Haunting Jordan (7 page)

“Best not to encourage Darcy.” Tom winked. “Before you know it, she’ll have Stilwell facedown on the bar, handcuffed.”

“That would be police brutality,” Darcy said, her tone prim.

“Darlin’.” Tom grinned, placing a hand over his heart, and she rolled her eyes.

“Justice, perhaps, in Stilwell’s case,” Jase pointed out.

Jordan noted the easy camaraderie among the three and felt a moment of envy. In the past year, with her increasing isolation from friends and family, she’d lost any sense of comfort or intimacy she’d had with others. She missed it.

“What you really need, though, before you start thinking about painting, is a master plan for the renovation,” Tom said, bringing the conversation back on topic. “You should assess the damage to the house and come up with a prioritized list of the repairs. There could be structural or mechanical problems that should be addressed first, or possibly problems that’ll cause continued deterioration and need to be fixed immediately.”

Jordan hadn’t thought of that—he was probably right. The simple remodel she’d envisioned was becoming more complex by the moment. “Can you recommend someone for that?”

“I can come by tomorrow and get you started in the right direction, if you want,” Tom replied. “Jase and I are both fairly knowledgeable when it comes to the old homes, and we know most of the folks here in town who work on the renovations—many are regulars here at the pub. You had an inspection done before you bought the place?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there you go. We can start with the inspector’s report. Shouldn’t be that difficult to get a handle on the work required, though with old homes like yours, there are always a few surprises along the way.”

Jase leaned in close to pick up Jordan’s empty wineglass. “Another?”

“Yes, thanks.” She smiled at him, then a thought occurred to her. “Would Holt Stilwell watch someone from afar?”

Darcy shook her head. “He’s not that subtle. Why?”

Jordan shrugged. “I felt a little creeped out today, like someone was watching me. You don’t have problems with anyone in this neighborhood, do you?”

“Not that we know of.”

Jase frowned as he set a full glass before her and returned to his seat. “Did you see anyone?”

She shook her head. “I’m probably overreacting, given recent events.”

“Maybe.” Darcy drummed her fingers on the table. “Then again, I’m thinking you’ve got the training in abnormal behaviors to pick up on something like that before the ordinary citizen would. I’ll take a look through
the incident reports and see whether anything leaps out. For now, keep the dog close.”

“And let me know when you’re ready to leave,” Jase added. “I’ll walk you home.”

“No!”

He gave her an odd look, and she felt heat color her cheeks. “I mean, no thanks, really, that’s not necessary.”

He continued to hesitate. “Then why don’t I drop by tomorrow morning with Tom and check on you? We can point you toward the right people to hire, and so on.”

“Works for me,” Tom added.

Jordan quickly agreed. “Can we make it afternoon, though? I’d planned to visit the Historical Society at ten.”

“Their museum downtown is open,” Darcy said, “though it won’t do you any good—they don’t keep the archives at that location. But if you mean the place out on the airport cutoff road, it’s closed down for remodeling.”

“You must be thinking of a different place. Nora and Delia—the ones who brought me the papers?—told me to meet them there in the morning.”

The three of them exchanged perplexed looks.

“Nora and Delia are vacationing in the South of France,” Jase said. “I got a postcard from them just today.”

Jordan shrugged. “So maybe they beat the postcard home. Unless this town has two sets of sisters named Nora and Delia, they were at the house this afternoon—they brought me a chocolate cake.”

Darcy sent a silent look to Jase, and Tom rubbed his jaw.

“What?” Jordan asked.

“I stopped and checked the Historical Society building not two hours ago, on my usual rounds,” Darcy said. “It’s boarded up, and the sign says that it won’t reopen for at least three months. All the employees have been laid off for the summer, which is why Nora and Delia decided to take a long vacation …” She trailed off. “Well, hell.”

Jordan stared at them. “Nora is around five-six with light brown hair,” she clarified, “and Delia is blond with blue eyes. Right? They wear vintage clothing?”

“Nope. Nora is in her eighties,” Jase corrected, “and Delia’s not much younger. They’re both gray-haired.”

“I don’t friggin’ believe this!” Darcy grumped. “I’ve been wanting to meet up with these two for eight damn years, and
you
get to see them on your first day in town.”

