Ghost Town (12 page)

“Did you ever have any incidents of objects moving on their own at the store? Books that ended up shelved in different places from where you remember putting them? Pens or papers left on a desk that ended up on the floor or in the trash?”

Jenn's expression hardened. “Trevor, a woman died in my store last night. I can't say we were friends, exactly, but I won't have you exploiting her death just so you can play ghost hunter!”

Her voice had risen as she spoke those last words, and Carrington—along with a number of his fans still waiting in line—turned to look at them. Carrington cocked an eyebrow, and Trevor muttered, “Sorry.”

Carrington gave him a nod and turned his attention to the fan next in line. Trevor noticed that Erin had stopped filming for the moment and was looking at Jenn and him thoughtfully. That wasn't a good sign. The last thing Trevor wanted was for Erin to get the idea of refocusing her documentary on Tonya's death. Jenn didn't need to have the woman following her around with a camera, hounding her. But then, wasn't that what she thought
he
was doing? Using Tonya's death as an opportunity to indulge his interest in the paranormal—and maybe get another book out of it?

“Jenn, I sent you an electronic copy of the book I'm working on. The one about the Lowry House. Did you read it?”

She still looked angry, but she answered. “Yes.”

“What did you think about it?”

She stared at him. “This is a strange time to ask for feedback on your writing.”

“Humor me.”

She looked at him another moment and then shrugged. “Honestly, it reads more like fiction than anything. I mean, I understand that you want to increase your book sales, and it's a great read, but . . .”

“But you don't think the things I wrote about actually happened.”

Jenn looked uncomfortable. “I knew about your missing memories, of course, and that Drew and Amber were involved in whatever happened to you three back in high school. But as for the rest of it . . . I guess the kindest thing I can say is that you used a lot of artistic license.”

Trevor smiled. “You mean I lied.”

Jenn cocked her head to the side in puzzlement. It was a gesture Trevor was intimately familiar with, and he was surprised at how much he had missed seeing her do it. “You seem awfully calm for a man who's just been accused of fraud.”

“I know this is hard for you to believe, Jenn. Hell, it would be hard for anyone to believe who didn't live through it. But every word in that book is true. Ask Drew and Amber when they come back. They'll confirm it. And it's because of those experiences that I'm asking you questions now. Not because I care about getting material for another book. But because something bad happened last night, and I want to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

She still looked doubtful, and Trevor didn't blame her. If their positions had been reversed, he would have felt the same.

“Let me ask you this question. Have I ever lied to you?”

She smiled. “No. But just because you believe something doesn't make it true. You could be crazy, you know.”

Trevor laughed. “What can I say? Sanity is overrated! Look, if there's even the remotest possibility that something paranormal
did
happen in your store last night, and it resulted in Tonya's death, you would want to do something about it, wouldn't you?”

Jenn thought for a moment. “Yes, I would.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “All right. But this doesn't mean I believe in ghosts or anything.”

Trevor smiled. “Duly noted.” He and Jenn continued talking while Carrington signed books and Erin kept filming. Trevor had the impression that Erin had her camera trained on the two of them most of the time, but he hoped he was wrong.

Amber stood on
the sidewalk outside the hotel, watching people in costume stroll by. The hotel was on the outskirts of town, not all that close to the main business district where the bulk of the Dead Days festivities were taking place, but there were plenty of people attending the conference, and it seemed quite a few of them didn't want to wait for the big parade that night to don their Halloween finery. Amber had loved Halloween when she was a kid, and each year, she would wear the spookiest costume she could think of. Her favorite had been the year she had trick-or-treated as the witch from “Hansel and Gretel.” She had carried a small plastic cauldron with a tiny bit of dry ice in it to make it look as if it were bubbling and a rubber hand reaching out as if someone—perhaps one of the children from the story—was being cooked. More than a few adults at the houses where she had stopped had given her strange looks, and their reactions were just as sweet as all the candy she got that year.

But she had lost her taste for Halloween after what had happened at the Lowry House when they were teenagers, and although
the three of them had put that experience behind them for the most part, she didn't think she would ever fully enjoy the holiday again. Drew would probably have said that dressing up as ghosts and monsters was psychologically healthy, that it helped people learn to accept the darker side of their nature. But the act of cloaking oneself in the trappings of darkness seemed sinister to Amber. Most people thought creatures of the night were nothing more than fables to frighten children, but she knew better. Monsters were real. And if what Greg had told her was true—assuming, of course, that she hadn't merely hallucinated talking with him—there was something bad in Exeter. Whatever it was, it had killed Tonya last night, and Amber doubted that it would stop at one death. Darkness possessed an endless hunger, and no matter how often it fed, it could never be satisfied.

She turned her mind away from such thoughts. Since the events at the high-school reunion a couple of months earlier, she had been reading up on psychic and spiritual phenomena. Never again did she want to face something like what they had confronted in the Lowry House without being prepared—or at least as prepared as it was possible to be. A number of the sources she had consulted agreed that dwelling too much on negative thoughts could attract dark forces to you, calling out to them like a beacon. Amber had no idea if that was true, but given Greg's warning—not to mention her dream the night before—she figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

She wished she hadn't reacted so poorly to the unexpected appearance of Drew's boss. Sure, she was intimidating as hell—a gorgeous, highly educated woman with a strong personality. But Amber knew that Drew loved her, and he had never given her any reason to feel insecure. If she felt that she didn't measure up to
Dr.
Flaxman, it came out of her own insecurities, nowhere else. Because she had been upset, she had left before telling Drew about seeing Mitch—or at least seeing someone who looked a hell of lot like him. Drew knew about him in general, but she had never told him
the whole story. She was too ashamed to share all the details with him. Besides, he was so sensitive and caring that she was afraid that knowing the full truth would only hurt him. Not because he would be jealous but because he couldn't stand the thought of how much her time with Mitch had hurt her. But as difficult as it was, she knew she had to tell Drew that she had seen Mitch. Or thought she had. Not only because she wanted to be completely honest with Drew but also because of what Greg had told her.

