Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (6 page)

"Thanks," she murmured.
Yankees had come south?
She'd
done a lot of traveling, but she'd never felt a time warp such as
this before. "You know," she said quietly, "my company isn't really
headquartered more than two hours away."

"A popular face," Chisel-face murmured. "Forgive me-it just
seems so strange. A model. Hm. Maybe they sent you down to
manipulate Matt Stone. Not a bad idea? I mean, could you possibly
really
be the business end of this deal? You are an
exceptionally fine-looking Yank- even with a packet of degrees from
NYU."

Darcy felt fury suddenly take root in every limb of her body.
Get along with the locals! Like hell!
She'd had it.
Everything she'd learned in college, in business, and in life, fled
her mind, and her temper kicked
in.

"It's an excellent school," she said, rising. "And I'm afraid,
gentlemen, that the rest of the world has entered the twenty-first
century. The Civil War was lost during the nineteenth. We're all
one big country now, you might recall. Washington
D.C.-
where I'm based
-is extremely close. Busy. The world
goes on there."

"D.C," Chisel-face murmured, then grinned at his fellows. "I'll
bet the old boys considered it just one and the same as this area,
eh boys?"

She rose, hands planted firmly down on the table, and assessed
him coolly. Words seemed to spit from her before she took the time
to think them out. "You know, I did forget to return your rather
backward compliment. Actually, you're not too bad-looking for
a total asshole. You really will excuse me. In truth, none of this,
me, my credentials, my job here-is any of your business. I
need to discuss matters with Mr. Stone, and no one else." She
allowed her gaze to sweep with disdain over the lot of them and she
turned and walked with crisply clicking heels to the door, where
she turned back. "By the way, just for your information, the South
lost
the war. If any of you happen to see Mr. Stone,
perhaps you'll be good enough to let him know that I did come to
meet him. I'll be calling."

As she stared at the men, they rose, staring back at her. The
most friendly of them, Dimple-face, began to smile.

"What?" she demanded.

"Oh," he said, "I think Matt Stone definitely knows you were
here."

"Really?" she grated. "And why is that."

Chisel-face spoke up. "Ms. Tremayne, I am Matt Stone."

Adam Harrison would have handled it all much better. He would
have found a way to be both dignified and smooth. But of course, if
Adam had felt that he'd cast himself into a den of testosterone, he
would have had managed to gain respect immediately, no matter
what.

Darcy couldn't quite diffuse the steam rising in her.

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't say it's been a pleasure, since
you've done nothing but amuse yourself at my expense, Mr.
Stone. And if you destroy this opportunity, it won't hurt me in the
least. My employer is the man who deems your house important."

With that, she turned, exited, and let the door close
behind her.

* * *

"Well, that was just great!" Mae said from behind me bar.

Matt set his sunglasses on top of his head and turned to Mae
with a challenging look. "Mae, I didn't know who the hell she was
at first, and since it was my understanding Harrison was coming
himself, she made me somewhat wary. We don't need a bunch of
crackpots thinking that they can come here and recreate a 'Blair
Witch' scenario."

"He's right," Clint said, grinning in a way that made his dimple
deep, amusement lighting his eyes. "A goddess walks in-and he sends
her out as rudely as possible. Good going, Matt."

Clint was Matt's second cousin, but though he carried the family
name, his grandfather had been born on what they called the wrong
side of the blanket. Probably a good thing; Clint's commitment to
enjoying life was often entertaining, but Matt was pretty
certain that, had the property gone down to Clint, it was
unlikely they'd be having this discussion now-the holding would
have been long gone. Not because the fields might have fallen prey
to plight or disease, but rather to the plague of gambling debt
that never seemed to dampen Clint's spirits.

Matt looked from Mae to Clint, shaking his head. "Doesn't the
concept of dignity mean anything to the two of you?"

"Not a hell of a lot," Clint said cheerfully.

"Dignity? Do you think you allowed that poor girl to feel that
she had any?'' Carter asked.

