Ghost Town (3 page)

Amber had never met Connie Flaxman, but from what Drew had told her, the woman was, to put it bluntly, an ice-cold bitch. Drew was warm and caring, and he would do whatever it took to help his patients. Not only was he Flaxman's polar opposite, but he was a far better psychologist, beloved by both patients and the other staff. No wonder Flaxman had it in for him. At least, that's how Amber saw it. She knew she wasn't exactly the most objective person when it came to Drew.

He continued. “Besides, after what we went through back home, I'm more open to . . . expanding my horizons. I figure Esotericon is a good first step in that direction.”

Home was Ash Creek, Ohio, where the three of them had met and become friends in high school. They had discovered that they had a mutual interest in paranormal phenomena, especially the idea that it might be possible to discover proof of the existence of life after death. They had begun conducting amateur investigations of sites around town that were rumored to be haunted. They had experienced some interesting things, but nothing had prepared them for investigating the most haunted place in town: the Lowry House. What had happened there when they were younger had so traumatized them that they had suppressed the memory for fifteen years. They had returned in early September, ostensibly for their fifteenth high-school reunion but really to confront their past and banish the demons—some psychological, some literal—that had
been plaguing them. In the end, they had succeeded and regained their memories but at a high price: the death of a fourth member of their teenage group, Greg Daniels.

“I'm surprised you haven't written any books about Exeter,” Amber said to Trevor.

“I did a few articles on it, back when I was dating Jenn. After we broke up . . . well, I didn't get back to town much, you know?”

Trevor tried to sound matter-of-fact, but Amber could detect sadness in his tone. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but she decided it was best to let the matter go without comment. Coming back to Exeter had to be difficult enough for Trevor. No need to stir up old feelings any more than necessary.

Trevor Ward was of medium height and a bit overweight, with thinning brown hair. He usually had a smile on his face, and he exuded boyish charm and enthusiasm—especially when it came to anything related to the paranormal.

In contrast, Drew Pearson was taller, thinner, and more handsome. But then, Amber might be just a bit biased in his favor, considering that they had become lovers a couple of months ago. He had soft brown eyes and light brown hair that always looked a bit tousled, no matter how many times he brushed it. Although outwardly he seemed more reserved than Trevor, he was a deeply caring person, and it was one of the qualities she loved most about him. When he listened to you, he really
listened,
focusing his entire attention on what you were saying as if it truly mattered. And to him, it did.

The last couple of months had been good for Amber. She and Drew still lived in different cities—she in Zephyr, Ohio, he in Chicago—but they saw each other as often as they could. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that her life had been a mess before they got together. She had suffered sleep disorders, migraines, and depression, and she had been on disability for several years. All of her troubles had stemmed from the trauma she, Drew, and Trevor
had suffered the night the Lowry House burned down. The buried memories of that night had affected each of them in different ways. Trevor had gone to college, gotten a degree in journalism, and begun writing nonfiction books and articles on the paranormal. Drew had abandoned his interest in the paranormal and become a psychologist who specialized in working with people who had suffered severe trauma. And Amber . . . well, she had barely been able to keep herself together, enduring a series of low-paying menial jobs, a series of lousy boyfriends, and more than her fair share of health and emotional problems.

But that all changed when the three of them returned to Ash Creek to confront their past. The memories they had regained were sometimes hard to deal with, but knowing was better than not knowing, as far as Amber was concerned. Best of all, she and Drew had finally admitted their feelings for each other and had been dating ever since. Amber was off most of her prescription meds, and while she still had bad dreams from time to time, in general she slept better than she had since she was a teenager. Her skin had more color, and she had put on some weight. Not too much, but she no longer looked anorexic. Her shoulder-length blond hair was now shiny and healthy, and when she saw herself in the mirror these days, she liked the woman looking back at her.

“Am I dressed OK?” Amber asked. “I've never presented at a conference before, let alone attended one. I have no idea what people wear.”

She had tried on a couple of different outfits that morning and had finally settled on a comfortable long-sleeved purple blouse, tan pants, and black shoes. She had decided to forgo earrings as too dressy, and she had used a light touch with her makeup. Drew had told her she looked fine before they came down to meet Trevor for breakfast, but she still wasn't certain.

Drew wore jeans, running shoes, and a navy-blue sweater over a white dress shirt. Even when he was working, he tended to dress
on the casual side. He thought it put patients more at ease. Trevor wore a brown suit jacket over a white shirt—no tie, though—with blue slacks and black shoes. Maybe it was just his journalism background, or maybe he wanted to offset his boyishness, but when he worked, he tended to dress in a professional manner.

“It's been a few years since I attended Esotericon,” Trevor said, “but in my experience, people dress in all kinds of ways. Attendees and presenters both range from casual to professional to . . .” He paused. “
Interesting
is the word, I guess.”

Amber frowned. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

Drew smiled. “He's trying not to say that there's a significant kook contingent at this conference.”

“I am not!” Trevor thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, maybe I am. But that's part of what makes Esotericon so much fun.”

“You're not making me any less nervous.” She glanced at Drew. “And neither are you. Both of you might be used to presenting at conferences, but I didn't go to college. I've never even held a professional-level job, unless you count waitressing as a profession. I'm still not sure what we're supposed to
do
.”

“We don't have to do all that much,” Trevor said. “We're free to wander around the conference and attend whatever sessions sound interesting. But the only event we're scheduled for is our presentation. I'll show some pictures, and then we'll answer questions. Nothing to it.”

“Maybe for you two,” Amber said. “Drew talks to people all the time in his job, and you interview people for a living. Plus, you enjoy being in the spotlight. But the last time I spoke in front of a crowd was during Mr. Vagedes's speech class back in high school. And you guys remember how
that
turned out.”

