Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (7 page)

He almost smiled. It was a new line of attack.

From the table, he heard the sound of David Jenner clearing his
throat. "You know, Matt, things haven't been that great. I could
really use the work."

"Right. You know, we're not all rich, kind of famous, and born
with absolutely legitimate names," Clint said, grinning with a
shrug.

"Matt, maybe you could do us all some good," Carter told
him.

"You won't have to do a thing," Penny's voice said from over the
phone wire. ' 'Give Ms. Tremayne my number. And I'll handle
everything. You don't have to come anywhere near the house if you
don't want to while she's in it. But first, you go over right now
and get her out of that ramshackle hotel where's she staying."

"Hey!"

Carter could obviously hear Penny. He owned the ramshackle
hotel.

Again, Matt couldn't help but grin. "Hell, all right."

"Matt, honestly, you don't even have to be involved, I'll do
everything, I swear! Dammit, Matt,
you're
the one who
called Adam Harrison, why are you balking now?''

"Because I expected Adam Harrison," he said, feeling like a
broken record, his temper rising. Impatiently, he said, "I'll talk
to her, Penny." Then he hung up.

Mae grinned like a kid with a candy bar. "This is so cool-Melody
House is getting real live ghost busters."

"They're not ghost busters, Mae," Matt said.

"I've got to go to that seance!" Mae said firmly.

"You all really did hear every single word of that
conversation," Matt said ruefully.

A circle of nods answered him. He shook his head. "Hell-I guess
I will start answering my cell phone," he muttered.

' 'Well... ?" Clint drawled. "When are you going to bite the
bullet, give that girl a call and convince her that she is welcome
here?"

"Soon. But
not
from here," he said. He slid his
sunglasses back down over his eyes, and strode to the door,
taking his hat from a peg on the wall. He twisted his jaw; he
didn't believe in ghosts, spirits, haunts, or the goddamned
Easter bunny, and he sure as hell didn't believe in
premonitions.

Still, he didn't like this.

He shook his head, speaking with his back to the others.

"There's an awful lot that's bad in that place's past," he
said.

He walked back into the sunshine of the day, letting the door
slam behind him.

There was silence in his wake for several seconds. "He's going
to let it happen, Mae, don't worry, you'll get to go to a real live
seance," Clint assured the woman still standing behind the bar, and
still staring after Matt Stone.

"Yeah, well, it's not the whole thing with the house that makes
him so hostile,'' Mae said quietly.

"He just never should have married that bitch from New York,"
Carter agreed.

"Redhead, too," David Jenner murmured.

"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, mere'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 men. 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 breeze-way 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.