Jase and Tom grinned, which seemed to make Darcy even madder.

Totally confused, Jordan said, “Clue me in here, guys.”

“You might want to drink some more of that wine,” Jase suggested, his blue eyes twinkling.

“You had a visit, all right,” Darcy said dourly, “but not from the Hapley sisters.”

“Well, then,
who?”
Jordan asked, exasperated.

“Most likely,” Jase replied, “the ghosts of Hattie Longren and Charlotte Walker.”

Chapter 4

“YEAH, right.” Jordan chuckled. No one joined in. “Oh, come on.”

Darcy cleared her throat. “Evidently Sandy failed to mention a few of the more unique aspects of Longren House.”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“No.”

Jordan shifted in her chair as she looked around the table. All three looked completely earnest.
“Seriously
, people don’t really believe in ghosts.
I
don’t believe in ghosts.”

“We like to think we’re open-minded on the subject,” Jase allowed. “After all, there’re a lot of ’em around.”

In a matter of moments, the atmosphere in the pub had gone from cozy and welcoming to surreal. The dog woke up and looked at her.

She propped her elbows on the table. “Okay, here’s the deal: Most of the time, when folks tell me they’re seeing things that can’t be real? I, like, refer them to a psychiatrist who can prescribe antipsychotic meds.”

“Questionable strategy,” Tom pointed out. “You’d have to dope up half the town.”

“Cute.” Jordan pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re serious.”

“Well … yeah.” Darcy shrugged. “We’ve heard about Hattie and Charlotte for years, though this is the first time we’ve heard anyone has talked to them.”

“You think that because Hattie Longren was murdered in my house, she—what—roams the halls at night, clanking her boyfriend’s prison chains and moaning?”

“She’s being sarcastic,” Darcy explained to the others.

“My coping skills are stretched a bit thin these days, and I’m not feeling all that flexible about sharing my house with a couple of ghosts!” Jordan’s voice rose, and there was a lull in the conversation as patrons craned their necks to look at her.

She took a deep breath, then another, holding up a hand. “Where I come from,” she said, lowering her voice, “California has real estate disclosure forms—TDS, SSD, and SPQ.” She ticked them off on shaking fingers. “You’re required to disclose even the smallest things, like whether there’s a children’s playground nearby that the buyer would consider too noisy, for chrissakes. You’re
required
to tell the buyer about bad things.
Ghosts”
—she paused for emphasis—“are
bad
things!”

“Actually, many of the old homes are thought to be haunted,” Darcy said. “So people don’t necessarily think a resident ghost or two is all that awful.”

“Okay, ‘normal,’ then. Ghosts aren’t normal. And I make a point of dealing in ‘normal.’”

“In this town, we prefer ‘quirky’ over ‘normal.’” Jase laid a soothing hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Bill? Bring me a brandy, would you?”

“Hattie and Charlotte are known for their pranks more than anything else,” Tom continued. “While the prior owners were living there and operating a B and B, the ghosts used to run the guests off in droves. It put the owners out of business.”

“Gee, how reassuring.”

“They’re probably more reasonable if you don’t do things they object to,” Darcy assured her. “From all accounts, they
really
didn’t want Longren House turned into a B and B.”

“So you think they impersonated Nora and Delia as some kind of prank?” Jordan shook her head, still not believing she was having this conversation. “Follow the logic—why would they do something like that? I’m not buying it.”

“They’ve gotten some pretty negative reactions over the years,” Tom said.

“Imagine my surprise.”

Darcy grinned. “They probably figured it was better to disguise themselves this time. At least, until you’d gotten settled and they knew what your intentions were.”

Jordan studied each of their faces. They appeared to be accepting Darcy’s explanation as plausible—even Jase. She shook her head back and forth. “No, no, no. I’m calling the real estate agent. I want those disclosure forms.”

“What good will they do you now?” Tom asked pragmatically.

“How the hell should I know?” Jordan gulped down the brandy Jase handed her. “Hey, I’ve got it.” She waved the brandy snifter in the air. “Since you all are so fond of your ghosts, maybe the local judge is a true believer and will let me back out of the sale.”