Both Drew and Trevor fought smiles.

She had managed to get through less than a fifth of her speech—which had been on the merits of good nutrition—when she'd had
to flee the classroom. She had barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.

Drew took hold of her hand again, and this time he held it tight. “You'll be fine. We'll both be there, and you won't have to talk any more than you want to.”

“Besides, you know me,” Trevor said. “I'll probably end up doing most of the talking if you two don't shut me up.”

Amber smiled. Drew and Trevor had their own methods of trying to reassure her—Drew with emotional support, Trevor with humor—and together they never failed to make her feel better. Sometimes she wished the events the three of them had experienced at the Lowry House—both when they were teenagers and a couple of months ago—hadn't happened. But one good thing had come out of it: the three of them had bonded more deeply than ever.

“As part of the presentation, I'm going to be giving a preview of my new book. I still haven't decided on a final title yet. Right now, I'm leaning toward
Dark Legacy,
but my agent likes
Among Shadows
. The manuscript is with my editor right now, and I'm waiting for her to weigh in on the title. But the book's not in production yet, so there's still time to make any changes you two might want.”

Amber and Drew exchanged a look. They kept their expressions neutral, but Amber wasn't surprised when Trevor wasn't fooled. He knew them both too well.

“You didn't read it, did you? I sent you both copies via e-mail last week.” He sounded more hurt than angry. “And don't tell me you've been too busy to read it yet. I dedicated the damned thing to the two of you . . .” His voice softened. “And to Greg.”

Amber knew how much this book meant to Trevor. He'd wanted to write about the Lowry House for years, but it was only after they had regained their memories that he had started working on the book in earnest. Once he had begun, it was as if a dam had burst, and the words poured out of him in a torrent. He'd finished the first draft of the manuscript in less than a month. Both his agent
and his editor were excited by the book and thought it could be a huge boost to his career.

“It's not that we don't want to read it,” Drew said. “It's just that it's too soon. For you, writing about the Lowry House was cathartic. But for us . . .”

“We're not ready to relive all that,” Amber said. “It's going to be hard enough talking about it today at the conference. But to read about it in detail . . .”

Trevor didn't look mollified, but he said, “I guess I can understand that.”

“There's nothing worse than waiting for feedback on a new book, eh?”

The three of them turned toward the man who had spoken. He stood in the entrance of the dining room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and smiling. He looked almost as if he were posing for a picture, or as if he were an actor who had just stepped onto a stage. He was a tall, lean man in his early sixties, with thick white hair that looked professionally styled and a neatly trimmed white goatee. His smile was wide, displaying teeth so white and even that Amber had trouble believing they were real. His eyes were a bright, startling blue, and they projected a good-humored intelligence, along with a hint of shrewd calculation, as if the man were sizing up the three of them. He wore a gray suit and a blue tie with small white blobs on it that Amber at first thought were oblong polka dots but soon realized were cartoonish ghosts.

“Pardon me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help overhearing.” His voice was a rich baritone, and again, Amber was put in mind of a stage actor, though a bit of a melodramatic one. “If I wasn't such a late sleeper, I would've been down to breakfast in time to join your conversation from the start. I'll just go tell our hostess that I'm up and famished, then I'll be back to commiserate about writerly woes.” He gave them a last smile and a wink before walking off in the direction of the kitchen.

“What an odd man,” Amber said.

“Seems a bit of a narcissist,” Drew put in.

“That's Arthur Carrington,” Trevor said. “I knew he was going to be attending Esotericon, but I had no idea he was staying here.”

“The name's familiar,” Amber said. “Didn't we use to read his books when we were in high school?”

Drew nodded. “He wrote about supposedly true cases of paranormal encounters. If I remember right, they were long on ghostly atmosphere but short on scientific evidence.”

“I remember now,” Amber said. “They were good, spooky fun. You could always count on them to send a chill rippling down your back. He had a show on cable back then, too, didn't he? I forget what it was called.”

“
Beyond Explanation,
” Trevor said. “I have the entire series on DVD.”

“Guess you're a fan, huh?” Amber said.

Trevor scowled. “Not exactly.”

Before Amber could ask what he meant, Carrington returned to the dining room and took a seat at the table. The table had room for six. Amber sat at one end, with Drew on her right and Trevor on her left, and Carrington took the chair at the other end.

“One of the things I most like about bed-and-breakfasts is the conviviality of dining with fellow guests,” Carrington said. “I've been lodging here for a week now, and with the exception of the owners, you're the first people I've had the opportunity to chat with.”

A fiftyish woman, short and on the plump side, entered the dining room then, carrying a plate of eggs, sausage links, and toast in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She set the meal on the table in front of Carrington with a smile.

“Thank you so much, Vivian,” he said. “As usual, it smells delicious.”

The woman beamed as if he had just paid her the highest of
compliments. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she looked toward Amber, Drew, and Trevor.

“How are you folks doing?” she asked. “Can I get you anything else? More coffee, maybe?”

Amber glanced at her coffee cup. It was only a quarter full, and she considered asking Vivian to top it off, but she had already had too much, and she was nervous enough as it was.

“I think we're fine,” Drew said. “But thank you.”

Vivian nodded. She gathered Drew's and Trevor's empty plates but left Amber's mostly untouched breakfast. She gave Carrington a parting smile before heading back to the kitchen.

Carrington took a sip of coffee and made a face.

“That woman has no idea how to brew a decent cup of coffee. Still, she means well.” He put his cup down and turned his attention to Amber, Drew, and Trevor. “So . . . introductions, yes? I'll begin. I'm—”

“Arthur Carrington,” Trevor said. “We're familiar with your work.”