Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (4 page)

By then, Penny, Jeannie and Roger had headed into the kitchen.
It was vast. The integrity of the historical aspects had been
maintained with the massive hearth and the many copper pots and
herbs that adorned wall mounts, but the huge refrigerator, sub-zero
freezer, and stainless steel stove were all necessary modern
conveniences for the many social events, dinners, luncheons,
and meetings that were held at the property.

The newlyweds were seated at the table with Penny. She had
apparently moved like lightning, microwaving water and hurriedly
supplying brandy, because they were all sipping out of huge
earthenware mugs already.

They had been joined there by several of the other
residents of the property, probably all awakened by the
screaming. Matt's cousin Clint, who, like Penny, lived in one of
the apartments above the stables, was seated at the table. Clint's
eyes flashed with humor as they met Matt's. Sam Arden, the
caretaker, old, thin, and crusty, his white hair wild, was at the
table as well. He shook his head and rolled his eyes when he saw
Matt. Rounding out the group was Carter Sutton. He was actually an
old college friend of Clint's from the next town over. He owned a
lot of local property, and had just bought a house nearby. Since it
was still being held hostage by construction workers, he'd taken a
room over the stables as well. It worked well. Carter made his
living off his investments, and was sometimes "paper rich and
cash poor," so he was happy to look after the horses and serve as
stable boy and trail guide when they rented out the horses.

Matt silently offered the robe, and walked around to take a seat
at the end of the table. Penny was happily talking about ghosts.
Roger was convincing his wife that there had been nothing there at
all, other than the excitement of the day.

"And if there was a ghost, it was probably more scared than
you," Clint assured the bride.

"Hell, there are ghosts," Sam said sagely, nodding his old
head.

"Sam," Matt protested.

"She meant to hurt me!" Jeannie said with certainty.

"I don't think that ghosts are supposed to hurt people," Carter
said. His mustache twitched. He was as bearded as a goat, since he
enjoyed a high military position in the "Rebel" unit in which he
participated in many battle re-enactments.

"She meant to hurt me," Jeannie repeated.

"I've slept in that room," Clint said, "and honestly, nothing
ever happened to me."

"I know the Lee Room like the back of my hand," Carter teased.
"It holds the fondest memories in my heart," he told the bride with
a wink.

She flushed and laughed uneasily.

"Matt," Penny said, "There's a cup of strong tea for you right
there, end of the table."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll reheat it in a bit. I'm going to get a
few things out of the caretaker's cottage, so you two can slip on
over when you want."

"Hey, Mr. Stone, I...I don't want to put you to any more
trouble," Roger said.

"I can't sleep in this house!" Jeannie wailed.

"It's no trouble," he assured them both.

All he wanted to do right then was get out-he didn't think he
could bear to hear another of Penny's speeches on ghosts. He
allowed her, on Friday and Saturday nights, to give a "Legends of
Melody House" tour, during which she liked to go on and on about
various stories involving the house, and how it was rumored to be
haunted by different characters, including historical
figures.

He had adamantly refused to let her call it a ghost tour. But
since she did attract dozens and dozens of paying tourists,
people staying as diversely far away as Williamsburg, Richmond,
Harpers Ferry, and even D.C., he had to allow the endeavor. She
served cider, tea, cookies, and pastries in the middle of the tour,
and he knew that she was right- they paid a whole lot of bills
thanks to those tours. He still didn't like them, or anything that
suggested that Melody House was
really
haunted. However,
he tolerated it all, for the sake of the house.

"Go on, Matt-we'll keep them entertained for you," Clint told
him laconically. Matt arched a brow. Clint could be openly
lascivious. He had surely enjoyed the spectacle of the bride,
wrapped in the antique quilt and nothing more.

"Thanks," Matt said dryly, and left them all to their arguments
on whether there was or wasn't a ghost.

An hour later, he was moved back into his room at the main
house, and he and Penny and Roger had packed up the newlyweds, who
were now happily settled in the caretaker's cottage. Penny
returned to her apartment over the stables.

