ve always thought.”
“Maybe you should make an effort to learn more about him,” she said, her feathers still ruffled.
“I’m going to. You’ve made me realize I never gave him much of a chance.”
“And you say
I’m
apathetic about the past.” As soon as the remark had slipped out, she bit her lower lip. Here he was trying to see her viewpoint about something, and she had to bring up an old point of contention. With Mark and her actually getting along for once, she really should have kept her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you’re right.” His voice sounded grim. “Geoff was my great, great grandfather, you know.
I
should be telling
you
all about him, instead of the other way around. I’m the one who owes you and apology--or several. It was stupid of me to accuse you of indifference to the past. The research you’re doing now proves I didn’t know what I was talking about.”
She breathed a sigh, glad to have escaped another argument. “Either that, or it proves I’m a big chicken--maybe both. Anyway, I’d better go before one of us says something else to set the other off.”
“Wait. While I have you on the phone, there’s one more thing I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking a lot about those letters in your attic. That’s another matter I should have taken more interest in. If your offer still stands, I’d really like to help you look through them.”
Her surprise nearly made her speechless. “You’ve changed your mind?”
“Yeah. Have you had a chance to get started?”
“No, not yet.” Excitement welled up in her, but she tried to dampen it. He hadn’t asked her out on a date, for heaven’s sake. Trying to sound nonchalant, she said, “I could definitely use help going through all of that stuff. In fact, you may even need to give me a pep talk so I can work up the nerve to go up there.”
“I will if I have to. How about we do it tomorrow? Are you busy in the morning?”
“No, tomorrow morning will be great,” she squeaked out. “How about around ten o’clock? I can have some sort of breakfast on hand.”
“Sounds great. I’ll bring you a copy of the letter we found the other night.”
With that settled, they said good-bye.
When she’d hung up, she took a deep breath. He was coming over, after all. She wasn’t sure if it meant he was interested in her, but at least he wasn’t avoiding her. As long as they stayed on good terms with each other, there was always a chance something could happen.
* * * *
Mark’s hand shook as he set down the receiver. Asking Lara if they could get together had made him absurdly nervous. His mouth was dry, and he felt ridiculously happy that she’d agreed. Anyone would have thought he had a hot date lined up.
He sat back on the couch, surprised by his reaction. Though he told himself he should only think of this as an opportunity to explore her attic, the conversation they’d just had given him reason to wish for something else.
Getting up, he went to the kitchen to get a drink. As he took a glass out of a cabinet, he thought about her new interest in the history of her house. This unexpected development gave him new hope that she might still change her mind about knocking down the wall. She’d taken a first step toward grasping what a unique place her house held in local history.
Of course, her reason for the research was silly, he thought as he filled the glass with water, but to a certain extent he could understand her worries. Their experience during the electrical storm had been pretty scary. Other women in her place might have moved out of the house by now. He had no doubt she would eventually come to see that the ghost was a figment of her imagination. Meanwhile, he hoped that her research would help her grow.
Sipping his drink, he remembered her observations about his ancestor and realized that he had some growing to do, too. Lara’s fascination with Ol’ Geoff had actually spurred a touch of pride in him today, the first he’d ever felt about the poet. She had opened him up to a part of his life he’d failed to explore. If he hadn’t met her, he might never have come to question his own prejudgments.
He shook his head to himself. After this phone call, he felt like he was just starting to get to know her. She wasn’t the careless woman he’d initially thought, and the more he learned about her, the more he liked.
Carrying his glass back into the living room, he wondered what he could do to encourage her in her research. With his
experience, he should have been able to make suggestions about resources she might not have considered.
Deed records
, he thought. He could pop in Town Hall and look up the former owners of her house for her. Even if the property had only passed from father to son all these years, the names and dates would make a good point of reference.
Setting his water down on the coffee table, he grabbed his car keys and hurried out of the apartment.
Nothing like being eager to please
, he mocked himself, but he wasn’t about to put off the errand. Lara’s new involvement with her house had reinforced his attraction to her, but his feelings hadn’t exactly been dormant. Over the last two days, he’d spent far too much time fantasizing about kissing her, touching her, making love to her...