“There are nasty things in this town, and you've drawn their attention.”

Things,
plural. Greg's warning didn't have to be about supernatural entities, or at least not
only
about them. Maybe Mitch was one of those things Greg had been talking about. He could be pretty damned nasty when he—

Her thoughts froze as she saw him walking down the sidewalk toward her. Any doubts she had about having seen him outside the coffee shop vanished. It was him.

“Hello, Amber,” Mitch said as he drew near. “Been a while.”

She wanted to turn, run back into the hotel, and go find Drew or Trevor. If nothing else, she could go to the lobby. Even if Mitch followed her inside the hotel, she would feel safer there, as long as others were around. But she forced herself to stay where she was and even managed an approximation of a smile.

“What are you doing here?” The question came out more bluntly than she had wanted, but Mitch didn't seem to notice.

“I came for the Dead Days celebration. I come every year. How about you?”

He appeared relaxed. He smiled easily, his tone was friendly enough, and there was none of the usual forcefulness in his manner. Mitch liked to dominate other people. No, he
needed
to, and he attempted to do it from the very first moment he interacted with someone. Especially women. Amber didn't sense any of that now, but even so, there was something not right about how he was
acting. The words he spoke came out fast and clipped, as if he were too eager to recite a memorized speech. And his eyes were flat and devoid of expression, like the painted-on eyes of a mannequin. When Amber looked into them, she felt a chill ripple down her back. Even at his most abusive, Mitch had never had eyes that looked so empty, so dead.

Instead of answering his question, she said, “I didn't know you were into this kind of thing.”

“Sure. Halloween has always been my favorite holiday, and the people around here know how to do it right. It's a hell of a party. How's Drew?”

Mitch's abrupt change of topic took Amber by surprise. He barely paused between sentences, speaking so fast that his words ran together. He continued without waiting for a reply.

“I assume he's here somewhere, isn't he? Dead Days isn't exactly my idea of a romantic weekend getaway, but hey, whatever floats your boat, right?”

Mitch stepped forward—not far, just a couple of inches, but it was enough to make Amber feel threatened. She wanted to step back and maintain distance between them, but she remained where she was. She didn't want him to see that she was afraid. She felt like a mouse cornered by a cat; if she tried to flee, she would be pounced on. The only way to stay safe, at least for the moment, was to keep still.

“He's inside at the conference, helping out in the Exhibition Hall,” she said. It was a guess. In truth, she had no idea what Drew was doing. “Would you like to meet him? I'd be happy to introduce you.”

A corner of Mitch's mouth lifted in an expression that wasn't quite a smirk. She had the feeling that he knew exactly what she was trying to do: find a way to get him to accompany her inside, where she would feel safe. Or safer, anyway.

His eyes darted to the left for an instant, and his head turned
slightly in that direction, almost as if he were listening to something. But Amber heard nothing.

“Maybe later,” he said. “After we've had a chance to catch up a little.”

She looked to his left, and although the sidewalk there was empty, she sensed a presence, as if someone were looking directly at her. She squinted and concentrated on the spot. At first, she saw nothing, but then a hazy image appeared, there and not there at the same time, as if she were seeing it through only one eye while the other still saw only empty space. She saw the outline of a dark figure, more a suggestion than a solid form, like a shadow that existed independently of anyone casting it. The figure was large enough to be that of an adult, and while there was nothing specific to suggest it, Amber nevertheless had the impression that it was female.

Then it was gone. No, that wasn't true. The figure might not be visible any longer, but it was still there, still watching her. She could
feel
it.

“I'm sorry, Mitch, but I really should get back inside. Drew's probably looking for me. We're supposed to present a session at the conference later, and we need to get ready.”

She started to go, but Mitch snagged hold of her wrist and stopped her. His grip was firm but not painful. Not yet.

“No shit? What sort of presentation?”

Amber was through messing around. “Let go of me.”

He tightened his grip, just enough so Amber could feel the pressure, but it still didn't hurt, not quite. He leaned close and spoke softly. His breath reeked of greasy food and stale coffee.

“I have a new friend I'd like you to meet. Let's go somewhere quiet, and I'll introduce you to her.”

He increased the pressure of his grip as he spoke, until Amber thought the bones in her wrist might shatter like glass. He was too physically powerful for her to fight, so she drew in a breath, intending to scream as loudly as she possibly could.

“Amber! There you are! I've been looking all over this damn hotel for you!”

Mitch let up on the pressure, but he didn't release her wrist.

Amber looked over her shoulder to see Connie Flaxman approaching. The woman was smiling warmly, as if she and Amber were old friends instead of rivals for Drew's affections.

Connie walked up to Amber without so much as looking at Mitch. She did glance at the empty space next to him—the space where Amber sensed the mysterious presence—but then she refocused her attention on Amber. Connie put her arms around her and gave her a big hug. As she did, Amber felt Mitch finally let go of her wrist. But she was so surprised by the other woman's sudden display of affection that she almost didn't notice. Amber returned the hug in an awkward, halfhearted way.

When Connie drew back, she said, “I just want to say how sorry I am for the
inexcusable
way I treated you earlier. I was jealous, plain and simple. It's obvious how much Drew cares for you. You're a very lucky woman.”

Amber had no idea how to respond. “Uh . . . thanks?”

“Believe it or not, I really
am
interested in learning more about this fascinating”—she waved her hand in the air as she searched for the words she wanted—“
field of study
that you and Drew are involved in. If you don't mind, I think I'll stick around for a while and see what the conference has to offer. Is that OK?”