Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (11 page)

"Penny, this is what I do!" she reminded the woman. "I was taken
by surprise tonight. Startled by the force of...my dream. But it's
okay. Really."

Penny looked at her worriedly and sighed softly.

"I swear." Darcy gave Penny a little kiss on the cheek, and
slipped back into her room.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. The room's
temperature seemed completely normal, the air as clear as a
mountain morning. She was certain that she'd experienced all she
was going to for one evening. And now that the fear had receded,
she was all right. Stronger, more prepared. And more determined and
angry.

Melody House held many haunting secrets. But it seemed evident
now that the lady in white was a victim of a deadly violence in the
past, and the truth regarding her murder had never been
discovered.

Darcy rinsed her face with cold water, surveyed her
surroundings once again, and lay back down.

She began to doze.

Then, once again, she bolted up, wide-awake.

She
felt
the room, but there was nothing. And yet,
something had awakened her.

She slipped from the bed. The doors to the balcony were open;
the drapes drifted in a soft and eerie white wave. Standing very
still next to the bed, Darcy searched the shadows for an visions or
apparitions.

Silence, nothing...

She walked to the open doorway to the balcony, ran her hands
over the drapes. As she started out to the balcony there was a
shift in the breeze. The white gauzy fabric of the drapes wrapped
around her as she was seized by powerful and forceful arms,
trapped in a vise of merciless strength.

______ 5____

As they climbed the stairs to the apartments above the stables,
Carter looked at Clint suspiciously.

"How did you do it?" he asked.

Clint looked at him, startled. "Do what?"

"The tapping."

"I wasn't doing the tapping. I thought it was you."

"Hell, no."

"Maybe the ghosts," Clint said lightly.

"You believe in the ghosts now?" Carter asked, amused.

Clint was silent a minute. "Penny," he said
thoughtfully.

"Penny!" Carter said.

"She's the one who wants to prove that Melody House has ghosts,"
Clint reminded him.

"Yeah, but can you see Penny staging a bunch of tapping
noises?"

"Why not?" Carter asked with a shrug.

"There's Elizabeth-the medium," Clint suggested with a laugh.
"She needed to prove herself-especially with a real ghost buster in
the room."

"Um," Carter mused. "And what do you think of our ghost buster
racing out in the middle of the night, just like the young
bride?"

Clint grinned slowly. "I think it's a shame she didn't race out
naked like the bride. That is one exciting woman."

"Mind your manners, son," Carter said, but he was amused as
well. He shrugged. "It just strikes me as strange, all this. Darcy
Tremayne is no flighty young bride. The woman is all cool
sophistication-and yes, too bad she didn't come down in the buff,
just like the bride. But there's got to be something going on."

"You
are
starting to believe in ghosts," Clint said,
scoffing.

Carter shook his head. "Nope. I'm starting to agree with Matt
that someone is somehow playing tricks in the Lee Room. And I'd
damned well like to know why."

"Maybe people just feed off the fears and beliefs of others,"
Clint said, impatient. He grinned. "You and I have both enjoyed
that room, a hell of a lot. Even Matt. Before the place was really
opened up the way it is now, when Matt's granddad was still living
and went in and out of Washington all the time. Hell, I had some of
my best nights there. Nothing like impressing a young woman with a
real historical house, a seduction in pure luxury-with the threat
of a ghost to make her all warm and cozy."

Carter nodded after a moment. "Yep, I've had my share of nights
there."

"And no ghosts?"

"And no ghosts," Carter agreed.

"So-forget it."

"Hard to forget when we're hosting ghost busters."

Clint shrugged. "You know, I have to admit that, over time, I've
heard from plenty of people that they have seen things. Clara Issy
is as rock-solid and sane a woman as you're ever going to find. And
she saw something in the Lee Room. And I've heard other guests
swear that they've seen a soldier walk through the parlor."

Carter laughed. ' 'Yeah, I remember one occasion. And the couple
did see a Rebel soldier walk through the room-he was headed out to
take part in a battle re-enactment at Cold Harbor. Hell, I dressed
up one time for a Civil War forum and scared half the people I
knew."