Matt had barely gotten back to sleep before he heard a ringing
sound. He fumbled around to turn off his alarm, but it was the
phone instead. One of his officers was on the other end, anxiously
urging him to get moving; they had a domestic violence situation
threatening to turn explosive.

Matt hurriedly dressed, his thoughts half on the night gone by,
and half on the day to come. There it was-the truth again. As his
dad had once told him, when he had shivered at the sight of an old
cemetery, the dead were the safest people around.

It was the living you had to watch out for.

That day was hell for Matt. He was so tired most of it, he could
have toppled over. It began with the situation at the Creekmore
house, old Harry threatening to kill his wife and kids, accusing
her of sleeping around, claiming he didn't even know if the kids
were really his or not. Thayer had kept the situation under control
until he got there. Matt had managed first to get Harry to let him
in, then pretended to share most of a bottle of whiskey with him,
convince him he could do DNA testing on his kids, finally get the
shotgun, and haul Harry off to jail.

Somehow, he endured the rest of the week, staying in the main
house, hearing the honeymooners in the pool at all hours, day and
night.

Jeannie came to thank him personally for not throwing them out.
Her honeymoon, between the pool and the horses and the incredible
Jacuzzi in the caretaker's house, was bliss.

She had forgotten about the ghost. She admitted that she'd had a
lot to drink.

Penny kept insisting that there was a ghost, and he was being a
blind fool to ignore it. Either something bad was going to happen,
or-on the bright side!-were they to prove that a ghost existed,
they could get so rich they'd never have to worry about the upkeep
of the place again.

Finally the honeymooners departed and everything went back to
normal. Then, Penny started at him again. She wanted to have a
seance.

He said no.

She persisted.

He begged her to leave him alone. He had too much work on his
plate at the moment.

At last, Penny backed off and contented herself with her tours.
Matt thought that life was pleasantly back to routine.

Until she came to him with the letter from Adam Harrison,
Harrison Investigations.

It was a month later that Clara Issy, one of the five daytime
housekeepers, stopped dead in her tracks.

It was a sunny morning. The beautiful old bedroom in Melody
House was as it always was. The bed she had just made with its
shiny four-poster and quilted cover sat against the right wall. The
polished mahogany bureau held the modern touch of the entertainment
center within it. The television was off. The French doors to the
balcony and the wraparound porch were ajar because it was such a
nice day and the breeze was fresh and clean, causing the white
draperies to stir and dance. That was natural, and she was
accustomed to the smell and feel of fresh air. She loved it, and
she wasn't at all fond of the air-conditioning that ran through the
summer months. No, the room itself was just as it always was.

She stood near the open French doors, jaw agape, and stared.

Because she was alone in the room, yet something else was
moving. Something that drifted from the bed. Something in a
hazy form, something cold, something that felt threatening.

It approached Clara. She felt something touch her face, almost
like the stroke of fingers against her cheek. Very cold fingers.
Dead fingers. She thought she heard a whispering. Scratchy,
against her ear. Something that pleaded... or threatened.

Her hands were frozen in a vise around her broom handle.
Her body felt as if it had jelled into ice. Fear raced up and down
her spine.

The cold...wrapped around her. Tightly. More and more
tightly.

At last, her jaw snapped shut. She broke the sensation of
terror. She screamed, not a bloodcurdling sound, but one that
barely held a gasp of air.

Then she found life, and ran.

Out to the second floor landing; there was no one there. Down
the flight of stairs to the grand foyer, where again, the house was
empty. She headed toward the second doorway to the right of
the sweeping stairway. Surely, for the love of God, someone would
be in the house office- Penny, a tiny bastion against anyone evil,
but someone, at the least.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Matt was there. Bursting out
the doorway before she could reach it. He was in his work uniform,
but he hadn't headed out for the station yet; it was still very
early. Thank God.