"She's accustomed to getting whatever she wants, I imagine,"
Matt said with a shrug. "And don't you tell me about dignity,
Carter." He admitted, only to himself, that he might have been
rude-only a bit. But at least with reason. Still, he felt obliged
to remind his friend about some of his own behavior. "If I remember
correctly, you were so rude to your friend, Catherine Angsley, in
this very bar, in front of far more people, that she left the
county, never to be seen again."

Carter shrugged. "At least I knew her first."

Mae chuckled. "And you, young man," she said to Clint. "You sent
that beautiful Texan, what was her name? Salela Bennett, running
all the way back to Texas!"

"Sasha," Clint corrected.

"Sasha, that's right.
Sasha.
Why can't I ever remember
that name?" Mae asked. "Oh! Maybe it's because no one could
possibly keep track of the women who come and go through your ever
so charming lives!"

"Mae! We're just looking for true love," Clint said dryly.

"My foot! You're looking for the next great body. But I think
that the two of you could be left in the dust by this new visitor,"
Mae informed them with a sagely spoken pleasure.

"Well, of course, because with Matt's brand of charm, she'll be
heading straight back to Washington," Carter said with a sigh. He
arched a brow to Matt. "I can recall a few times when you might
have been a little rough on Lavinia."

"At least he married her first," Mae said.

"I was never that rude to Lavinia-even in the midst of divorce,"
Matt said, irritated with himself that he was still feeling
defensive, and now being reminded of his disastrous
marriage.

"See, Mae? You can't rush into marriage," Carter said. "Look at
the whole Lavinia thing. There she was-the most gorgeous thing
breathing on earth, and what a manipulative witch."

"We just didn't have the same concept of a life well lived,"
Matt said, wondering why in the hell he should suddenly defend even
his ex-wife. Simple fact, Lavinia had been a bitch. Rich, spoiled,
and heedless of anyone around her.

"We're all missing the point here," old Anthony Larkin suddenly
pointed out. "Mae, seems to me the world has changed a lot since I
was a young man. Hell, yes, these young people should find out if
they're going to make it in an affair before tying the knot.
Divorces are too easy these days, and they're still hard as hell on
people. Especially on their kids!"

"Well, thankfully, Matt and Lavinia didn't have kids. A devil's
tail might have shown up on one of them,'' Clint said. "I think
Lavinia's had plastic surgery to get rid of hers, but genetically,
it would have still been there."

"Lavinia is gone, and it's over," Matt said flatly.

"That Sibel, Shana, or Sheila girl Clint was dating wasn't a
bitch," Mae said with a sniff. "Opinionated, and intelligent, and
ready to take care of herself. But she wasn't a bitch."

Clint offered an exaggerated sigh. "Mae, her name was Sasha.
Sasha Bennett. And the problem with our great affair was that
she wanted me to move to Texas! And wait a minute-we're getting off
the subject here."

Anthony shook his white head in a way that made his beard rake
back and forth over his chest. "All right, here's my opinion from
an old geezer, Matt. Let's forget about past
transgressions-committed by the lot of you. Every woman isn't a
potential affair. This one seems darned regal and intelligent. She
was sent here to work. Matt, you're having trouble up at your
place. You told me yourself, you called your grandfather's old
friend Harrison after you received his letter. Key concept
here-
you
called
him.
So- just why were you such a
jerk to that girl?"

"She looks too much like Lavinia," Clint said.

"No, she doesn't," Carter argued. "She has the walk, the
movement...kind of like a natural grace. That's all that's the
same."

Matt scowled at them both. "Hey, looks have nothing to do with
anything, gentlemen."

"Gentlemen?" Mae said with a sniff.

"I'm unhappy about the whole thing, I suppose. And yes, I called
Adam after I got the letter, but that's the point-I expected Adam
Harrison himself," Matt admitted ruefully. "And then again, maybe
it all did have something to do with her appearance." He glared at
Clint and Carter. "Not that she resembles Lavinia in any way."

"She doesn't. She's really much prettier," Mae put in.

"But," Matt continued. "She doesn't look like any hard-core
investigator, does she?"

"Looks can be deceiving," Carter said.