"The point being?"

"There is usually a logical explanation for ghosts."

"All right, I grant you that. So?"

"So, I think someone is playing tricks. And if it's not you, and
it's not me...then who? And why?" he asked.

"I don't know," Clint said. He hesitated. "But I'd damned sure
like to find out just who and why myself."

With their guest in the house, Penny had taken up
residence in the Stuart Room. It was two doors down from the
Lee Room, in the ell on the left side of the house.

With both Matt and Darcy having returned to their rooms, Penny
found herself standing indecisively in the hallway.

Might as well go back to bed. There was nothing else to do.

But she shook her head, staring at Matt's door. What on earth
had to happen for him to realize that he had something very
special in this house? Oh, he loved the house, and was a great one
for historical value, she gave him that.

But they had something even...better. And more unique.

Turning her attention to Darcy's door, she folded her arms over
her chest and swore softly beneath her breath. Why wouldn't the
young woman just say what had happened? There were ghosts in
this house. It was a fact. And certainly, it might be hard to prove
it to the world, but there was no reason for Matt to fail to
believe, to fail to use the experiments and happenings here to
enrich the legends that already abounded. It would be so
wonderful to be a real center of attention for a public that loved
such stories.

Just what on earth was she going to have to do to prove her
point?

She sighed and walked down the hall to her own room, opened the
door, and then hesitated once again.

"I'm here! I'm listening!" she said aloud. "Talk to me, whoever,
whatever, you are. I'll get your story out!"

She waited, looking around the hall.

But the ghosts apparently had nothing to say to her.

"I don't care if you pull my hair-or if you want to slap me in
the face! Hey, leave the others alone. I'm ready. I'll help
you."

Still, there was nothing. The hall remained silent.

All right, seriously, just what on earth was she going to have
to do?

With a disgusted sniff, she pressed the door open and went on
into bed.

Darcy was caught in a terrible grip, all but smothered in the
hold and the voluminous wealth of gauzy drapes tangled around her.
Instinctive fear had seized hold of her as well, and she was ready
to struggle, fight, and scream.

But the sound never left her lips, because a familiar voice
interrupted her thoughts.

"Who are you, and what the hell are you doing?"

The voice, deep and very low, and all the more menacing
for the quiet within it, cut into her mind like a knife.

And still, fear eased instantly.

She was silent and dead still for a minute, ruefully
realizing her position.

Then she spoke.

"I'm your unwanted guest, and I was merely on my way out to the
balcony when a breeze blew, and suddenly I found myself rather
rudely accosted."

She felt the vise ease from around her. For a split
second, there was the simple warmth of Matt's hold, taut
muscles slackening, and a pleasant sense of just being held,
of life and vibrance, masculine aftershave, and an essence of
sexuality that took her completely off guard. She swayed.

His arms were releasing her.

She quickly gathered her wits about her, and found steadiness on
her feet while he worked to untangle her from the draperies.

She emerged facing him, flushed, hair tousled.

"Why are you sneaking around the balcony?" she
demanded.

Matt crossed his arms over his chest. "A, it's my balcony. B, I
wasn't sneaking around. Your turn. What the hell were
you
doing, sneaking around on the balcony."

"I heard something."

"Apparently, you heard me."

"So-why were you out here?"

"I heard something-apparently you."

She shook her head. "I believe that I heard you first."

"I beg to differ."

"Oh, this is getting ridiculous."

He arched a brow to her, implying that the entire
situation of her being in his house was purely
ridiculous.

She exhaled on a long sigh. ' 'Look, your night has been
disturbed enough. I really wasn't making any noise."

He grunted.

"Since there's no one on the balcony except for you and me, I
believe it would be safe for both of us to go back to sleep."

"The balcony doors do lock," he told her.

"Do you keep yours locked?'' she asked him.

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because I listen."

"In your sleep?"

"It's a talent," he said dryly. "But you should keep yours
locked."

She stared at him for a long while.

"Why should I?"

"Because someone is playing tricks with this room."

"So you believe the danger is coming from the
outside?"

"Where else?"

"Why can't you believe that there's anything in the world that
isn't black or white, visible to the naked eye?" she asked
softly.