“Now you’re
really
being sarcastic,” Darcy said.

“It’s a gift,” Jordan snapped.

“You might as well accept the inevitable.”

A new thought occurred to her. “Oh, God, I get it now.” She stood abruptly, feeling ill. The dog leapt to his feet. “This is all a ruse, isn’t it?” She folded the rope and put it in his mouth. “You thought you could be entertained at my expense.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Darcy’s amusement faded. “We didn’t think that at all.”

“Then it’s my notoriety—that I’m suspected of murder.” Hands shaking, Jordan fumbled for money to pay the bill. “You don’t want someone like me in your town.”

“That’s
not
it.” Darcy hesitated. “Okay, I admit that maybe some people might have thought that as a psychologist, you’d cope better with the ghosts … I mean, what with your ability to be empathetic—”

“Shut up, Darcy,” Jase said pleasantly. He turned to Jordan, his expression apologetic. “Please, stay and enjoy the music.”

Jordan shook her head mutely, throwing cash on the table.

“Look,” he explained quietly. “Most people only catch an occasional or fleeting glimpse of ghosts. We didn’t
even know for sure that you’d ever see them, and we certainly didn’t think you’d be able to converse with them.”

“Hell,” Darcy said, “I’m flat-out envious. I’d love to be able to talk to them.”

“They’re probably thrilled to finally have someone to talk to,” Tom added.

Jordan backed away. “I’ll prove you all wrong. When I get to the research center tomorrow, it will be open, and Nora and Delia will be waiting for me.”

“Then why don’t I walk you home,” Jase suggested, standing, “and check the place out? Just so you’ll feel safe tonight.”

“I don’t think so.” Tears burned behind her eyes. Would she ever learn not to be so damn trusting?

She turned and walked out, the dog at her heels, leaving the three of them staring after her with what appeared to be concerned looks on their faces.

Too bad she knew better.

* * *

T
EN
minutes later, Jordan stood in her front yard, hugging herself, afraid to go inside. She half wished she’d taken Jase up on his offer. Their story was crazy, but … well, it made a weird sort of sense. Nora and Delia
had
been pretty strange, she had to admit.

As she replayed the conversation from earlier that afternoon inside her head, she realized many of the things they’d said could be interpreted in a different light. Take Delia’s argument, for example, that Frank would never
have murdered Hattie. She had sounded as if she’d actually known him. And then there was the odd hair comment, which might indicate they didn’t understand modern speech idioms.

Jordan blew out a breath. This was crazy. Nuts. She was making something out of nothing. Pretty soon,
she’d
be the one she
referred
to a psychiatrist for meds.

She took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and climbed the porch steps, reaching out to open the door for the dog. He trotted right in, unconcerned.

“See?” she muttered. “Nothing to worry about.” She fumbled for the light switch, turning on several lights, including the chandelier high up in the stairwell before she located the one in the hall. She left them all blazing.

Standing just inside the door, she listened.

Nothing.

The house was quiet … settled. No creaks or groans, no moans … no goddamn ghosts. Just in case, though, she looked around for something she could use as a weapon.

Clutching a library lamp in front of her with both hands, she crept down the hallway to the kitchen. On the way, she didn’t walk through any cold spots, which—if she remembered correctly from movies she’d seen—were supposed to be a sign of spectral activity. She did, however, jump a foot when a floorboard creaked loudly, almost losing her grip on the lamp.

She reached inside the kitchen door and flipped on the light switch, then walked to the center of the room. “If you’re here, I frigging
dare
you to come out!” she said in a loud voice.

Silence.

There, that proved it. No ghosts.

“Uh-ohhh. We’ve been outed.”
The whisper came from several feet behind her.

Jordan whirled, the lamp dropping with a deafening crash. The air sort of shimmered in the middle of the kitchen, and the two women materialized before her.

Charlotte’s image faded in and out like a spastic highway construction warning light, but Hattie’s was clear as a bell. At least Hattie had the decency to look chagrined.

Jordan glanced around surreptitiously for the dog, hoping for some protection, but he’d disappeared. She hyperventilated.

“Paper bag”—she gasped, waving her hands wildly—“cupboard.”