"Hey, they say you're going to let Liz do a seance," Anthony
Larkin reminded him. "How hard-core would that be?"

"Liz was close with Gramps, too," Matt said. "A really great
nurse to him toward the end. I owe her." He shrugged. "She begged
when I told her that I had people coming down who were supposedly
ghost experts. She wanted first crack at a seance, before any
out-of-towners took over. She also holds her Women's Town Meeting
in the house once a month, and it's a big event that makes the
house a good income."

Anthony shrugged. "Figured it had to be something like that. I
ran into her down at the drugstore. She said that she'd been
pleading with you, just for herself, since she's so sure she feels
all that cold stuff, especially in the upstairs bedroom. And
she said that the writer could come in, and the new guy from the
Chamber of Commerce. So...it's a crock if you're keeping out that
pretty girl because she's more about ghosts than finding out
if something natural is going bump in the middle of the
night."

"And damn, but she is good-looking," Clint supplied.

Matt nodded slowly. They were all right-and he had been one hell
of an ass to the woman. She had just hit a raw nerve with him, he
supposed, looking as if she had just stepped off a fashion page,
heels clicking on the floor, manicured nails expressive in the air
as she spoke, her face that of a sophisticated angel-or siren, one
or the other.

Redheads were always trouble.

"I'm just irritated, I guess. Maybe I do owe her an apol-

ogy."

The phone rang stridently from the bar. He felt a surge of
anger. She was already calling. Mae picked up the phone.

"Hello...yes, Penny, he's here. He's got his cell phone turned
off again, huh? Well, he's sitting here, sure as can be. Shouldn't
have that cell phone turned off, Matt, you know that," she said,
her hand over the receiver.

"Shirley at the station knows where I am, and that's all that
matters," Matt said.

"Penny knows you're here now, come on over and talk to her!
Please!" Mae insisted, seeing the stubborn set to his jaw.

Matt cast Mae an evil eye, then rose to accept the
receiver from behind the bar. Penny came on the line.

"Yes?"

"Matt, I heard you gave that girl from New York an absolutely
wretched time!"

"Penny, I really did no such thing. And how did you hear so
fast?"

Matt looked around. Sure enough, Marty Sawyer- Penny's
nephew-who had been watching Carter's pool game was now nowhere to
be seen. He'd slunk out already.

"Matt Stone! There is so much good to be done here! Principal
Joe from the grade school was telling me how much the
schoolchildren just loved the living history productions we
did last summer, and you know as well as I do that you can't keep
that kind of program going if we don't make sure that the house is
entirely safe. And you've already agreed that we can let the seance
go on."

"Because even though I don't believe in such a thing as a
'medium,' I like Elizabeth!" he said irritably.

"You're going to make a tiny percentage off
Elizabeth-compared to what Adam Harrison is paying to
investigate your property. He usually charges people for his
services. Now you know that I personally think that the ghosts are
wonderful, but even I'm getting nervous here. Think about poor
Clara's face-and don't go telling me she bumped into a wall. We
need our ghost stories, some of them are so great. Passion, spurned
lovers, murders, suicides! But...there's something not at all right
going on as well. Oh, Matt, please! If you really love the house
and our history and want to keep the place open, not to mention in
the family!-please let this girl come and get started on her
investigations, no matter what it is, exactly, that she does."

He gazed back at the bar. Everyone was staring at them. Penny
was speaking loudly. They could all hear. "Penny-you're right.
Murders and suicides. The woman in white who's been seen floating
around the staircase. You know what? It isn't going to matter what
I do-the stories are going to circulate forever."

"I've seen the woman in white," Penny said stubbornly.

"Penny, you drank half the wine cellar that night," he reminded
her.

"Nevertheless, this is important. Yes, we'll have stories, no
matter what. But you said yourself that you were suspicious
that someone was causing some of the 'haunting.' How will you ever
know, or prove anything?"

"Penny, I am the sheriff. I know a few things about
investigating occurrences on my own."

"Matt, where's your patriotism?"

"What?" he said incredulously.

"The house is so important. What if someone really gets
hurt?"