"I believe in a great big
real
world of gray," he
said.

"If there is any danger in the house," she insisted
quietly, ' 'I believe it comes from the
inside.
''

"But you want to stay in the Lee Room anyway?''

She lowered her head, praying for patience. "If you're such a
serious skeptic, why did you agree to let the company
in?"

"Because I know Adam. And I know that he can find any kind of
sleight of hand out there."

"Adam also believes deeply in the occult. And in me," she
added.

He shrugged, then brushed past her, entering the Lee Room again.
For a moment, he stood with his back to her.

"I can't tell you how many nights I spent in this room as a kid.
And...even in the last few years," he murmured. There was something
behind his words; she didn't know what. But then he swung around,
staring at her again. "Lots and lots of nights. And nothing ever
materialized before me. Nothing whispered in the dark. Nothing
floated by."

She twisted her jaw slightly. "I didn't tell you that
anything materialized or floated by me. I merely said that I
had a nightmare."

"Right. And the great ghost buster ran out screaming."

"It was a very bad nightmare."

He walked over to her and she was startled when he set his hands
on her shoulders, and his eyes, very dark in the shadows of night,
were hard focused on her own. She was again aware of something
evocative in the mere nearness of the man. He carried a richly
masculine and seductive scent, and the simple touch of his fingers
seemed like a caress. She told herself that it had been a long time
since she had been this close to a man so vital and arresting, and
so, it was natural that her senses should be jumping. It was a hard
argument. They didn't jump that easily.

"Darcy, I do believe that something is going on. But something
real. And I don't want you hurt."

His words were honestly, sincerely spoken. The edge of hostility
was gone between them, fallen off like a cloak.

She needed it back. She was standing in a bedroom in a flimsy
nightgown, body brushing that of a striking male in his prime, clad
in no more than boxers and a robe. If she moved just a little bit
closer.. .half an inch, she'd know firsthand if she had an equal
effect upon him.

"I'm...I'm not going to get hurt," she assured him. Her voice
was thick.

It seemed as if eons passed in which he didn't reply. In which
they just stood there. Her mind raced in a fury of thoughts. He
wasn't going to let her go. He was going to take that step closer.
She should, of course, step away, but she wouldn't. She'd feel the
force of his arms enwrapping her again, but carefully this time,
pressing her against his length. The palms of his hand would come
to her face, fingers would caress her chin. Then they'd be fused
together, tangled in a web of touch and taste and sensation,
and-

He stepped back.

"I'm right next door. You didn't disturb my sleep. Feel free to
scream at any time." He offered her a wry grimace, then took
another step back. She wasn't sure his stride was as confident as
usual.

Or maybe she just wanted him to be a bit shaky, too.

"Seriously, at the least disturbance, please, scream your heart
out. I'll be right here." He smiled. Then his knuckles lightly
brushed her cheek; for a moment, time passed again, with endless
electricity and thought.

Then he was gone.

Admittedly, Matt was tired.

Still didn't help the way that the morning completely
sucked.

It started out with a desperate call from one of the area's
three middle schools. The sheriff's department rushed in, prepared
to deal with a possibly deadly, serious situation. It turned out
that Brad Middleton, tall, lanky, fighting a case of acne, but
usually a decent kid, had come in to class saying that he had a
gun. Not a soul in the world was going to have a sense of humor
about such a situation these days, which Brad couldn't understand,
since he had come in packing a water pistol. After a discussion
with the psychiatric counselor, the police counselor, the
principal, and then his parents, he was shaking like a leaf by the
time he reached Matt, and Matt wasn't feeling much better about the
situation himself. The kid was going to have to go to court, and
Matt didn't lie about the fact that he was facing consequences.
Since Brad seemed truly repentant, he was certain that the boy
would receive leniency, and he could make him feel somewhat better.
But in the middle of his conversation with Brad, there was a holdup
at one of the gas stations on the highway, and when they chased
down the perp, he wasn't packing a water pistol. Still,
surrounded by law enforcement vehicles, the man turned
himself in. Thankfully, no one, including the perp, was
shot.