He hurried toward her, as if he had heard her cry-being Matt, of
course, he had heard it!-and had been preparing to rush to her
rescue. Except that she had fled the room upstairs with greater
speed than a greyhound. And so she was here, spurting into bis
arms.

"Clara! What is it?"

She was fifty-five. Twenty years older than Matt, at least. But
he was Matt; solid as a rock. A tall man in his prime with a way
about him that commanded respect which in turn offered her a
feeling of security that allowed her to speak when her mouth was
still all but completely contorted.

"I-I-quit!" she gasped out.

"Clara, what on earth?" he asked kindly, holding her at
something of a distance from himself and searching out her
eyes.

"Let me tell you, that bride was not crazy. There's a ghost in
that room!"

"Oh, Clara, please. We both know the silly stories about this
place! We've both heard them since we were little kids. But come
on, we've also worked in this house, both of us, for years and
years. Clara, I feel like a broken record here, but believe
me-ghosts don't really exist. People want them to exist sometimes.
Penny is dying to have a few authentic ghosts to give the place a
greater reputation. Seems like being an historical masterpiece
doesn't always cut it these days." He smiled, smoothing back her
graying hair.

"There's a ghost in the Lee room, and it just touched me." Clara
planted her hands on her hips. "How long have you known me?
Forever? Haven't I always agreed with you, saying that it was just
silly airheads who felt they had to make up ghost stories? But you
have to believe me-there's something in that room. It threatened
me. Matt, it wasn't my imagination. It wasn't a memory of ghost
tales told over and over. It was real. I could see it. Come up and
see for yourself!"

Matt sighed deeply. Still, there was concern for her in the
depths of his dark eyes. "All right, Clara, let's go take a
look."

Clara edged behind him, then followed as he left the office and
strode with long footsteps through the foyer, up the stairs, and to
the Lee room.

Naturally, there was nothing there.

Clara walked over to her broom. "I was standing right here."

"Clara, maybe you saw the draperies drifting in. The French
doors are open."

Clara indignantly straightened her five-foot-one frame. She
could see that Matt felt as if he was living a repeat of a silly
performance. He was trying to be patient; he felt like throwing his
hands up as if the whole world had now gone insane. "I know the
difference between drapes and a ghost!"

Matt ran his fingers through his ink dark hair, shaking his
head. "Clara...I don't know what to say. There's nothing here
at all."

Clara sniffed. "Matt, it's gone now. But there
was
something here! Why can't you believe me? You should. It wasn't all
that long ago that we rented the room to the Thomases. She came
running out of the room in the middle of the night, stark naked,
and screaming! All right, I wasn't here when it happened, but I
sure heard all about it." Clara paused, biting her lip. "Okay, I
laughed like hell, I'll admit, but...Matt, there's something
going on."

"Clara, Jeannie Thomas herself said later that she'd had a lot
to drink that night. Her husband didn't see or hear a thing, and
all it did was cause a big argument on the first night of their
marriage. Clara, Jeannie drove me crazy and came here and
specifically asked for this room, having heard that it was haunted.
Don't you see? The bride wanted there to be a ghost, and so there
was. History can be tragic, Clara. And there was some tragic
history associated with the place. But come on, now! You're a
sensible woman. In your heart, you know that you're just letting
your imagination run riot."

"Matt, I quit."

"Oh, Clara!"

She knew that he couldn't afford to lose another maid.

"How about this, Clara. You don't quit, but you don't clean this
room. How's that?"

She reflected on his offer. ' 'Who is going to clean it?''

"We'll let Penny come in here and take care of this room. Penny
thinks it's the greatest thing in the world that the place has a
reputation for being haunted."

"You know, Matt, I can't help it. I was definitely one of those
to scoff at such absurdity, but I can tell you now- this house is
haunted!"

"Clara, maybe it's haunted, and maybe...hm."

"Maybe what?"

' 'Maybe Penny is playing tricks, she wants the house to be
haunted so badly. Or maybe someone is. . .I don't know. Breaking in
here. Making things happen."